Darkness Bound: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Witch's Rebels Book 2)

by Sarah Piper

  Swallowing the very last of my wounded pride, I wound up and took a swing.

  He dodged easily, surprising no one.

  We’d been at it an hour already, trampling the lush backyard as I chased him in circles in the fading evening light. He’d kept his hands behind him the whole time, and I’d yet to land a single punch.

  My knuckles brushed across his bicep once. That was the closest I’d gotten to inflicting any damage.

  “Come on, Cupcake. You’re acting like you don’t want to hit me, and we all know that can’t be true.”

  I rolled my eyes. I could think of nothing more satisfying than knocking that smug grin off his stupid face.

  “It’s not for lack of trying,” I said.

  “If you get into a situation with this hunter again—or another Hollis or Weston or any number of underworld assholes salivating for a chance to kill you—trying isn’t gonna cut it.” He whipped off his shirt and tossed it into the grass, then clapped once and gestured for me to come at him again. “Don’t hold back, baby.”

  “What do you have against shirts?”

  I waited for the smartassery, the innuendo, the flirty teasing that had become our comfortable norm. But it never came.

  Asher’s face twisted with annoyance that bordered on disdain. “Stop screwing around, Gray. This is important. I need you to focus.”

  He closed his eyes again, his arms loose at his sides, and I lunged at him, truly believing I had the element of surprise this time.

  Me and my brilliant delusions.

  He sidestepped, and I stumbled, the momentum of my ill-timed swing carrying me forward. I stopped myself from face-planting, then regained my balance and spun around on my heel, throwing my hands in front of my face just in time to block his hit.

  Barely.

  “I had a feeling you’d come in for the kill,” I said.

  “Always a good assumption in a fight, especially if it looks like you’re about to go down. Your opponent will always look for weaknesses to exploit. Mistakes to take advantage of.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Asher wiped the back of his hand across his brow. “That was better, but still not good. Not by a long shot.”

  “A long shot? I totally blocked you!”

  “I wasn’t even trying, Gray.” He turned his back on me, walking out to the middle of the yard. When he turned to face me again, he waved me forward. “Bring it.”

  Determined not to let him get any deeper under my skin than he already was, I steadied myself, taking a deep, centering breath.

  Then I charged.

  Leading with my shoulder, I ran straight for him, slamming into his gut in a collision as painful as it was satisfying. The impact jarred my bones, but Asher showed no more reaction than if he’d been hit with a stiff breeze.

  Locking a meaty hand around my wrist, he said, “Is that your best shot, Cupcake?”

  “Nope.” I didn’t hesitate. Grabbing his hand and holding it against my wrist, I swung his arm up and around, twisting it behind him and forcing him to the ground. It was a move Ronan had taught me, and I was surprised at how effective it was against Ash.

  My victory, however, was short-lived.

  Jerking me forward, he broke my hold and got to his feet, grabbing me and crushing me against his chest, locking his arms around me in an impossibly tight embrace.

  “Looks like you’re all out of moves, witch,” he said. “So what happens now?”

  Arms pinned to my sides, I lifted my head and met his eyes, our mouths so close I could feel the soft, seductive heat of his breath whispering across my lips.

  My body released a sigh, totally without my permission, and his pupils dilated, his lips quirking into that bad-boy grin I loved to hate.

  “You tell me,” I said.

  Ash’s gaze lowered to my mouth, lingering, his hold around me tightening. Every soft curve of my body molded against every hard plane of his, our skin hot and sticky despite the rapidly cooling temperature.

  A low rumble reverberated through his chest, so soft I wasn’t sure he even realized he was doing it. I closed my eyes, swooning a bit on my feet. My heart thudded hard, my breath jagged and uneven, and if Asher had tried to kiss me right then I wouldn’t have done a damn thing to stop him.

  I bit my lip, and he growled again.

  “This… is a bad idea,” he whispered.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “Trust me. You haven’t.” He released me and took a step back, jogging in place and grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes as though he were trying to shake off a nightmare.

  When I met his eyes again, all traces of desire were gone.

  “Time for a different scenario,” he said, his voice as serious as his eyes. “Close combat, surprise attack from behind.”

  He gestured for me to turn around.

  When I hesitated, he sighed and said, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  That’s not what I’m worried about, dummy.

  Blowing out a breath, I rolled my shoulders and nodded, stamping out the last flicker of heat pulsing inside me.

  The moment I turned around, Asher was on me, his arms locked across my shoulders and chest. Immediately I flailed, trying to shake him off.

  “Don’t struggle,” he said. “I’ve taken control of the situation and your body—the worst thing you could do is try to fight it. You simply need to retake control.”

  I nodded. Finally, he was going to give me some actual pointers.

  “Grab my wrists,” he said, “and then drop down into a squat.”

  I did as he asked, feeling my center of gravity shift, and his along with it.

  “Okay, good. Now let’s try it again, only this time, I want you to keep your head turned instead of facing straight. That way, the dude can’t choke you.”

  We went down again, my hands clamped around his wrists, our bodies as close as we could be without spontaneously combusting.

  “Stay crouched down,” he continued, “then you’re gonna step behind me and grab behind my thighs, right above the knees. Then lift me up and drop my ass.”

  I blinked, trying to make sense of what he just said. “Um. What?”

  “You just…” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Here, switch places.”

  I did as he asked, and he walked me through the whole thing in slow motion again, this time with me playing the aggressor. When he got to the lifting part, he picked me up as if I was no heavier than a sack of hair, then put me down on the grass, flat on my back.

  He pressed his hand flat against my stomach, his touch warm and firm and distracting.

  “You want to use your center of gravity to throw me off balance and get my feet out from under me. Once I’m on the ground, you can jam an elbow into my gut, or stake me, or do whatever the hell you need to do to buy yourself time to run.” He gave my stomach a light slap. “Got it?”

  Right. He’d made it look and sound so damn easy, I felt like a complete moron for not comprehending it.

  Not wanting to disappoint him, I nodded anyway.

  He helped me to my feet, and we switched positions, going through the motions all over again. One more time. Two more. Three. But no matter how many times I tried, I just couldn’t get the leverage I needed to get him on the ground.

  “Come on, Gray,” he said after the fourth time. Or maybe it was the fifth. I’d lost count sometime between the ouch-muscles-burning stage and holy-hell-my-quads-are-literally-jelly stage of this little exercise. “You can do this.”

  “I’m not strong enough.”

  “This maneuver isn’t about strength. It’s about smarts.”

  “Then I guess I’m not smart enough, either.” Tears of frustration stung my eyes. Ronan had worked with me a lot over the years, sparring, teaching me about monsters, helping me learn basic self-defense. I thought I’d had a pretty decent skill set—not amazing, but enough to get me out of most situations.

  Asher was making me feel as helpless as a
newborn.

  “I need a break,” I said, but Asher shook his head.

  “No breaks. Not until you can convince me you’re not going to curl up and die the next time some jackoff gets the drop on you.”

  “I’m twenty-five fucking years old, Ash. I might seem like an insignificant speck to an old-ass demon like you, but I managed to make it this far in my life without your help.”

  “Doesn’t mean you won’t bite it tomorrow.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Asher’s eyes blazed, his frustration quickly degrading into anger. “I want you to show some initiative here. I want you to give a fuck about the fact that your psycho ex is a hunter, and he’s out there terrorizing witches, working his way closer to you every day. If that little stunt in your realm didn’t make that crystal fucking clear to you,” he snapped, tapping on my forehead with his index finger, “I don’t know how else to drill it into your rock-hard skull.”

  I smacked his hand away. “Oh, I have a hard skull? Really?”

  “You’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. You’re a pain in the ass who flat out refuses to open your damn eyes and—”

  “Go to hell, Asher. I don’t need this shit.” I turned away, heading back toward the house. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

  I felt the air shift behind me and tensed for impact, but it was too late. He knocked my legs clear out from under me.

  And then the bastard let me fall.

  I hit the ground with a thud and a grunt, no gentle hands to cushion my fall this time.

  It fucking hurt.

  I blinked up at the twilight sky. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called out, and in my head, I answered him.

  Whooo-hoo are you?

  Whoo-hoo am I?

  I was too shocked to do anything else.

  Breaking into my momentary peace, Asher loomed over me, extending a hand. “Are we done throwing tantrums?”

  Tears welled up again, turning his stupid face into a blur. Ignoring his hand, I turned my face and stretched my arm across my eyes, as if that alone could hide my shame. My frustration.

  Asher wasn’t having it. He nudged my hip with his foot. “Get up, witch.”

  “No.”

  Asher cupped a hand around his ear. “What’s that? You’re giving up?”

  I was a hot mess. Sweat in my eyes, the tang of blood in my mouth, my heart about to burst from my chest.

  But somehow, the idea of letting Asher win felt even worse.

  Growling like an animal, I rolled onto my stomach and pushed myself up.

  One time. I just have to put him down one time…

  He came around behind me, putting me in the lock once again. I grabbed his wrists, dropped to a squat, and then…

  I gave up. My legs trembled. My knees screamed in protest.

  Releasing my hold, I turned to face him, defeated. “I can’t, Ash. I just can’t.”

  “God damn it!” he shouted, making me flinch. The feral glint in his eyes made the hairs on my arm stand up. “What are you playing at here, Desario?”

  “I’m not playing! I’m trying to learn how to defend myself. To fight.”

  “So defend! Offend! Fucking do something that doesn’t end with you burying your head under a blanket and crying every time things don’t go your way.”

  “That’s not fair. I’m doing my best to—”

  “If that’s your best, Cupcake, you may as well go back to the Bay tonight. Find a nice secluded spot in the warehouse district, sit out there with your little spell book and a big-ass pentacle around your neck and a neon sign that says ‘Come and get it, hunters!’”

  “You suck,” I said, tears sliding down my cheeks. I was spent. Utterly spent. My muscles were rebelling, my already-bruised ego had crossed into contusion-and-abrasion territory hours earlier, and shame was burning a hole in my stomach. I couldn’t do this. Not tonight.

  But Asher wasn’t finished.

  “His family murdered your mother, Gray. They already tried to kill you once, and this fuckface has made it his mission in life to find you. He murdered your best friend. He—”

  “Stop it! Shut up!” I shoved his chest as hard as I could. He stumbled a step backward, but this demon was just getting warmed up.

  “He’s a ruthless witch-killer,” he went on. “He’s a sadistic—”

  “I know what he is. You don’t have to be such a—”

  “Such a what, sweetheart? A dick?”

  I folded my arms over my chest, clenching my teeth so hard I thought they might shatter, and still, he kept going.

  “You think that sonofabitch is gonna be nice to you? That he’s gonna get all weepy and nostalgic and ask you to the prom?” Asher stepped into my space, crowding me, overwhelming me with his spicy-hot scent. “No, Gray. He’s gonna salivate like a fucking animal when he sees you, because that’s what he is. And you know what he’s gonna do next?”

  “Stop,” I whispered, my eyes fluttering closed, my body slowly shutting down, logic checking out. In its place, the now-familiar blackness bubbled up, filling my veins with venom. With rage. With gasoline.

  Asher was the god damn match.

  “He’s gonna carve you up,” he said, his voice low and menacing, inhuman in its abject cruelty. “He’s gonna tear you apart, limb from limb, until all that’s left of you are your shiny blond curls.”

  Asher reached for my hair, tugging on a lock that had slipped out of my ponytail.

  Hurt him, the voice inside whispered. Make him pay.

  “Fuck you!” I screamed, welcoming the fire as it licked my belly, my chest, consuming everything in its path. Instinctively I raised my hands, magic sparking across my palms, desperate for an outlet.

  A car door slammed nearby, followed by the fall of footsteps and the shouts of familiar voices, but I didn’t care who witnessed this. What they thought of me. What truths they had to face.

  At the moment, I could barely remember their names.

  The blackness surged.

  And with everything I had, I slammed my hands into Asher’s chest.

  He flew backward, landing hard on his back a dozen feet away.

  The dark magic that had so quickly risen inside me was receding, leaving an electric hum in its wake, my body vibrating and hyper-alert, hyper-aware.

  Everything came back to me all at once.

  The fighting. Asher’s words, as sharp and deadly as knives. The blackness churning inside me, taking control. Taking my power…

  No, not taking it, I realized with a start. Giving it.

  It wasn’t some separate entity taking over. It was part of me. It was me.

  “Gray! Ash!” Emilio darted across the lawn toward Asher, Ronan close on his heels, heading for me.

  “Gray?” Ronan put his hands on my shoulders, concern mingling with terror in his hazel eyes. “Are you hurt?”

  I shook my head.

  “We were sparring, and things got… heated.”

  Ronan sighed. “I know. We got here just in time to catch the last of it.”

  I glanced over toward Emilio, who was helping Asher sit up.

  “Looks like he’s gonna live,” Ronan said.

  I should’ve been relieved. Maybe some part of me—some deeply buried, still pissed-off part—was.

  But mostly, I just felt numb. The magic had faded completely, leaving me wrung out and empty.

  Blood trickled from his nose.

  I didn’t have the energy to care.

  Asher caught my gaze, his own just as fiery as it had been before I zapped him. Flashing me a bloody grin, he said, “Now we’re getting somewhere, Cupcake.”

  “Don’t talk, asshole,” Ronan snapped. Turning back to me, he took my face in his hands and said, “I’ve got some shit to do for Waldrich tonight and tomorrow, so I’ll take Asher back to the Bay, give you some space. You good here with Darius and Emilio?”

  I hated to see Ronan leave again, but he was right; I needed the space. As much as A
sher might’ve deserved it—and as much as he’d apparently enjoyed it—I never should’ve lost control like that. Especially not with someone who was trying to help me. To protect me.

  His methods sucked ass, but I still trusted him.

  Maybe that made me a fool. Jury was still out on that.

  “I’ll be fine,” I assured Ronan. “Text me later, okay?” I leaned in for a quick kiss before heading over to join Emilio, who led me to the front door with a hand on my lower back.

  His soft, gentle kindness was exactly the company I needed tonight. No pressure. No awkward sparring. No tension. Just a decent freaking guy with a killer smile and a heart the size of Nebraska—the perfect remedy for the day’s disasters.

  The last thing I heard before disappearing inside was Ronan, the eerie calm in his voice belying the rage simmering just below the surface.

  “Get in the van, hellspawn,” he said to Asher, and I knew without looking back that his eyes had turned coal black. “We’ve got some shit to discuss.”

  Fourteen

  GRAY

  The shower wasn’t quite hot enough to wash all my sins away, but it did get rid of the dirt and the blood, and most of my residual anger. Asher’s words may have been unnecessarily brutal, but he’d been right about one thing: crying under the blankets was not a winning strategy, especially now that Jonathan had the power to reach me in the magical realm.

  I didn’t know how or when he’d make his move here in the physical realm—only that he would. I needed to learn how to fight, both defensively and offensively. I needed to learn how to channel that magic—to tap into that strength, let it infuse me with power, and direct it on command rather than as a reaction to being taunted. And I needed to learn it quickly, no matter how frustrated I might get at my own limitations.

  Still, why did Ash have to be such a dick about everything?

  Every time I thought we were making progress as friends, he put up another wall. And I just kept on slamming right into them.

  Determined not to let him ruin my entire night, I dressed in my coziest pair of pajamas—a light blue fleece set with clouds all over them that Sophie had given me when I’d come down with the flu last winter—and followed the scent of fresh baked deliciousness to the kitchen, where Emilio was taking a pan of something out of the oven.