by Kresley Cole
—Males covet your unmarked mate.—
As if she’d been conjured, he heard her emerge from her room. She appeared at the top of the stairs, her shoulders squared, eyes narrowed and watchful.
Will now recognized that look. It was the same one she wore in the seconds before kickoff.
As she descended the stairs, his predator’s gaze was locked on her. Forever she would look this way. He allowed himself to stare, to assess the changes in her.
She’d already sheared off the length of her hair, leaving curling tousles jutting all about her face. From the looks of it, she’d used a knife or even another mirror shard. He wondered if she knew it would grow back in a day.
Though her scars had disappeared, her skin remained tanned, and she still had those freckles on her nose. Her figure was a touch curvier, but she’d retained her athletic shape. Anyone who saw her would know she’d been honed by sports.
For Will, she was a fantasy made flesh—and a nightmare.
Munro rose, as if a lady had entered. “Do you need anything, Chloe?”
“Just going to make myself some dinner.”
Will gave a harsh laugh. “Did you no’ get the memo, man-eater? What your kind dines on canna be found in a kitchen.”
She pointedly ignored him. Stalking into the kitchen, she perused the meager offerings of the fridge, then took out bread, butter, and cheese.
In short order, Chloe scorched the butter, burned the sandwich, then plopped the resulting brick onto a plate. “Does anyone else want one?” she asked sweetly.
She might not be able to cook, but that wouldn’t stop her from ingratiating herself with males, a succubus’s m.o.
Rónan raised his hand. “I do.” At Will’s scowl, he said, “What? I like them burned.”
“Okay,” she said in a bright tone. “Then I won’t clean up. Everything’ll be right here when you need it.”
Crestfallen, Rónan muttered, “That’s my trick.”
Plate in hand, she started back toward her room. She’d have to walk past Will again. Already she swerved closer to him. She’s helpless no’ to want me. Catnip.
Soon enough those claws would come out, and finally everyone would understand what they were dealing with. Strange that she wasn’t looking at him—Ruelle had hardly taken her eyes off him.
Never missing a step, Chloe reached down to the side table next to him and stole his whiskey bottle.
Will’s jaw slackened as he watched her trot up the stairs. When she entered her room, he turned to the others. The lads were flabbergasted. Munro stifled a grin.
Ben said, “She’s no’ scared of you at all. Even after she saw your beast.”
I could show it to her again. She was immortal, could withstand even the beast’s stiff fucking. At the thought of taking her, lust hit Will like a punch in the gut, making him growl once more. I could be inside her right now.
Her succubus allure was already working on him.
“He’s growling for her?” Rónan asked. “His mate walks by, and he does no’ touch her? Or pull her into his lap? It’s no’ natural! And it’s starting to freak me out.”
“I canna be with her as I would with a fitting mate,” Will said. “She comes from a diabolical species. You have to be constantly on guard.”
“Can someone please tell me why succubae are so bad?” Rónan said, quickly adding, “Ben does no’ understand this either.”
Munro answered, “They do have powers over men. The evil ones”—glower at Will—“can emit chemicals to make you want them against your will.”
“She’s Head Case’s mate; he’s going to want her anyway. Besides, it’s no’ like she needs any chemicals. She’s smokin’ hot.”
Another growl from Will. A defiant look from Rónan.
“Succubae form a mystical connection with their bed partners called a venom bond,” Munro said. “Once the male takes it into him, he’s bound to her until she dies.”
“Again, she’s his mate. They’re already bound.”
Munro raised his palms: I’ve got nothing.
Will took up the cause. “They feed off you, boy.”
“So do vampires, but that dinna stop our king from making one his queen,” Rónan pointed out. “Does it hurt?”
“If you doona do it enough, it’ll hurt.” As if it’d been yesterday, he could remember how his bones had felt like they were shattering, over and over again.
“So let me get this straight. Your smokin’ hot mate might use chemicals to make you want to do her. Except you already want to, so it’s wasted chemicals. Then once you start having sex with her, you’re going to keep wanting to, which would likely have happened anyway, because like I said, she’s totally hot.”
“And like I said, there’s pain involved if you doona.”
“Is there no’ always? It’s called blue ballocks. Mayhap you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be in your teens—”
“That female has the power to enslave men.” Will was growing exasperated.
Rónan seemed even more so. “Doona they all?”
Again Munro raised his hands: Pup’s got a point.
“It’s a violation!”
Ben cast a wary glance at Will. “Just leave it, Rónan. It’s no’ for us to understand.” He rose, squiring his brother away.
But the lad wasn’t finished with Will. “I’ll never understand this. You’re supposed to hunt and provide for your mate. All you have to do is nut with her? What is wrong with you people?” As they walked off, Rónan told Ben, “If she was no’ his mate, then I could see, but she is. And she’s never done anything to us—except for refusing to cook—and he’s threatening to behead her and shite.” In a quieter, even more confused tone, he asked, “Are all the old ones this prejudiced?”
“Fairly much, aye.”
When they were gone, Will sat back, filled with fury. “She’s already started working on the dunderheaded pup. He’ll be infatuated soon.”
Munro quietly said, “I feel the same way.”
“She got to you too!”
“Nay! I agree with all his points.”
“You know they’re sympathetic—they make you feel sorry for them, to want to protect them. I faced off against my own father to protect Ruelle.” Why did he no’ hit me harder? I’d just gotten his beloved mate killed.
Done discussing this, Will stood.
“Where are you going?” Munro asked.
“To make sure our new houseguest understands the rules. . . .”
TWENTY-SEVEN
It’s just like reps, Chlo.
She figured there were about a dozen bites of sandwich that she had to get down. Then she could reward herself with whiskey, possibly getting drunk like last night and passing out.
Anything to end this day.
First bite. She used to love burned grilled cheeses. Second bite. Tastes like cardboard. Third. She could do this!
It wasn’t just her utter lack of appetite that was freaking her out. If MacRieve hated her so much—and he’d just made that clear yet again—then why keep her here? This compound was huge, but he’d ordered her to stay here with one wall between them. She’d locked the adjoining door, for all the good that would do.
He should’ve let her go with those two succubae at the wall. How badly Chloe wanted to talk to someone of her own . . . species. To discover how to control her powers and her new strength. To determine a way around having to feed.
To find out about her mother and ancestors.
Until Chloe was able to escape this place, she’d have no answers. She set her plate aside and tilted her head at her room’s TV. If it was connected to the internet, could she get a message out?
To who? Her friends on the team? She’d never involve them in this. With a start, she realized she might never see them again—
The adjoining door to MacRieve’s room burst open, the lock broken. “You doona ever lock a door against me.” His expression was enraged. “Understand me? And why the hell w
ould you take my whiskey?”
She was presently experiencing the worst day of her life; she didn’t need any more of his shit! “Because I want to get drunk and act like the last two days never happened.”
He seemed confused that she was glaring at him. “What reason do you have to look at me like that? You’re the one who hid what you were!”
“I didn’t know what I was!”
“How could you no’ sense something was wrong?”
“I believed there was a chance I was becoming immortal, but I didn’t know what kind. Yet you knew you had a freaking monster in you just waiting to surface.”
“I told you that.”
“You said you might get a wee bit bigger, or some bullshit. Everything you say is bullshit!” And she’d bought his every line—believing herself halfway in love with him. “I might be a succubus, but at least I’m not a liar.”
MacRieve was bristling. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You told me I was part of the clan, that I was one of you. You told me you’d protect me, treasure me, and that no one would ever hurt me again. You told me we’d have eternity together, like a freaking Hallmark card! And at the first opportunity you were hauling my ass to the wall, threatening to cut off my head.”
“I would have kept those promises—if you had no’ transformed.”
“That’s why promises are made, asshole! To be kept no matter the situation.”
“No’ to your kind,” he said simply, as if explaining a new truth to her.
“No, you usually kill my kind. Just like you kill all Pravus creatures you come across,” she said, her voice rising with each word. “Oh, and vampires too! Exactly how is this different from what you’re accusing my dad of?”
“You dare compare me to him?”
“Yeah, I just did. After the way you’ve treated me, I’m beginning to see his side of things. You’re teaching me to see things his way!” She was one decibel shy of screeching.
“I war with evil creatures. Those that like to murder, rape, and torment—”
“I’m a succubus, and I’m not evil!”
“Mayhap no’ yet. You’re still playing at being human.” He cast a cruel smirk at her half-eaten sandwich. “Trying to choke it down?”
“I don’t have a choice—because I refuse to feed off another. The idea is horrifying to me.”
She thought she saw a flash of surprise on his face before he disguised it. “You’ll come to crave it soon enough. Your kind enjoys nothing more than feeding. Parasites, every one of you. And doona forget that your eyes were rolling back in your head this morning when you drank me down.”
She shuddered. “That’s all in the past. Now that I know what I’m up against, I’ll prevail.”
“You canna change what you are. As young as you are, you’ll start strewing soon, emitting your chemicals. You’re a ticking time bomb.”
“I won’t. I’ll figure out a way to control it.”
“You get hungry enough, there will no’ be control. You’ll get so aroused, reason will leave your brain. Your claws will flare, and you’ll want to sink them into whatever luckless bastard happens to be close by. This is your life now; best accept the realities.”
A life without soccer or friends or a dad.
MacRieve seemed to take great relish in reminding her, “There’ll be no Olympics for you. Doubt you’d pass a piss test. Since you canna piss.”
Her lips parted.
“Aye, that’s right. Like the vampires, you’ve no bodily functions. Just another example of how wrong you are. No wonder your father abandoned you.”
MacRieve was enjoying this, tearing her down little by little. Like he was getting revenge against her—when she’d never done anything to him. Enough. “Good to know, Head Case.” How apropos of Rónan. “Now, as much as you’re clearly getting off on dishing out pain to me, I’m done accepting it. Find someone else to spank, because the only thing I’ve done wrong with you is to trust all your mate bullshit.” She reached for the TV remote, ignoring MacRieve as she might an aggressive fanboy.
“You doona seek to curry favor with me? Your life is in my hands, and yet you are defiant?”
Get used to it, dickwad.
But MacRieve was not to be ignored. “Look at me.” Before she could blink, he’d leapt atop her, pinning her arms over her head. “I said to look at me.”
The weight of his body was crushing, his erection like a steel beam pressing against her. Despite her hatred of him, she felt herself responding.
Why couldn’t she turn off this arousal? Was it a succubus thing? Or a MacRieve thing? After all, the traits that had attracted her before remained unchanged—his sigh-worthy body, his golden eyes, his firm lips . . . his talented tongue.
A flash memory of his mouth between her legs made her heart thud and her nipples go hard. Don’t think about that!
“When you get hungry enough, you’ll come crawling to me.”
She refused to look away. “Never. You disgust me.” His treatment of her did.
He inhaled deeply. “Nay, disgust is no’ what you’re feeling. I can scent how much you want me inside you.”
Her cheeks flamed, because it was true. She was aching for something to fill her. “What’s the difference between that scent and strew?”
He seemed surprised by her question. “A mate’s arousal would make a Lykae desperate to get her somewhere alone to tup. Strew would make a male rip off a succubus’s clothes to rut her on the spot. Would no’ matter if the entire clan was watching.”
Would he do that if she strewed? “Like I said, I’ll eat regular food. Then there’ll be no need for any strew. We don’t ever have to touch again.”
With an angry shove, he thrust his erection over her again. “You think you’ll be able to keep your hands off me?”
She couldn’t deny her physical reaction to him. But she would make sure he understood exactly what was going on. “Say I do get turned on by you—even though I despise you. What’s the difference between what you’re doing to me, and what you think I’ll do to you?”
He scowled. “What are you talking about?”
“If you make me want you against my will, then who’s the succubus? Your looks are your strew. Explain to me the difference.”
A troubled expression flashed over his face before his hatred blazed through once more. “I would never use my looks to rape others.”
She shoved at him. Even with her new strength, she couldn’t budge him. “You don’t have to fear that from me, MacRieve. I’d rather starve to death. I’d look forward to it, before I ever fed from you.”
He released her and rose, gave her a withering look. “I’ll remember that when you’re pleading with me to fuck you. And when I deny you again and again. . . .”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Pass the ball, Ben!” Chloe yelled.
She was playing a pickup soccer game with him, Rónan, Madadh, and six others. It’d been four days since she’d seen MacRieve’s beast, but she still found it freaky that all the Lykae around her had a similar wolf thing inside them.
Rónan was guarding her, and she was tooling him with her new immortal strength and speed. As the self-proclaimed clan athletic director, she’d started working drills with him. Alas, moves like hers took time to perfect.
She’d decided to put herself out there as clan AD because she needed something to occupy her time or she’d go crazy—and because she needed Rónan’s help to escape. . . .
MacRieve sat next to an oak on the sidelines, as he usually did. For someone who hated her so much, he was always watching her, silent and brooding, as if just waiting for her to drop trou and “plead for it.”
Fortunately for her, she was halfling enough not to suffer those urges. Much. Hardly at all, if she kept herself busy and her stomach full of food.
She’d ignored him for the most part. Okay, he was fairly impossible to ignore. She sensed his presence if he was nearby, sensed his gaze on her ac
ross the field. She would wonder if he was recalling their day together. “Best day of my life,” he’d said. She must be a glutton for abuse, because whenever she replayed that day, she still felt a pang in her heart. . . .
Amazingly, MacRieve’s stunt at the wall had worked. The creatures had departed, but he still wouldn’t release her. Even Munro was against her leaving the compound, insisting that she could be tracked without the proper precautions.
Like a camouflage talisman.
She’d assessed her field position and concluded that she didn’t want to be near MacRieve; nor did she want to be kidnapped by centaurs again. Chloe remembered that burned handprint on the wall. Would the Pravus get an email alert if she crossed the boundary? A talisman was the only solution, which meant it had become the championship trophy in her mind.
Rónan had told her of his friendship with certain witches—including those who’d kidnapped her—so she’d asked him to help her make a purchase.
“Sorry, T-Rex,” the kid had told her. “The House of Witches always demands payment up front.”
“No lease with option to purchase?” she’d asked. “Layaway?”
“No such thing as Wicca credit.” He’d laughed at the idea. “If you knew any witches, you’d understand why your questions are kind of funny.”
She constantly thought about that talisman. She’d lie in bed, imagining ways to get hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Until such time, she was stuck. To be fair, it wasn’t as bad now that she was starting to get the hang of this immortal business.
The afternoon of her change, Rónan had knocked on her bedroom door. She’d been staring at the ceiling, still agitated from her last interaction with MacRieve. “Go away, kid. I’m busy.”
“You canna stay in there forever. You want to play soccer?”
She’d shot up in bed. She could hear . . . yes, he was kneeing a ball into the air.
Out on the field that first day, Chloe had found that she was faster and tougher. Or else Lykae pups were pussies.
