Now that I’m experiencing a worst version firsthand, seeing my female being touched, caressed, licked and fucked by another?
Raw might be too tame a word for how injured I am inside.
“I never really stopped to think about what you’re going through,” I admit after a while. “I guess I was too busy running from the idea of my own death to fully acknowledge the true apocalypse—you—waiting to go off.”
“Hah, hah,” he drawls.
“And, seriously, now that I get what you feel for your human, it just doesn’t feel right leaving you like this much longer.”
His expression turns serious as he studies me. “What’s it like when the visions hit? Seriously.”
“Zex, I’m not fucking hitting you with that image. Don’t ask.”
A rough breath leaves him and he moves restlessly on that chair. “You think I don’t spend enough time imagining it already?”
“Oh, I know you do—”
“It’s all I think about, Ian. Other than missing the shit out of her and trying to make sense of how the fuck I fell so far into Maivera’s illusions, it’s all that plays on my mind.” He yanks a hand through that long-ass, dark brown hair. “There are moments where I hope she survived as long as possible . . . and yet most of the time all I can do is fucking pray her suffering was over quickly.”
Gods. At the thought of that being Sol, of knowing I’d destroyed her mortal life, of my having to pray her death wasn’t prolonged . . . “Like I said, bro. I’m officially on this shit and I dare you to naysay my ass.”
He chuckles lightly. “We both know my best bet is the Watcher, and she refuses to show herself before me. On top of the fact she’s managed to pull off the best obstruction job in all of history.” His jaw tightens at that.
Reminded of Vedlyl’s slip, I decide to give it a try . . . “You know, I’m not so sure she’s the one responsible.” The shock of that sentence leaving my mouth unimpeded must show on my face.
He’s at the edge of that seat in a flash, drilling into me with his stare. “What do you mean? And why do you look like you’ve been smacked?”
Still disbelieving, I try again. “Zex, I’m going to tell you something about the Watcher, but it might not be that simple.” Once more, that pressure that used to silence me seems to be missing. But how far can I push it?
“Ianthen, if you know something—”
“That’s the point, Zex. We all know something. A lot of something. And we haven’t been able to fucking tell you all this time.” Fucking hell, did the words actually come out?
They did. Zex’s creepy stillness on that chair speaks volumes. “Go on.”
“There’s been some great cosmic force stopping us from telling you things about her, but it goes both ways.”
“You’re saying that . . .”
“Information about you doesn’t flow in her direction either, buddy. Not that we think she’s looking for it, but we’ve all reported the blockage to each other, so I know it isn’t just affecting what I say to you.”
Eyes flashing as the wheels spin in his head, he says, “Tell me what she looks like.”
I try, mouth opening.
Nothing.
Shit, it’s back?
Zexistr deflates back on that chair, teeth grinding hard enough I can see his jaw working. “You can’t, can you?”
No. But maybe there’s another way. Cautiously, I part my lips again. “There’s this human girl Soleria hired as her new waitress a few weeks ago. We suspect she has something to do with Nylicia.”
“Why?”
“Because hair color and eye color aside, her resemblance to the Watcher is fucking creepy.”
That eerie stillness falls over him again, a predator with his long-hunted prey in sight. Even his eyes enlarge as his inner wolf latches onto the possibility. “I can look upon her. Finally crack open one part of the mystery . . . except I can’t leave your side unless it’s to go for Vedlyl in Enzyria.”
“And I can’t fucking leave this dimension and leave Sol alone with everything that’s going on.” Cursing viciously under my breath, I turn away from him, too ashamed to look him in the eye now that I’ve dangled that possibility before him.
“Don’t sweat it, bro. I wouldn’t leave my female’s side either, not even for you annoying fucks.”
I know he means his brothers, and I’m momentarily floored to be counted among them.
This fucking annoying asshole is as lovable as his annoying younger brother.
Not that I’ll ever admit that to him aloud.
“You sure as fuck understand the mated male mind too well, considering you aren’t one.”
Another derisive sound. “Ianthen, understand this. My body might not be, but that shit’s deep in my soul. So yeah, you’re damn right I get it.”
Throwing off the covers, I flash to my feet. “Let’s get this shit straightened out enough that I can spare half-hour away from my female. Then we’re heading straight for her restaurant.”
Chapter 36
SOLERIA
T he futuristic world outside has been one hell of a surprise. If anyone told me that North Eren looks like a twenty-sixth-century version of Earth’s best and most beautiful cities combined?
Well, I would’ve told them to go fruck themselves for trying to mess with me, that’s what.
I have no idea what I expected the land of the mind Erencei to look like, but this isn’t it. My inner geek keeps having orgasms. It’s a miracle I’m not squirting down my thighs.
What? Architecture is sexy. Technology even more so.
This place? The epitome of all that.
Eve’s inner geek would be freaking out, too, but the lucky whore is actually getting real orgasms now. She probably doesn’t have time to pay attention to anything outside of her red-haired god and his tattoo-like markings—the same god who is, for all intents and purposes, my great-uncle-times-fifteen-thousand.
Ew, I have to stop thinking that shit. Like now.
Then again, it’s been years since I’ve gotten laid, so it kinda makes sense that my sexual musings have started to degrade into the lowest of the low.
Lies. There’s been sex. As in: S.E.X.
Nope. Not true. What happened a week-in-a-half ago doesn’t count. My brain and clit may be refusing to accept that little tidbit, but I know better.
He wasn’t even able to fit it all the way in.
So there. It doesn’t count.
Never mind that I had enough orgasms to revile anything I’ll ever experience again.
Damn it. No. It doesn’t freaking count, and I’m done thinking about it.
More lies.
I walk down the pounding club’s hallway, feeling like the memories of that night are chasing me. Right on my ass. Breathing down my damn neck like he did that ni—
No, no, no, and no!
I’m here to party, to have a good time. To go The Hangover on everything and anything before the responsibility of being a queen is slammed onto my head.
And having a good time is dependent on ignoring those memories.
Besides, no matter how hot that night was, it all ended just as I expected it would.
No, worse. I might have expected another female to come into the picture eventually, but not fucking minutes afterwards.
There’s one consolation; my juices were still all over his dick when he went to give it to his other little slut.
And one day, I’ll stop lying to myself about that. Because that shit isn’t a consolation. It’s more kindling for an already raging inferno of fury.
I push aside the black curtain blocking the private entrance from the club.
Techno-fucking-mania.
And is that—no way. Are they really playing Enrique Iglesias’s Dirty Dancer?
It’s the album version!
I’m frucking in love.
I’m out on that black, electric dance floor in a flash. The flashing lights dance along the tops of my leather-covered thighs. Beneath my b
oots, sparks of energy bounce inside the floor in time with the music.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Eve, hands in her hair, and hips moving to the beat.
Zeniel has all but wrapped himself around her. His large hands hold her ass as he brings her flush against his groin. Eve smiles at him, latching onto his hair, and fucking up his ponytail as she brings him to her mouth.
Holy mouth-fuck-and-dry-hump-combined.
Swallowing, I look away—and end up with an eyeful of Ismini being mounted inside one of the corner booths. Dyletri is between her legs, dry-fucking the breath out of her, and he’s starting to glow so hard I’m tempted to volunteer him for disco ball duty.
How the hell is it that my formerly-virginal friends ended up with sexy gods to fuck the life out of them whenever they need, while I, who am more than half-a-decade older and once had a pretty active sex life, am cockless?
Oh, right. Because they’re all mated to each other.
If he had just . . .
What the flying fruck is wrong with my brain? Is it purposely trying to ruin my night? That motherfucker is lucky he didn’t mate to me.
And if he ever does?
Thinking about what I’ll do to Ianthen if he ends up mated to me makes me feel a twinge of pity. Just a twinge. Not enough to stop me from causing him pain, though. Because I’ll never forgive him, never forget what he did and what I saw, which means he’ll be trapped in the mating, suffering for me.
That’s why you blew up an entire mountain to get him out of that place. Right.
I didn’t blow it up.
Merely awoke a dormant volcano and caused its eruption.
Fucking hormones.
That’s it. I’ve been given an entire world of immortals to choose from. It’s a delicious, mouthwatering smorgasbord, actually. Erenceis, Vy’shis, and Sesengts galore. It’s time I get my world rocked by one of those well-endowed fuckers. After all, I’m only looking for a dildo with a body attached, and immortal men are notoriously horny.
I need to get laid—for real this time—with wall-banging, furniture-breaking intensity.
Maybe then I’ll be able to forget that motherfucker and how he felt.
Smelled.
Sounded.
Tasted.
Damn it!
I materialize in front of the bar, grab a huge bottle that was meant for a black-haired mind Erencei, and chug that entire shit down in one shot.
When it’s gone, I see Dimithinia out on the dance floor, in tight jeans, a black open sweater, and a belly shirt underneath.
All very sexy, especially considering that she’s dancing like something straight out of a Shakira video.
Then again, Ritrio apparently inspired both Indian and Egyptian culture alike.
But what the hell is up with the sweater? Isn’t she hot?
Oh, she’s hot all right.
If I did swing that way, I’d violate Dimi right in front of Crius. Snickering at the thought, I place my bottle on the bar and motion for the bartender to bring me another one.
The mind demon I took the first one from leans against the bar, his white-and-black eyes amused. He’s sexy. Really sexy. And he has intricate white and black markings trailing down his cheeks and onto his neck. He has the prominent cheekbones, too.
Apparently, I have an affinity for beings that are close to my ancestral species. They’re a sexy lot. Myself included.
I would pay him more attention, but my second bottle of whatever-the-hell-it-is has arrived, and I move on to searching out Crius. Searching and praying that he’s seeing this.
Yup. That’s right. I’m officially team make-Crius-suffer.
He’s sitting next to Hades in one of the booths lining the dancefloor. The male looks absolutely bitable in a pair of black leathers and a black turtleneck. There’s no way I can miss the force of his glare. It’s like a palpable energy pulsating through the room. His silver, pupilless eyes are focused on one spot and one spot only.
That’s what I call a first-class eye-fuck right there. He’s staring at Dimi with the angriest, horniest expression I’ve ever seen on a male’s face before.
The gorgeous piece of meat next to me leans closer. I turn to him, seeing his lips moving. He’s saying something, but even with my new, immortal superhearing I can’t make out what.
Damn. He really is sexy. Frightening with his white-on-black eyes, but in a totally masculine “I’ll break you in half while I fuck you” way.
Too bad his features are getting lost behind a rapidly expanding blur.
I put a hand to my forehead, trying to get some focus going. Heat rushes through me. It erupts from my stomach and spreads out. My skin flushes hot and my pulse flutters all over the place.
Holy shit. What the hell did I just drink?
My instincts careen straight into my pelvis, pulling me out onto the dance floor and into the midst of all the writhing bodies. I raise my white belly shirt higher, grab onto my hair with one hand, and lose it.
I totally freaking lose it.
The air becomes my lover, my hips gyrating as if there’s a cock under me. The music is already loud and demanding, but suddenly it’s inside me in a way I never imagined.
As Enrique and Usher sing about doing it right, I dive my other hand into my hair, holding on and rotating this way and that as the music fucks me on the dance floor, in front of everyone.
A huge mass of muscles appears behind me and I bump into it, my ass colliding with something so good.
Something familiar.
Too familiar.
The scent I catch is even worse. It wraps around me like a pheromone-drenched blanket. An insane rush of arousal overwhelms me. I bite into my bottom lip and feel blood hit my tongue.
A low growl trembles around the shell of my ear and nearly takes my feet out from under me.
I gasp, grasping desperately at the part of my brain responsible for muscle command and screaming at myself to move the fuck away.
I don’t get the chance.
A hand latches onto my hip. A hand I know well. Just like I know the length that’s pressing into my ass, and the scent assaulting my cerebral cortex. I don’t need to look behind me. I fucking know.
Ianthen spins me around.
My heart curls into itself, like the sun preparing to implode.
Dear Lord. The way his white t-shirt stretches across his pecs not only brings back memories, it brings forth fantasies. He wore an identical shirt that night.
I still remember how he shredded it right off his body, frantic to feel me skin-to-skin.
Mouth hanging open, I stand here, horrified as I take in the sight of him. My Erencei markings singe my skin, feeling like hot brands that pulsate towards him.
I raise my eyes to his, and he looks furious. He cups my cheek, tracing my cheekbone.
Whatever it is I drank, it’s messing with me. Growing stronger. Heat rises, and I think I see red pulsing at the corners of my vision.
Ianthen draws me nearer.
Then he grabs my ass, as if he has every right to do so, and lifts me up just enough to press my mound on his cock.
I shake my head. “N-no.” No way of knowing if my protest is for him, or if it’s for my drugged-up, beyond horny body.
“Yes.” His eyes are enlarged, his pupils, irises, and rims expanding dangerously. He caresses my mouth with his thumb, and I catch sight of an inch-wide row of—
Are those staples? What the hell? It looks like he has a neatly stapled row of glowing chips that begins at his inner elbow and ends at his wrist.
They’re on his other arm as well.
Come to think of it, where are those weird cuffs he was wearing before?
He yanks me closer, and I find myself chest-to-chest with him. My pussy is getting too good of a feel at what he’s packing.
God, is he packing. I remember that cock.
And my now-immortal twat, that fucking traitor, throbs, begging to be fed.
“Let me g
o,” I whisper, knowing that there’s no way I’ll be able to pull away from him.
Ian bends my upper body backwards, enough to gain full control over me. “No. You want to dance? Use me.” He thrusts into me to the beat of the music, as if to prove his point. Then, he moves his mouth to my ear, breathing hard. “And if you want to fuck, you use me. Gods, baby. You use me. Only me.”
I open my mouth—to tell him off, I’m sure—when he fills it with his tongue, feeding me a dose of that taste of his that drives me mad.
I lose all control as an orgasm rips through me, making me writhe desperately on his thigh.
Just at the taste of him.
Exactly as it happened the last time.
Coming hard, crying out into our kiss, I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his hips, climbing him like a tree.
Moaning desperately into my mouth, he grabs my ass, grinding hard. Kissing me like some sort of savage.
We’re in plain view of everyone, yet I don’t care. Writhing on him, I rub my pussy all over that cock, wanting it.
Needing it.
“Fuck. That’s it, baby,” he groans, kissing me deeper. Wetter. “Take what you need. Take all of me.” He squeezes my ass with all his strength.
All his immortal strength.
He doesn’t have to hold back anymore.
Whimpering, I nurse on his bottom lip, licking and sucking it. It isn’t lost on me that we’re practically hugging, clinging to each other as our bodies strain with need.
His fingers splay around my ass, sinking into a harsher grip. “You want it, baby?” His cock throbs against me, his fangs grazing my lips.
Wait . . . fangs?
I pull back, enough to look down at his face, his expression tight with hunger. The tips of his canines peek through his parted, wet lips.
That didn’t happen last time, but fuck he looks amazing. So hot.
Cupping his chin, I lean back in to kiss him, rubbing myself up on him.
He yanks me in harder. “You want this cock, baby?”
Clambering against him, I nod breathlessly, panting against his lips. “Your cock. Your tongue. Please, Ian—”
The world around us vanishes. Air roars in my ears. The scenery changes in a whirl of color.
Blood Drenched Conquest (Ryze Book 3) Page 31
