by Katie May
I say princess? I meant poop. P as in poop. L as in love. As in Princess and
Love. And A as in anal. N as in-”
“Dude.” I gave her a look, and she jumped from the bed, pacing the room
yet again.
“I’m feeling very...cagey. I need to move. Move and run. Where do I run
to...and ohmygawd I fucking itch.”
“You okay?” I asked, slightly concerned. I mean, only slightly. If your
best friend wasn’t a little batshit crazy, was she really your best friend? “You
seem slightly agitated.”
She directed another blistering glare my way.
“You don’t say,” she drawled sarcastically. She resumed her itching once
more. Before I could inquire further, another knock broke through the silence
like the crack of a whip. Diego poked his head into the room, eyes widening
slightly when he took in Mali’s withering form. He quickly smoothed his
expression over.
“How are my favorite sexy ladies doing today?” he asked, stepping
towards me to ruffle my hair. I swatted at his hand in annoyance.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Most people love it when I touch them.” He wiggled his eyebrows
suggestively.
“I’ll make sure to let HH know that,” I said wickedly, and he blanched at
the use of his mate’s name. HH was a small man, almost insignificant in
appearance, but I knew him to be a deadly fighter and a skilled sharp shooter.
And from Diego’s stories, he was also insanely jealous.
A useful tool to have in my arsenal.
“Don’t you dare,” he warned, but his eyes softened at the thought of his
mate. It must’ve been difficult to be separated from him, though it wasn’t
uncommon in our line of business. It was a risk to send two lovers on the
same mission. Emotions got in the way, and mistakes were made. It was a
wonder Mali and Diego, my two closest friends, were able to accompany me
here. I reasoned it was because B knew I would always put the mission first.
Kill or be killed.
I chose to kill.
Every. Single. Time.
Diego glanced at Mali once more.
“What’s her problem?” he asked me.
Mali managed to grunt out, “Itchy.”
“I believe it’s sexual frustration,” I said teasingly, and Mali’s face paled.
“Holy shit! It is sexual frustration, isn’t it?”
She pursed her lips and gave a quick shake of her head. Despite her
denial, I could read my best friend easily. The bitch was hiding something
from me, and it was my sacred duty to pester her until she caved and told me.
“Is my little Mali craving the D?” Diego teased. “Or is it the V?”
“You’re one to talk,” Mali hissed. “I know that you once masturbated
with a hot dog. And I also know that it got stuck up your butt.”
I had to give Diego credit. He didn’t even blink.
“I wanted to know what it felt like,” he insisted. “Before HH attempted
it.”
“Are you comparing your mate’s dick to a hotdog?” I teased, and this
time, a blush darkened his cheeks. “I mean I suppose you could say that
you-”
“Don’t say it!” Diego pointed an accusatory finger at me.
“That you-”
“Z!”
“Did it doggy style.”
I broke into laughter, Mali following soon after.
“Laugh it up bitches,” Diego said, crossing his muscular arms over his
chest. “Laugh it up.”
“Okay. Okay. Enough messing around. I actually came here for a reason.”
Mali seemed to momentarily forget her itch as uneasiness crossed her
features. The despondency in her once jubilant eyes instantly put me on alert.
“What’s wrong?”
“I got notice that you’ll be required to attend a dinner tonight. As Z. All
of the competitors are required to attend.”
Fuck.
“Fuck,” Diego unintentionally echoed.
I knew exactly why the gamemakers did this - to get us all into one area,
one room, to ensure the maximum amount of bloodshed. And blood would be
shed, that I was certain of. The only question was if it would be mine.
“It’s going to be a bloodbath,” I mused aloud, picking apart what little
information I knew. On one hand, it would allow me to gauge a rough
estimate of who remained and what their skills were. It would also stand to
reason that those still alive were either the best of the best or mediocre
fighters. The worst had always been taken out, and those deemed as the
“best” assassins would’ve been the first targeted.
“And the dinner is mandatory?” I added, and Mali nodded.
“The Vampire Council dick himself delivered the news to all of the
Assistants.”
I couldn’t help but snort. What a coward. He couldn’t even face us, the
people he was killing off through his twisted game, to inform us himself. The
important, scary Vampire was scared of some assassins? Comical.
“Well then…” I tapped a finger against my chin. I really didn’t have an
option. There was this elusive concept - free-will - and it had never occurred
to me before how much of it I was lacking. I had never had a say in my line
of work, and that wasn’t going to change with time. I wouldn’t consider my
life as an assassin a prison, but it definitely wasn’t sunshine and rainbows. If
I were to win The Damning, I would be trading one prison for another, either
in the form of servitude to a crown I could never support or in an actual
prison. Surprisingly, this realization did not bring about fear. If anything, I
felt oddly calm with the hand I had been dealt.
After all, it was what I prepared for.
“We’ll convene in a couple of hours to finalize the plans for this dinner,”
I decided on at last. Mali immediately opened her mouth to protest, but I
shushed her with one eloquent look. “It’s what needs to be done.”
And I knew she wouldn’t argue with me after that. She had seen,
firsthand, how horrendous Nightmares could be. Her entire family had been
slaughtered by her own species. The ones that were supposed to protect her
had instead destroyed her and all she held dear. If she had to choose between
saving one life, mine, or saving hundreds of others by ridding the world of a
serial killer, she would choose the latter. I couldn’t fault her on that, though I
often wondered if I would make the same decision.
“On a lighter note…” Diego began, changing the topic in a way only he
could. “How did it go with Devlin?”
“Devlin?” Mali injected. She raised a dark eyebrow.
When I remained silent, she turned towards Diego for answers.
“Apparently, Devlin used to go by the name Lin.”
I wondered if it was a Mage thing or a Devlin thing to stir up shit. Either
way, I mentally planned his murder by way of a rusty spoon.
“Holy shit!” Mali screamed. “Your ex-boyfriend is the prince of Genies!”
“Shut up!” I hissed.
“You fucking rubbed the prince’s magical lamp! And I’m not talking
about an actual lamp!”
I groaned, placing my head in my hands.
“I know what you meant,” I mumbled. Mali, of course, wasn’t done.
> After another ear-splitting screech, she went on a rant that included more
Genie sex puns than I thought could even exist. Diego merely smirked a me,
mouthing:
“Revenge for the doggy style comment.”
“Bitch,” I mouthed back. He dramatically grabbed at his heart.
After a particularly detailed comment that included the words “three
wishes” and “pussy pleasure”, I cut Mali off.
“I have stuff I need to do. Go bathe in blood to soothe your itch.”
As expected, Mali was immediately distracted.
“Vampires do not bathe in blood,” she said indignantly.
“But they want to,” Diego pointed out. “It’s a fetish they all have.” Mali
stared him down, expression contorting from excitement at the revelation of
my ex-lover to stone-cold bitch. Mali could be scary when she wanted to be.
“Say that again. I fucking dare you.”
Diego, never one to back down from a challenge, winked.
“They want to bathe in blood because Vampires are kinky shits. Love
ya!”
Before Mali could respond, he ran from the room. Mali immediately ran
after him, cursing beneath her breath. Apparently, my love life - or lack
thereof - was forgotten.
I watched my friends go, amused and filled with something akin to love. I
didn’t know what I would do if I had to decide between them and the
mission. As much as I would like to say I would choose the mission each and
every time, I knew that was a lie. I was selfish. Was it really so wrong of me
to want to hold onto the few relationships I had left?
Shaking my head, I grabbed a robe out of my closet and stepped into the
hallway. I would have to find Mali before she castrated Diego. The last thing
I wanted to deal with was HH mourning the loss of his mate’s dick.
My blond hair was wild this morning, and I debated whether or not I
should brush it. Deciding against it (I didn’t have anyone I wanted to
impress), I hurried in the direction I had seen my two friends disappear down.
“Where are you leading me boy? You know you can’t just take off like
that. Do you want to go this way?”
It was a man’s voice, low and sultry. Goosebumps immediately pebbled
on my arms. There was something about that husky voice, something that
made me want to run in his direction.
An Incubus, I decided immediately.
It wasn’t the same pull I felt with the numerous other Incubi I had
encountered throughout my life. It wasn’t purely sexual, though there was
plenty of that too. It was almost like an innate need within me that urged me
forward, urged me to set eyes upon his handsome face.
And handsome he was. Sexy.
Auburn hair, longer on the top and shorter on the sides, grazed his eyes.
His body was a canvas of ink and muscle, each one of his tattoos so
intricately designed that I wanted to stare at them for hours. Admittedly, he
looked like a player - the type of guy that would fuck you senseless and then
leave you in the morning. I imagined he had a new girl every night, each one
submitting to him fully.
For some undefinable reason that thought bothered me. It fucking
bothered me to think of this stranger - this Nightmare - with any girl other
than...well...me. I blamed it on the Incubus allure he emitted in waves.
“This way boy? Where are you taking me?”
I frowned when I saw no one in the immediate proximity. Who was he
talking to? That confusion morphed into amusement when I saw his eyes
flicker down to his rock-hard dick.
Was he talking to his dick?
And what a dick it was.
Even with his pants on, I could see it would be long and thick. I
immediately imagined that erect dick pounding into me, consuming me,
becoming one with me.
I shook my head rapidly to clear the direction my thoughts were heading.
Nope. Not going there.
The man’s eyes glanced up towards me and widened. Thousands of
emotions flashed in his gaze during that five-second span of time. Hope,
relief, awe, and then finally fear.
The sexy man opened his mouth, and I prepared myself for the perfect
words all Incubi seemed to have. How else could they manage to get lover
after lover into their beds? They had a way with words, a way to innately
demand your attention.
But then he spoke.
“Your hairrr looks likeee spaghetti.”
Before I could reply, he hurried away.
What the actual fuck?
SIXTEEN
Z
Did he just say…?
I replayed his words for the upteenth time in my head. Yup. He
had most definitely compared my hair to spaghetti.
Well fuck him!
On a bed, preferably. With whips and chains and-
Bad Z. Bad. Bad. Bad. He had insulted me, right? That had been an
insult, of that I was almost certain of. Like fifty percent sure of.
And he was one to judge! It wasn’t as if he rolled out of bed looking
perfect.
With his perfect hair and his perfect dick. And I wonder if he had red hair
leading down to his-
Stop it Z!
I mentally slapped myself.
My body fought a vigorous battle against my head. Before I realized what
I was doing, I ran in the direction the Incubus had went. The annoying voice
in my mind - a voice getting louder and more demanding as the seconds
dragged on - told me to talk to him. Just talk to him.
Why I wanted to have a conversation with a Nightmare that compared my
hair to food was beyond my comprehension, yet I found myself eagerly
scanning the halls. Finally, I spotted his shock of red hair, an auburn color
with golden streaks heightening the flecks of gold in his eyes. He glanced at
me, horrified, and immediately turned to head down a separate hallway.
Fortunately for me, Incubi did not have the speed of a Vampire, and I
found myself easily catching up with him.
“You said my hair looks like spaghetti,” I blurted. Because, really, I
couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. The man blushed, an adorable shade
of red that contrasted greatly with the tattoos climbing up his neck.
“I diddn’ttt mean to,” he stuttered. “It justttt came out.”
For some reason, I wanted to put this man at ease. I hated seeing him so
upset, so embarrassed. The voice inside my head grew louder, urging me to
do whatever was necessary to take his pain away.
“Oh it’s fine.” I waved my hand dismissively before pointing to my mess
of curls. “Totally spaghetti hair. And I suppose you could say that your hair is
spaghetti with marinara sauce on it.”
Okay, so I would be the first to admit that my attempt at making an
awkward situation normal backfired. When he stared at me, blinking rapidly,
it was all I could do not to curl into a ball and die a slow and painful death.
“Marinara sauce,” he repeated slowly.
“Well it’s not butter sauce.”
Ohmygawd. What the fuck is wrong with you, Z?
He surprised me by laughing - throwing his head back and all. His body
shook.
Now it was my turn to stare at him like an imbecile.
It was official: he
was crazy. Granted, I was crazy as well, but he was a
different brand of psycho. And damn it, if I didn’t feel all warm and tingly at
the thought of us being psychos together.
“I don’t even know why I’m laughing. I’ll stop,” he managed to say - get
this - between peals of laughter. Of course, that only set him off again. This
time, I found myself joining in. His laughter was positively contagious.
Finally, he took a shuddering breath and took a tentative step closer to me.
“God, I’m sorry. I don’t understand what I’m talking half the time. I
meant speaking. Saying. I don’t understand what I’m saying half the time.
I’m horrible with words. I just never expected to meet you. Ever. And you’re
so…” I couldn’t help but note that he had an adorable stutter. Somehow, that
fact demoted him from intimidating to approachable. He gestured towards me
helplessly at his final line, which only proceeded to confuse me further. What
was he even talking about? Why would we ever meet? Was he expecting to
me? “You’re so perfect, and I thought your hair was blonde. And curly. And
you have nice shoulders.”
“Thank you?” I self-consciously rubbed at said shoulders, peeking
through where my robe had slid down. I would be the first to admit that yes,
they were nice shoulders.
I must’ve misjudged him. He wasn’t utterly horrible at communicating-
“You look like a giant toe,” he blurted.
Well.
Okay then.
The blush I was beginning to associate with this strange Incubus dusted
across his cheekbones. I didn’t know whether or not to be intrigued by this
man who had both called me a giant toe and compared my hair to pasta or
frightened by him. I decided I was intrigued, if not slightly entranced. There
was something about him, a vulnerability perhaps, that went beyond the
sexual appeal found in all Incubi. His awkwardness was sort of adorable and
was not what I expected from a guy that looked the way he did.
“My name is Killian,” he said at last.
“Zara,” I replied smoothly.
He smiled, and it was a positively brilliant smile, like bloated storm
clouds finally moving away from the sun after days of thunderstorms. He was
so beautiful that it pained me, a sort of ethereal beauty and sexiness that put
others to shame. I knew that all Incubi were attractive, but he was something
