by Violet Blaze
Dead. Cold. Buried in ice.
And resuscitated.
Brought back to life.
“I suppose it's more poetic when the psychopath stays a psychopath at the end of the book, you know? Like she loves his monster so much that she can suffer through anything?”
“So, her love is unrequited?” I ask as I shove driftwood into the fire pit next to us and kneel down in the sand, pulling a lighter from my pocket. I might not smoke, but all my brothers do, so I carry one around. Besides, there are things other than cigarettes that sometimes need lighting up—and I'm not talking about beach bonfires.
“It … yeah, I guess it is, but it's not because he doesn't want to love her. It's because he can't. Psychopaths have a … like a mental dysfunction. So, no matter what, he just can't love her. It's physically impossible for his brain to function like that.”
Whoever used this pit last left a stack of dry wood under a small tarp, along with a bottle of lighter fluid. Frustrating, perhaps, for the park service but awfully convenient for us. The pit roars to life with a rush of heat as I lean back and glance over my shoulder at Serenity. She's staring at me like there's something worth looking at. I suppose I'm an attractive man. I've never given a fuck before this moment. Now, I'm glad. If Serenity likes looking at me, then I've done something right.
“What sort of strange book are you writing, Ren?” I ask as I rise to my feet and brush the sand from my knees.
“It's based on us only … you know, it's not because Saint, I hate to tell you this, but even your alter ego, Glacier, isn't a psychopath.” I turn to look at her, warmth suffusing my chest, my heart beating a rapid thumping pulse that I can feel without even trying. It's just there, this wild beating. I'll have to learn to get used to it. “I knew it all along.”
“You and only you,” I say as my eyes get heavy and half-lidded, looking down at Serenity as she sits perched on the edge of a log, washed and battered smooth by the sand, sun, and sea. Her red streaked blonde hair billows around her face, whipping wildly as she reaches up and scoops some of it away from her lips. It's sunny out now, but just barely, clouds passing across the sun every few seconds, casting shadows across Serenity's glorious face. And her eyes … as blue as the sea today. Better, bluer, rich and rife with emotion. I might never feel things at that level, but … no. No, that's not true at all. I should've known by the intensity of my reaction to Serenity that there was something there. What I feel for her, I would kill the world to protect.
“I knew it,” she says again as she looks back at me and smiles, glancing down at her ring with a twitch of lips. I come to sit next to her, reaching down and taking her hand, running my thumb across the piece of jewelry.
“Some men,” I say mildly, casually, but with this underlying urgency that disturbs even me, “use this circle as a band to bind and trap, to claim and mark.” Serenity looks at the ring, at the glimmering sapphire jewel in the center, the tiny diamonds surrounding it. “But if you want to take it off and throw it in the sea, I don't mind. I was purposeless until you hunted me.” Serenity's mouth curves back into a smile. “Until you caught me.”
“You let me catch you,” she says which I suppose is true.
“So I did.” She curls her finger around mine and rubs her thumb against my painted skin. “But all this ring is … is just that. It's a piece of jewelry. I won't fucking trap you. Serenity, you lead, and I'll follow. Take the leash to my beast and drag me along for the ride. I'll never be your prince, but I'd murder the world.”
“You really have no idea how romantic you are, do you?”
“If what I say is romance, then at least you have the benefit of knowing I'm not bullshitting you. I don't try; I'm just telling you the fucking truth.”
“So … you're the beast and I'm the beauty, huh?” she asks and my mouth curves into a smile at one edge. It's a sharp smile, probably cold and hard as ice, but it's real enough.
“You're the beast tamer,” I tell her, glancing over at the ocean, at the sparkle of the sun on the white capped waves. “His keeper.”
“Even if I decide to turn our story into a book? I mean, sort of. In my book, the guy's heart will not warm; it'll stay cold as ice.” Serenity rubs her thumb across one of my black painted fingernails and I pull my attention back to her face. “Or maybe not? Maybe the world has enough tragedy in it? What right do I have to introduce a story without a happy ending?”
“You have every right to do whatever you want,” I tell her, my voice as cool as the wind off the sea—on the surface anyway. Underneath, it's brimming with affection for this girl.
“Then I guess I'll just start writing it and see where it takes me. If I can't predict the ending then maybe the reader won't be able to either?” Serenity pauses and gives me an almost coy sort of a look. “You won't mind if I write it really dirty, will you? Because I think I want it to be … filthy as fuck.”
“Filthy,” I say as I lean forward and take her mouth with mine, slide my tongue between her lips, feel this possessive urge wash over me. I won't subjugate or subdue this girl, but … she was right. I was meant to be hers; she was meant to be mine. “As fuck.”
“Take me home, Saint,” she whispers against my mouth, “and give me my wedding night.”
My mouth curls up in an uncharacteristically naughty smirk, a real one.
“My,” I whisper back, claiming her lips with my own, “pleasure.”
The ride back from the beach is about as close to heaven as life ever gets … barring what happens in the bedroom later, of course. The sun shimmers on the waves, winking at me until we turn inland and leave it behind for swaths of green and brown forest, the wind whipping my jacket against my body, the icy cold breeze stinging my legs through my jeans.
My breath comes in sharp gasps as we take corners in smooth, sweeping motions, like a flock of birds. Well, okay, like a pair of mated birds or something. The whole experience makes me almost get the pull of the MC. It must be like magic to ride with a large group of like-minded people.
Glacier … Saint … my husband and I pull into the garage together, side by side, and I park my bagger with a sudden rush of breath, fogging up the inside of my helmet as emotions hit me like a freight train.
I'm seventeen. I'm married. To Saint.
I yank off the helmet and glance over at him, his blonde hair ruffled and mussed from his own helmet, his arms bare and pebbled with goose bumps from the windchill.
I am fucking married to this guy.
And I just asked him to give me my wedding night.
I almost blush, but that's not really my thing, so I stand up and slide off the bike, giving it a fond pat.
“This is … our bike now?” I ask because I have no idea where it came from. Well, I mean, I figure it came from the dealership on the compound, but did he buy it? For me?
“Think of it as a wedding present,” Glacier says, and I get these … chills all over. Good ones. Fucking awesome ones. A biker just got me a bike as a wedding present. Doesn't seem like that big of a deal, but it is. It's huge. Monumental. He's risking everything for me, putting himself on the line for this. It's a goddamn gargantuan fucking deal. “For road trips.”
“Road trips?” I ask as Saint turns to look at me, the piercings in his face reflecting back ambient light from the sun. It spills in through the window to my right, through the open garage door on my left, and it highlights the snakebite piercings on either side of his lip, the rows of silver rings in his ears. The sun even manages to shine up his tattoos, making all of that brightly colored ink pop out at me. And then, it hits the ring on his left hand, the silver wedding band that I kind of don't give a crap about … and kind of give a lot of craps about.
Our marriage is … club sanctioned, almost required, but it doesn't feel like a farce or a sham. Glacier and I were meant to be together. Yeah, it's happening a lot quicker than maybe it should've, but if this is the compromise we have to make to stay together, then it's really not that big of
a deal. And even though I'm not really a fan of the whole taking-the-man's-last-name bit, I figured it was kind of a choice between being branded with my dad's last name … or with Saint's mother's last name.
Maybe it was a tad impetuous, but … I chose Saint's mother's name. Nordin. That's what I put down on the form as my married name, Serenity Nordin. I figure I can always change it later.
“I'll take you wherever you want to go,” he says and then presses the button to close the garage door. There's something about that simple motion, this cutting off from the world around us, that turns my body liquid, makes my heart race, heats up the swollen spot between my thighs.
“See,” I say, standing tall and straight as Saint walks over to me, “you're being romantic again.”
“If you don't like it,” he says, pushing hair back over my shoulder, leaning down to bite my earlobe. I can feel his piercings against my skin, the metal warm from his own heat. “Just let me know and we can try something different. If you want to fuck the monster on your wedding night, the beast … the man.”
“My husband?” I inquire, and holy shit but do those words feel weird rolling across my tongue. It'll probably get even weirder when my suspension is up on Friday, and I start school again on Monday. God. But at least I can ride my bike to the high school and not worry about Nevaeh Burkhardt laying her hands on it again. In fact, I'm guessing she'll probably leave me alone from now on. In a strange twist of fate, I happened to break her nose in our fight, just like Glacier broke my dad's nose during their fight on the compound. How fucking coincidental is that? Maybe it's fate.
“Your husband,” Glacier purrs and then he's stepping close and unzipping my jacket with this achingly tender slowness, pushing it down and off my shoulders and letting it fall to the cement floor. The leather hits the ground with a soft hiss, the zipper clinking against the pavement.
He drops his mouth to mine again, kissing me with the taste of cool mint and the scent of pine. His fingers when he lifts them to my arm are almost disturbingly gentle. I search for tension hiding behind his touch, the monster crouching in wait and ready to spring … but I don't feel anything else. Just this. Just his thumbs rubbing the bare skin of my arm, burning sharp swirls of ember into my flesh.
Glacier kisses me like he has all the time in the world, his tongue tracing my teeth, my own tongue, my lips. He kisses down the side of my jaw and breathes hot against my ear, nibbles my lobe, moves down to my neck. I'm practically falling apart by the time he reaches down and takes hold of my t-shirt, tearing it over my head and tossing it back, onto the seat of my new bike.
I'm panting when he takes my hand and pulls me inside, past the now black walls of the living room and the sea of art that climbs straight up to the ceiling, taking up every inch of available space. Officially, I've been living here for two nights and already, I've managed to turn this place into something else entirely. If it bothers Glacier, he doesn't let on.
He takes me into … our room, and closes the door.
“God help the man who bothers us today,” he says, and I get the chills again.
“Glacier,” I start, but I'm seriously fucking embarrassed as hell. Right. He blindfolds me, ties me up, fucks me in the ass and now I start getting embarrassed? “I have a … sort of wedding present for you, too.”
He raises a blonde brow at me and then shrugs out of his cut, laying it across the top of the mirrored dresser as I scramble around inside my messenger bag and pull out a black tote with gold writing on it, skirting around stacks of boxes as I make my way back to the bedroom door.
“Just … wait one second, okay?”
I slip out and into the house's only bathroom, closing the door softly and then wondering if I should lock it. But no. If he comes in here then … well, it is my wedding night. Or day. Or whatever.
I breathe out to calm my nerves and unpack the stupid bag onto the bathroom counter.
“Fucking Rayna,” I curse as I drop some lingerie and … stuff into the sink and stare at it. After Glacier left yesterday, Rayna painted for all of two hours and then lied and told the boys she was taking Aletha and me to the store for snacks. We ended up making an early trip to the damn sex shop and she blew through like two hundred bucks buying me 'wedding gifts'. Guess since she still lives with her dad, she doesn't have to pay rent and has extra money to burn.
So. Here I am. With my wedding gifts staring me straight in the face.
I pick up the box of edible underwear and sigh.
Maybe … I can save this stuff for later?
I grab the lingerie—just a frilly pair of red panties … with no crotch, and a matching bra. I also grabbed a garter belt and some stockings I already had and shoved them in the bag with some heels last night before Glacier got home. I might only be seventeen, but everyone has fantasies, right? I want to feel sexy. Not just for him, but for me, too.
Another deep breath to maintain my composure as I slip out of my clothes and into the lingerie, stepping into the red heels just a split second before he opens the door and I glance up sharply to meet his blue eyes.
“Saint,” I say as he pauses, gaze raking over me from head to toe, firing up this electric heat between us that makes my hands tremble with adrenaline as I drop my foot to the floor and smooth them down the front of the garter belt.
“Serenity,” he replies, and then he's slipping into the room and using his back to close the door. “What is all of this?” he asks as he glances over and finds the fucking edible panties that Rayna made me buy. He gazes at them and then flicks a smirk in my direction. “What a naughty wife I must have.”
“Yeah, well, I figure if I'm going to be a romance novelist, I should maybe learn some things.”
“And this?” Saint asks, picking up a pink vibrator.
I sigh and reach out to snatch it from his hand.
“This is not for you. This is for me when you're not around or if I just feel like being alone.”
“Oh? Damn. I thought you were going to let me watch you use it.”
I smack him in the arm with the vibrator and he plucks it deftly from my fingers, running his own down the smooth, curved length of it in his hand. Unfortunately, after we bought it, Rayna made me open the box and put batteries in it so … when Glacier turns the knob on the bottom with his thumb, it purrs to life.
“Well, fuck,” he says as I suck in a sharp breath, “now we just have to use this.”
He pauses for a minute, grabs a bottle of flavored lube—and those damn panties—and retreats back to the bedroom.
The bastard's lit the candle on the nightstand and drawn all the shades, turning my body to jelly when he reaches a hand over his shoulder and yanks his shirt up and off, tossing it aside. My breath catches all over again, and I'm left to lean against the wall in my high heels, eyes tracing the dark sweep of wings down his back, the detail so fine it looks like they should spread open at any minute. Maybe he could stretch them wide, curl them around me, hold me in their dark embrace?
“Holy shit.”
I move forward across the old wood floor, past the plush white rug I plopped onto the floor at the foot of the bed and watch as Saint removes his boots and socks, unbuttons his jeans. When he peels them off, I stare mesmerized at the rock-hard muscles in his ass, the way the black wings dip down across them.
“Is there a story to those?” I ask, still completely breathless. “The wings, I mean?”
He glances over his shoulder at me, all cold hell and no bullshit, his blonde hair a strange beatific beauty against all those piercings and tattoos. They wrap his neck like a scarf as he runs his fingers across them in thought.
“Not the wings in particular, no. But the tattoos, all of them, they are a story.” Glacier turns to face me, the vibrator still held in his inked fingers. It should be kind of funny, but it's not because he's nude and huge and muscular and hot as hellfire. And hard, too.
I lick my lips and drag my eyes back to his face.
“They make up a
shield.”
“To protect you?” I ask, taking a small step forward.
“To protect the world from me,” he says, moving towards me, sweeping an arm around my waist and pulling me to him. We kiss again—for a monster he really seems to like kissing—and then he's tossing me onto the bed, laughter spilling from my throat in a rush of excitement, dying away in a sea of lust when he positions himself between my thighs. “Any particular requests?” he whispers against my ear. “From your husband.”
“Make me feel good,” I whisper back, and then he's positioning himself at my wet heat, using the crotchless opening in my panties to thrust inside, making me gasp with the sharp invasion of his body inside of mine.
“To keep the beast at bay,” he growls into my ear, and then he fucks me hard, bringing up stars behind my lids, pricking the edges of my eyes with tears. It feels … so good. Too good. I want more, more, more, more of this. My fingers come up, nails digging into the wings on Saint's back as he drives into me, his naked body covering my lingerie clad one. The hair on his body is so thin and blonde that he feels almost as smooth as I do. I rub my calves against his, curl them around his body and lock my ankles.
I make myself take these deep, shuddering breaths, trying to open up, make room for him inside. It's hard though, with the heavy weight of his body covering me, crushing me, grinding my pelvis into the mattress. It's also one of the most intoxicating feelings in the world, being underneath him like this.
Glacier comes inside of me with a sharp, wicked sound, biting down on my shoulder and making me groan in ecstasy. When he pulls back, that groan changes to one of desperation, my body already craving more of his.
“Now,” he says as he grabs the discarded pink vibrator from its position next to us. He hands it to me. “Show me how you like it.”
And god. Goddamn if that isn't one of the sexiest things I've ever heard.
I take the vibrator from his fingers and put it to my already throbbing clit, turning the knob and arching my back with a sharp gasp when pleasure shoots through me. The sensation is almost too much, and I have to pull it back for a minute, close my eyes and lean my head into the pillows.
