Rage Against the Devil (Wild Beasts Series Book 2)

by T. Birmingham

  She was as still, and as silent, as a dead wind.

  Death.

  She sat down on the cold stone of the castle’s floor and ignored her brothers’ presence as she closed her eyes and slid down further until she lay curled on her side.

  Almost as soon as she closed them, she dreamt of the goddess. Titania was sad, and her tears fell heavily, reaching the grass as they walked through the field silently, not saying a word.

  No lessons.

  No warnings.

  Just silence and tears.

  She awoke to darkness in the cottage out back, her stomach in pain and squeezing in an awful way that reminded her of the stomach flu she’d had one time.

  And then she smelled something so delicious, she rushed to that scent. Rushed across her father’s property where his sprawling castle lay, and to the farmlands beyond.

  A young man stood on the edge of the property, laying under the stars.

  She moved slowly toward him, realizing that it was his scent that had called her. But she couldn’t stop the movement of her feet for all the world. She was so hungry.

  She felt her brothers’ fear before they had even reached her, and as Loch grabbed her and Damon stood in front of her, she felt fury sweep through her veins.

  “He’s mine,” Eire spat, and her voice was not her own. It was animal. It was possessive. It was the voice of a monster. That voice stopped her.

  She felt tears slide down her cheeks and then she saw that Damon too had one tear rolling down his cheek. She’d never seen Damon cry. She wanted to touch his tears, to reach out and help him deal with the sadness and anger and frustration, except there was an emptiness of emotion in him, whereas she could feel so much coming from Loch and Zeke behind her.

  How was this happening?

  Before she could answer, though, her stomach curled in on itself, this time in fear as the air cracked with the sound of thunder, and a strong scent of rose blossoms and dust hit her head on. Her brothers backed away, taking her with them, but they couldn’t escape. In fact, she felt as though she were being almost magnetically pulled toward something as the fertile land in front of her bubbled up with a small puddle of water, spitting out a tall woman with long, blonde hair.

  The woman was ageless, timeless, but her green eyes were the jaded glass of an ancient race and Eire’s blood cooled at the sight of the woman.

  The woman said her brothers’ names in turn, speaking only the words “Stay” and “Quiet,” before turning to Eire herself. “Eire Lillith Donovan, come here,” the woman said formally, as though Eire would just step forward and follow some stranger. Her voice was so cold, so icy, so emotionless that Eire wanted to scratch at the emptiness in that voice. How could anyone live without emotion? The woman stepped forward, a questioning look spreading across her pristine face. “That was a command, child. How are you able to fight my commands?”

  “I didn’t really like the command,” Eire answered. She wasn’t one to keep her words close to her chest. Her brothers always told her she was their little explosion of emotion.

  The woman’s expression turned from quizzical to cold, precise, and slightly smiling. The look chilled the air around Eire.

  Eire looked to her brothers, but they’re expressions were hardened, angry, and there was a good dose of fear mixed in there as well. She not only saw this; she felt their emotions. Well, she felt Zeke and Loch, because Damon was still a blank slate.

  “They won’t be able to move or speak, child Fae.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Fae?” the woman asked, laughing, but the laugh wasn’t like any she’d ever heard. It was cackling and odd, and it crawled along Eire’s skin in an unnatural manner. “I’d say you’re more Fae than your whore mother ever wanted you to be,” the woman said, reaching out and grabbing at Eire.

  Eire felt her anger rise at the woman’s comments, and her claws unsheathed.

  Instead of backing away, the woman only laughed again.

  “You’d really kill your grandmother?”

  Eire looked the woman over, taking in her tall form, her pale face, her high cheekbones, and her jade green eyes, the exact duplicate of Lochlan Trappe’s. Grandmother she might be, but this woman was evil. Eire could feel it, even at twelve.

  “I killed my own father. It should be easy to kill you,” Eire said with a confidence she didn’t have.

  “Did you now?” her grandmother asked. There was a tone to her voice that skittered along Eire’s spine. Fear. What did her grandmother mean by that question? It was Eire’s turn to give a questioning look to the woman claiming to be her grandmother. “He’s not dead, child.”

  “No,” Eire whispered. “No. He has to be. I tore him to shreds.” Eire looked at the older woman with the timeless beauty and the evil soul. “I don’t believe you.” Eire’s voice held real confidence this time. “You’re a liar!”

  “Am I?” the woman asked, and then she smiled that dreadfully creepy smile again. “How about we make a deal, child Fae?”

  Eire didn’t like the sound of that at all, but still, she nodded. She knew her father was dead. She would win this bet.

  “If I am right, and your father is alive, you come to the Veil with me for six years, so I can train you.” Eire’s resolve faltered. She’d heard tales of the Veil and read stories in the history books. She never wanted to go there. Ever.

  Then she remembered the cold blood from earlier that day and the slivers and bits of flesh that had been left of her father. Her father was absolutely dead. No one survived that.

  “And what do I get if I win?”

  Her grandmother nodded at her and her face was once again a still façade of cold perfection.

  “You get to stay with your brothers and grow up and you’ll never have to see me again. I won’t pop in. I won’t try to take you to the Veil.” That sounded good to her.

  “And you leave my brothers alone too. No matter if you win or I win,” Eire added.

  “And I leave your brothers alone of course,” the woman added.

  “Deal,” Eire said.

  And like that, the woman disappeared, but her portal did not. No, the temporal break still sat open, and Eire hated that it was there, hated that a place like the Veil could have such a pull for her.

  She turned back to her brothers, rushing to their side, but they were still frozen in place, unable to move.

  She felt a new presence in the field, smelled the rose blossoms and talc, and she slowly turned around, ice filling her veins and fear like nothing she had ever experienced keeping her feet rooted.

  Eire looked to the edge of the field where the young, human man had lain undisturbed by the scene happening around him. Except, now he wasn’t laying peacefully. Now, he was held up by a large hand as his body quivered in the monster’s hold. The human’s blood ran in rivulets down his frail form, and although a part of Eire wanted to suck that blood down, the part that was still more present looked on the scene with horror and disgust.

  And fear.

  Because Lochlan Trappe was not dead. He was whole. He was alive. And he was—

  He moved quickly to stand right in front of her, and she shrank back from him, tripping over a branch and landing on her back in the grass.

  He was going to kill her. She was dead. Just like her mother.

  Except, she watched as he moved away from her, quickly traversing to the edge of the field. He casually stood there for a moment before a smile so much like his mother’s split his face.

  He lifted his voice to the wind, and his words chilled her to the bone.

  “Nessa Ardmore Trappe, you have won this bet.” His gaze met Eire’s and even from the edge of the field, she could see his eyes brighten in their green hue. “You have my permission to take Eire Lillith Donovan to the Veil for six years. Train her. Make her a worthy fighter.” He spat on the ground. “And maybe one day, she’ll kill me for real.” And then he was gone in a blink and her grandmother was in front of her again.


  “Not likely that you’ll kill my Lochlan,” the evil woman said, and Eire felt the despair of that truth.

  Five minutes earlier, she would have been dragged into the Veil kicking and screaming; now, she went willingly into her nightmare…

  Eire got groggily out of bed, shaking off the dream that was quickly fading, even if the fear remained.

  The Veil.

  Jesus, even the thought of that place fucked with her head.

  Her mouth felt cottony and her head pounded as she walked toward the bathroom.

  Except, goddamn Loch was taking his precious time.

  “You seriously need to hurry up in the fucking shower.” Eire whispered the statement, but Loch would hear. And she couldn’t speak above a whisper if she was going to survive the day. Shit. Drinking could fuck a person up. Even a Fae.

  “Boo,” Zeke yelled from behind her.

  She took a deep breath before turning to Zeke, and he adjusted his glasses. Was he nervous? Of her? Shit. Probably. Even if his eyes said he was just playing. Serious Zeke trying to be playful. Who’d have guessed?

  They’d all seen her seventeen years ago when she’d tried to kill their father. Of course, they’d all known he would regenerate, come back stronger, come back ready to turn Eire into the weapon he wanted.

  And he had turned her into a weapon. Or at least, he’d sent her to her grandmother, and Nessa had turned Eire into a weapon. But the queen of Swords and Stone had become a weapon for herself.

  Nicky was fucking with that. Tearing down walls she had purposely built to keep herself sharp and in control. If they were really fated mates, the asshole would know she needed her precision, her coldness, and he wouldn’t push. He wouldn’t make her become something she wasn’t.

  And after her shower, she was going to go back to his place, grab her stuff, and tell him that. Maybe. Probably. Shit.

  “Don’t, Zeke,” Eire said, trying to inject some calm, rather than just blatant whining into her statement. “I may be back, but I’m still fucking pissed at you and the other two for keeping shit from me.” She looked at the door, not ready to hash it out with Zeke quite yet, though. “I’m just not in the mood. I need to feed. I need a burger. And I need a fucking shower. And little miss pretty in pink in there is trying to glam himself up while I’m sitting here with puke breath, a mountain of nightmares floating around in my head, dead bodies that need identification and justice, and a Vuković clan beast I need to deal with. So, I can’t do fun Zeke today. Serious and dour and damaged Zeke will do just fine, big brother.”

  She turned back to him just in time to see the light die in his eyes and she berated herself.

  “Zeke—”

  He held up his hands, and his stance went cold. Cold like her stance was 99.9% of the time. Cold like her mother when she’d drive home after a week of meeting with Lochlan. Cold like the ice that never melts, and not like the refreshing cool she felt with Nicky.

  “You’re not the only one, Eire,” Zeke started as his gaze met hers. She looked around, trying not to catch the coldness there. Trying not to see the ice in someone she loved. Was this how she looked to everyone? Detached. Unfeeling. Wasn’t that what she wanted? Damn it all to the Veil.

  “Zeke, I didn’t mean…” She tried to reach out to him, but he rebuffed her gesture. “I’ve had a lot on my mind—”

  “Little sister, it’s not always about you.” Zeke caught her gaze. His voice wasn’t angry. Just straightforward. Lecturing. And still, a bit of that arctic chill lay underneath his serious lecture. “You. Are. Not. The. Only. One.” He emphasized each word, repeating his statement again, and his deep, golden, brown eyes held her own so steadily, she couldn’t look away even if she’d wanted to. “You are not the only one who has been to hell and back. You are not the only one who lives in constant fear that you are turning into Lochlan Trappe. You are not the only one who wraps walls and barricades around your heart to protect yourself from everyone and everything. You are not the only one who seeks the coldness that comes from being what we are. Fae are good at wrapping the cold around them. You are not unique in that. Bastards live forever, without remorse or guilt or fear, saying shit like you just said to me. Treating those who do have emotions as lesser.”

  Zeke nodded toward the stairwell that led to the bar, where Damon was probably getting ready for the day.

  “You spoke last night about Damon not letting anyone close,” he said, and held out his hands as if to say, well, look at you. And she had no recourse, because, once again, he was right. “Have you not seen this place? He takes in those who need someone. He gives shelter to me when I’m in town even though I gave up my share in the bar years ago. Of course, you don’t know that because you’re never around, Eire. This place is my salvation. It’s my home. And he lets me come back here because he knows that. Because he loves us. So, you want to get mad about us helping you out these past few years, fine,” Zeke said succinctly. “But don’t pull the ‘poor me’ routine, Eire. Your life isn’t anymore fucked up than anyone else’s and it’s time for you to grow up and to accept responsibility for your role in what we’ve had to do to even get you to talk to us. We are not your enemy. We’re your family.”

  Zeke had backed away from her and she’d heard the shower shut off a full minute earlier, so she knew Loch was likely listening, but she wanted to hear what else he had to say. She wanted him to let it out, beat her down, take it all away. She deserved his censure and his hate.

  “You are not the only one, but what you don’t get is that when you compare yourself to Damon, you show how fucking selfish you really are. Damon’s cold is natural. It’s a part of him. It’s the Fae heritage you seem to think you’re the only one to have received. We all got a little something from the pompous Lochlan Trappe. Fuck, Loch got his name and his looks. But you…you, Eire Donovan, you became…well, you became like a Fae. Cold and unfeeling, you push everyone away, hell bent on your own goddamned destruction. You might eventually defeat him, sure,” Zeke said, lifting his glasses and giving her an ‘I know what you’re planning look’. She didn’t deny the statement. She was too cold for one thing. Her brother didn’t know her, and here he was laying out shit he had no right to lay out. “You know your methods didn’t work before. He rose up again. He became stronger. And you…you became just like him.”

  Eire couldn’t breathe.

  She hadn’t become like him. She wasn’t Lochlan Trappe. She wasn’t her father. She wasn’t that cold, that angry, that hard and evil.

  “Damon spends every day fighting his coldness, his Fae ancestry. And you,” Zeke said, looking her up and down with disgust. “You embrace it. You love it. You want to cover yourself in that never-see-warmth-again cold that truly is bone-deep. Not the revitalizing kind that seeks change and cleansing. No. Eire, you’re the cold that never leaves.”

  Instead of crumbling at her brother’s hurtful words, she let her pride dance along her nerve endings. She let Zeke’s disgust coat her soul, protecting her from any further barbs. Her shields shot back up instantly. Whereas she’d struggled to put up those shields around Nicky or the others at The Lodge, family had a way of putting everything into perspective.

  She’d let herself feel too much.

  She’d let herself become weak.

  A small part of her – the young woman she’d once been – begged with her to accept what Zeke was saying. He was wise, her big brother, Zeke. Too wise. Saying shit she didn’t need to hear. The child in her wanted to cry over the moment, to rage, to turn to her brother and give him a what-for and then to finally breathe and feel again, but feeling was so much worse. Feeling was a demon she had conquered long ago, in another world entirely. She’d just forgotten what feeling and caring did to a person.

  Zeke had just reminded her.

  The only thing she needed to remember from his whole impassioned speech was that, to an extent, she had become like her father. But she’d become like her father for a reason.

  She’d
become like him to defeat him. She’d gotten lost these past few weeks, fallen down a rabbit hole of ‘what ifs’, but she was better than those childlike notions. She had endured a thousand years in the Veil to do one thing, and she’d let her emotions almost destroy her one chance.

  She cursed herself, bulking up her cold with a determination she hadn’t felt in ages, with a precision that was beyond even what she’d felt in the Veil.

  She didn’t know why, but this moment, this conversation, these series of events had been building for weeks, and they were exactly what she needed to finally let everything…go.

  To finally let go of the humanity that had hounded her.

  She wasn’t weak.

  She was the ancient ice of the Fae.

  She was Swords.

  And she had been created to kill, to destroy.

  “Thank you for the reminder, Zeke.” Her voice was precise once more, and she almost faltered…because her voice. Shit. Her voice reminded her of someone. And it wasn’t her mother. No, her voice reminded her of the scariest woman ever to have lived.

  Grandma Nessa would have been proud of Eire in that moment.

  Instead of a slithering fear, though, Eire felt her mouth tick up in a cold smile that reached into her chest with a peaceful Darkness she craved.

  She felt a change come over her as that Darkness moved outward from her chest, expanding until she could feel the power in her like a moveable force that filled her every crevice and space.

  Her cold became her very cells.

  Her very soul.

  The very core of her being.

  She knew her eyes had lit up to a green so dark and cold, they would resemble shards of jade stone glass. And she was okay with that. She was also very much okay with the fear that entered Zeke’s eyes.

  He really should work on controlling his emotions, Eire thought, still smiling in the vindictive way that she hoped made their blood run cold.

  Selfish? Fuck, but she could live with that. If it made her stronger. If it made her faster. If it allowed her to kill her father. Yeah, she could totally fucking deal with being selfish. Lochlan Trappe wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again when she was done with him.