by R. Scarlett
Those eyes glowed and she looked at him like she wanted to devour him herself.
No, no, control yourself.
“That’s enough for one day, I think,” he said, finishing the final few bites of his sandwich. “Now I need to focus.”
They actually did remain silent after that, the awkward tension dissipating into something far more relaxed and pleasant as she moved to the floor and continued reading.
Around eight p.m., he looked over to find Molly sound asleep on an open textbook—again—her neck crooked at an odd angle on the coffee table.
“That doesn’t look too comfortable,” he murmured, gathering her up and heading to the bedroom.
“I’m just resting,” she whispered, her warm breath fanning his jaw.
“Of course you are, dolcezza.” He smiled into her hair.
He laid her down, then retrieved a clean t-shirt and placed it beside her on the bed. “I’ll go in the other room.”
“Huh?” She stared at the shirt, then back at him.
“I think you should just sleep here tonight. You’re exhausted, it’s dark out…it’s safer this way.”
After a pause, she agreed. As she sluggishly began to unbutton her blouse, Tensley grabbed some sweatpants, changing into them in the bathroom and brushing his teeth.
“I’m finished,” she said a short while later; he returned, smoothing a few mussed curls from her face.
“I’m gonna sleep on the couch.”
“Please stay,” she said, cradling a cheek into his palm.
No. No. No. “Uh…sure.” He crawled in beside her and she sidled up to his chest. Just having her that close improved his health, curbing his hunger for energy. One dose of Molly a week satisfied the hunger, but he couldn’t deny he wanted her in his bed more often—hell, he wanted her there every night.
“Thank you for telling me all that stuff earlier,” Molly continued with a yawn, wiggling closer. “I like learning about you.”
“Yeah, I like it too,” Tensley said, playing with a strand of her hair. Too much, he thought, but didn’t say it aloud.
He needed control. He needed to keep both their heads above water or he’d be the one drowning, and it’d be her hands wrapped around his neck.
A SICKENINGLY WET sound echoed in the bare loft as Tensley watched his brother roar, trying to free himself from the vicelike grip Fallen had on his neck.
“Patience, weak traitor,” Fallen said, his cruel laugh cutting deep into Tensley’s chest. “I hope it’s as sweet as hers was.”
Tensley glanced at Valentina’s motionless body a foot away, her hair soaked in dark blood, her lifeless eyes staring up at him. She had begged, had cried out for Beau, but Fallen’s knife had still found her throat.
Beau screamed, a sound so raw, so horrifying that Tensley wondered whether his brother would ever be able to speak again.
Fallen stabbed Beau in the chest, carving the flesh expertly to remove a pulsing, black organ that he held with finesse.
Beau crashed to the ground with a whimper, hovering his hands over the jagged space where his heart used to be.
Their parents stood rigidly to the side of the room, Mrs. Knight’s hands over her mouth as she watched her oldest child be turned into a monster.
Acid burned Tensley’s throat and he doubled over, vomiting into his hands and onto his bare feet. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move—all he could do was breathe.
In, out.
In, out.
He lifted his head, vomit running down his chin as he eyed their demon leader with terrified eyes.
Fallen handled Beau’s heart with a soft, almost gentle touch, smiling tenderly down at it. Then he unhinged his jaw and swallowed it—just like he had done with the princess’ heart, many, many millennia ago.
Tensley watched Fallen’s Adam’s apple bob, a finger of cold dread running down his back.
Fallen hummed to himself, licking his fingers as if he’d just feasted on some delicious wild animal. He turned toward Tensley. “Humph, where are my manners?” He moved fast, heavy boots gliding along the floorboards to bring him to Tensley’s side. Fallen stretched out a hand.
Tensley stared at it, at the fingertips still painted with Beau’s blood.
Fallen let his hand fall, squinting at Tensley. “How old are you, boy?”
“Ten,” he said, breathless.
“Still young.” Fallen nodded to himself and hummed again, stroking his cheek, the blood staining his skin like a gruesome tattoo. “Your brother did something very, very terrible. Do you know that?”
Tensley’s nostrils flared, but he was too afraid to look away.
“What did he do that demons must never, ever do?”
“He…he grew a heart.”
“And why did he grow a heart?” Fallen asked eagerly, like an impatient schoolteacher.
“Because he fell in love.”
“With what?”
“With a human.”
“Yes, very good. Very good, boy, but there’s more, isn’t there? He impregnated her. Out of wedlock. Never trust a human, boy.” Fallen tsked, shaking his head. “Number one rule in my kingdom. Do not love humans, do not fall for humans—and why do you think I’ve instigated such things?”
Tensley paused, desperately afraid of giving the wrong answer.
In a blink Fallen was on him, his bloodied fingers jerking Tensley’s chin up to meet his blood-red eyes. “Love is a weapon; it’s a weakness. This is your lesson boy,” Fallen hissed, smearing Beau’s blood along Tensley’s skin. “Demons don’t love—they destroy. Remember that, or next time we see each other, it might be your heart I’m gorging on.”
“Tensley!”
Tensley jerked awake, fighting whoever was holding him down. “Get off me, get off—”
“Tensley, Tensley, it’s me!”
Slowly his surroundings became clearer: his shadowed bedroom, the New York City skyline outside his floor-to-ceiling windows.
Tensley’s eyes shot to Molly’ she was breathing nearly as hard as he was.
“It was just a dream, Tensley,” Molly cooed, brushing his cheekbone with a finger.
He cringed at her touch, throwing the covers off and rushing to the bathroom. After slamming the door shut, he turned the shower on, twisting the knob to as hot as it would go.
Fuck Beau. Fuck Fallen. Fuck his throbbing, growing heart.
He was in control. He wouldn’t be swayed. He was stronger than Beau.
He shoved off his sweatpants and moved under the scorching stream, listening to it pitter-patter off his trembling body.
He squeezed his eyes shut, resting a palm against the tiled wall and praying to stop seeing Valentina’s pregnant belly slashed and the awful wheezy sound she made minutes after Fallen sliced her throat to let her bleed out.
His mind showed him memories he repressed to survive, to cope, but in his dreams, they spilled over and he drowned in them.
“Tensley?”
He opened his eyes to find Molly standing outside the glassed-in shower, a frown etched between her brows. “I’m fine.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t think you are. You kept screaming Beau’s name.”
“Molly,” he growled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Tens—”
“Please.”
Molly must’ve heard the desperation in his tone, because she nodded and left. Her absence didn’t help matters, though; Fallen’s words continued to play in Tensley’s head on repeat, over and over: Demons don’t love, they destroy.
MOLLY WAS THANKFUL for the bright sunlight streaming through Tensley’s apartment windows, hoped it would chase his dark thoughts away better than she had.
“I need coffee,” she mumbled, adjusting her outfit before turning the coffeemaker on and grabbing an egg carton from the fridge. And one tranquilizer dart, please. She needed some kind of sedative after seeing Tensley’s muscular ass and those powerful thighs. She stemmed her sexual te
nsion by focusing on scrambling the eggs, toasting some bread, and pouring them both a huge, steaming mug of black coffee.
“You made breakfast?”
Molly turned to see Tensley dressed in a tailored black suit, his dark hair combed back and a stack of papers in both hands. “Yeah. I know you’ve got some important things scheduled, and I wanted you to start the day off right.”
“Hm.” He sipped his coffee, not even cracking a smile of gratitude when she ladled some food onto his plate.
“Oh, I wanted to ask if you might like to join me for a work event tonight? It’s at the museum; they’re opening the exhibit I’ve been helping with.”
“I have a very tight schedule,” he said, picking a piece of eggshell from his food.
“Oh, okay, that’s fine,” she said, turning back to the coffeemaker so he wouldn’t see her disappointment.
A long silence ensued.
“What time do I need to be there?” he finally asked, shuffling his papers around.
“It starts at eight,” she replied, placing the dishes she’d dirtied in his enormous, expensive-looking sink.
He checked his watch, still not looking at her. “I’ll meet you there, then.”
Maybe tonight she’d crack his shell. Maybe the more things they did together, the more they’d actually become a couple.
She could see the tension in his shoulders and in his neck and wondered if he was thinking about the nightmare.
“Is there anything I can do for you? To help?” she asked carefully.
He finally looked up at her, those stormy eyes dull today. “No.”
She laughed humorlessly. “You won’t talk to me, you won’t even look at me. You’re irritated and I don’t know why. If something’s troubling you, you can talk to me about it, too. I’m not your enemy.” She was afraid to say Beau’s name, in case he withdrew completely.
His eyes dropped to where his hands gripped the fork and knife. Then he glanced back up at her and opened his mouth—
“Good morning hoes,” Pearce’s loud voice boomed into the room. Tensley didn’t acknowledge him, his back still to him, but Molly had a perfect view of the arrogant giant walking toward them. He scratched at his bare, hairy chest and sat down next to Tensley, spreading his arms out. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Eggs,” she said then turned to wash the sink out.
“Make your own breakfast, Pearce,” Tensley bit out and distracted himself with his papers.
“Don’t get so touchy.”
The two of them sounded like children and she rolled her eyes.
“I just spent my whole night searching for that damn bastard and I couldn’t even get a hint of where he’s hiding,” Pearce grumbled.
Molly frowned at him. “Who are you looking for?”
“The Hunters of Orion, specifically Alejandro Cree.”
Molly stiffened and glanced at Tensley, who continued reading his papers, though the edges had crinkled from his harsh grip. They were looking for Cree, too. Possibly Lex.
She shook it off and wiped down the granite black counter, pausing when she felt someone watching her. She looked up to see Pearce eyeing her closely, hand propped under his chin.
“How old are you?”
Molly continued wiping down the counter. “Nineteen.”
A wide smile broke across his mouth; it looked painful. “How young, how innocent.”
She laughed. “I’m not that young or innocent.” Her eyes darted to Tensley, who wasn’t watching either of them.
“Tensley,” Pearce said. Tensley looked up, face void of any emotion. “I recall you stating that petite, young blondes weren’t your type.”
Molly bit the inside of her mouth. What?
Tensley leaned against the chair, papers in hand. During the entire conversation, he had been in his own little world, scanning his work, but now his eyes hovered over her. God, his eyes were taking her in, taking his time savouring every inch. “They aren’t,” he said, indifferent. It sent shivers across her skin and she dug her nails into her palm.
“Well, how convenient. Guess what, Molly?” he said as if he was about to reveal a great secret. He put his hand to the side of his mouth as if only Molly was supposed to hear, but then said in a much too loud voice, “They’re my type.” He chuckled loudly, “Of course, only if you allow it.”
Her heart skipped faster and she watched as Tensley’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed.
“She’s off limits,” he stated clearly.
Pearce lifted his hands in surrender. “I know, I know, man. Calm down.” He cleared his throat. “There’s a party tomorrow night at Dez’s. Catching up with old friends, making new ones. You interested?”
Tensley didn’t look up. “No.”
Molly didn’t want to stay any longer now as Tensley’s aloofness ate at her and Pearce’s arrogance pinched a nerve.
She felt both their eyes on her as she threw her purse over her shoulder in the living room and straightened her skirt.
“You leaving?” Tensley’s solid voice made her pause.
“I work at eight,” she snapped and squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t let him get to you.
“Bye fiancée!” Pearce called as she slammed the door. “By the way, I added my number to your phone.”
Molly glared at the door but continued onward, not wanting to stay any longer than she needed to. “Not his type?” She seethed in the front lobby and out on the street. She walked fast, her high heels clacking on the sidewalk, the summer air cooler in the morning. Fall was coming faster and faster each day.
A coat draped over her goose bump-covered arms and she jumped. “Holy sh—”
Tensley strolled beside her, hands in his pockets and staring straight ahead. “You need to wear a jacket,” he explained. “Those museums crank the AC too high.”
“Um…thanks.” His suddenness made her anger freeze, but not disappear. His mood swings are giving me whiplash.
When they stopped at a street corner, she looked over at him. “Why are you friends with that guy?”
“Who? Pearce?”
“Yeah.” They waited at a stoplight.
“Because our parents were friends growing up, mostly,” Tensley said, motioning for Molly to go first when they could cross. “Definitely not someone I would’ve chosen on my own—he’s a bit crazy.”
“Crazy? Like bad crazy?” she said, stopping—they were already in front of the museum, and she was pretty sure Mr. Cho had just passed them to go inside.
“Just stay out of his way. I’m gonna try to move him to my parent’s house,” Tensley said, eyes sharp as he stared at the whizzing traffic.
His phone buzzed, and he glared at the screen before ignoring the call.
“Do you feel okay today?” Molly asked, more harshly than she intended.
“What do you mean?”
She stared at the people already lining up to purchase their tickets for the museum. “I want to make sure you’re getting enough energy from me. I don’t want you to get sick.”
“Oh.” Tensley’s phone buzzed again and he shoved it in his pocket. “You’re taking good care of me, Molly. No worries there.”
“I’ve gotta go in now,” she said when another one of her bosses climbed the granite steps near them, glancing at her in recognition several times. “See you tonight? And here’s your jacket—”
Tensley backed up. “Keep it. I’ll see you at eight p.m. on the dot.”
With that he vanished into the sea of New Yorkers, leaving Molly to breathe in the cologne-and-musk scent of him as she pulled his suit jacket more tightly around her.
THE DARK SUBSTANCE in the mug on the boardroom desk in front of Tensley looked more like sludge from the sewer than coffee. Tensley leaned back in his seat and eyed each of the bastards from the Boston counterpart to Scorpios: Ares.
One of them had the audacity to smirk at him, but it immediately faded when Tensley briefly bared his teeth. That’s better, Tensley growled to hi
mself.
He couldn’t stop feeling guilty for how he’d treated Molly earlier, but his damn stress had eaten at his nerves and he’d lashed out. Like always.
He wanted to punch something. He needed to punch something.
Tensley’s gaze found the fucker who’d tried to stare him down earlier. Yeah, that dick’s face would do just fine.
His name was Fitz Bardot Junior, and with his polo shirt and white khakis, he looked like the ideal frat boy than a powerful leader. Polished, prepped, neat—even down to his perfectly clipped nails. Fitz Junior smiled, his teeth too white against his tanned skin. Perhaps to offset his douche-like appearance, the demon wore a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses Tensley normally only saw on hipsters smoking outside New York City cafés.
Tensley had done his research on Fitz Junior: a Harvard graduate, first in his year, and a squeaky clean record in the High Court. He followed the rules, paid his debts, and wasn’t too eager to take over Ares. Tensley couldn’t imagine that the boy knew the slick sensation of another’s blood pooled in his palms; he looked like he’d rather let others do the dirty work so he wouldn’t miss his sacred Sunday morning brunches at the golf club.
It was just another reason why Scorpios—and Tensley—wanted to merge with Ares. There was no way this douchebag-nerd could run his group effectively; Tensley was more than experienced enough to handle both.
Evelyn sat beside Tensley, her heeled foot skimming his thigh every so often. He wasn’t sure whether the sensation it drew in his gut was disgust, desire, or both.
“No,” Fitz Senior drawled in a thick Boston accent. His shock of white hair and eye patch were a rare combination, and Tensley still remembered how the old man had lost his eye—the Hunters of Orion had stabbed him square in one iris and spat in the other. Fitz Senior wasn’t any softie, either; he was a demon who popped caps in his men’s asses for fun. The difference between father and son couldn’t possibly have been any greater.
Tensley hadn’t missed the way Senior wiped his black leather gloves on the oak desk, leaving a slight stain of red—blood, most likely a stray bit of evidence from the Ares’ last torture session before the Scorpios had arrived.
