by Katie May
While most humans have been taught to fear Nightmares, most of all royalty,
this man looked at Killian with what I could only describe as respect.
“Would you mind grabbing the picnic basket out of the fridge in the
kitchen, Brad?” Killian asked. His eyes flashed towards me, and he smiled
shyly. “I forgot.”
“Right away.”
Without another word, the servant - Brad - hurried towards a door that I
assumed led in the direction of the kitchen. I watched him go, awe mixing
with confusion.
“You know his name,” I said at last.
Killian blinked at me in surprise.
“Of course I know his name.” He almost appeared insulted, and I hurried
to explain.
“Most Night- I mean, Supernatural creatures don’t bother to learn the
names of the help. Of the humans. It’s a way to dehumanize them and place
them low in this constructed social hierarchy.”
I shrugged, long since accepting the role I was expected to play in life. In
their minds, I wasn’t worthy of having a name, of being anything besides a
slave, a servant, and a pawn.
Killian’s eyes darkened with anger, and at first, I feared I had overstepped
with my rather crude comment. It took me a moment to realize the anger
wasn’t directed at me, but at the situation.
“The way people are treated is ridiculous,” he said at last, teeth grinding
together.
Despite already knowing the answer, I tentatively asked, “And you don’t
treat people like that?”
He released a heavy sigh, his hand creeping up to rub at his temples.
When he finally met my gaze, there was such melancholy in his eyes.
“Not every Nightmare is evil, just not like every human is good. There
are facets in every aspect of nature - good and bad, light and dark. There are
some people who are actively seeking to rid the world of humans for good.”
His lip curled dangerously at that statement. “But there are others fighting for
equal rights between supernaturals and humans. Do you know how my
mother died?”
The question was so sudden that all I could do was blink up at him like an
imbecile. I managed an inarticulate “huh?”.
“My mother was the soulmate of my father. She was an Incubus, like
him, but she never had sex before marrying my father. Hell, she had never
engaged in any sexual activities besides what was necessary for her survival.
My father, on the other hand, had a different lover every night, even after
meeting and falling in love with my mother. Often, these lovers were
humans. He preferred them that way, for he was able to drain them
completely.”
His eyes turned distant, lost in a memory only he could see.
“When I was five-years old, I got a nanny. She was only twenty, and she
was a human servant.” At this, a small smile graced his features. It was
apparent he cared deeply for this woman. “She was my second mother. My
older sister. She was with us for years.”
His hand clenched on his leg, and I instinctively reached over to pull
apart his fingers. Tiny, crescent indents remained in his skin from his keen
nails.
“When I was ten, I began to go through puberty. I didn’t know what was
happening. All I knew was that my body was changing and growing, and no
one understood.” I gripped his hand tighter. Somehow, I knew that this story
wouldn’t have a happy ending. For anyone. “I made the mistake of telling my
father, and he sent...he sent my nanny to my room. He told me that I had to
sleep with her.”
My heart ached for the little boy that had his childhood torn from him in
such a way. An incandescent fury burned a hole in my stomach at the thought
of his father. Forcing his son to sleep with a woman he considered a mother?
It was beyond disgusting.
“She refused, of course, but my dad didn’t like that. He raped her right in
front of me, draining her body dry.” A single teardrop cascaded down his
face. I used my free-hand to capture it before it could reach his lips.
“I am so sorry,” I whispered, despite knowing how inadequate those
words were. I always hated when people apologized to me. It wasn’t their
fault that my parents and S died. Sorry was just a word we used when we
didn’t know what else to say.
“My mother,” Killian continued, eyes misting with tears. My body moved
closer against his, and I gently rested my head on his shoulder. A stranger’s
shoulder.
And yet…
And yet it felt like a piece of my soul becoming whole once more.
“My mother killed herself shortly after. She couldn’t live with the
knowledge of what her husband had done, and she couldn’t live with the fact
that she still loved him. Sometimes, we crave the darkness when the light is
too much for us to handle. She left me alone with that monster. That was how
I developed my stutter. After her death, he beat me nearly to death. One of
his blows landed on my throat. No amount of sexual energy or healing spells
could fix the damage. We don’t understand why, but we concluded that he
had placed a spell on me to prohibit such healing.”
It was official. I was going to skin his dad alive and then feed him to the
gators.
My thoughts were interrupted by approaching footsteps. The servant from
earlier appeared with a blanket and picnic basket. After exchanging quick
pleasantries with Killian, he spread out the blanket, placed the basket on top,
and hurried away.
Killian handed me a turkey and cheese sandwich, the crust neatly
trimmed off. A lump formed in my throat at the sight. My mother always
used to cut off the crust when she packed me my lunches.
“Does it bother you?” Killian asked, after a couple minutes of
comfortable silence had passed.
“Does what bother me?”
“My stutter.”
“No,” I answered honestly. “I barely even notice it. My dad had a stutter
as well, though his only came out when he was nervous.”
I remembered he once had to give a speech at my kindergarten
graduation. He could barely get the first word out. My mother climbed up on
the stage, took his hand, and gave him the strength to finish. It was one of my
last memories of them.
“You said ‘had’...” Killian trailed off, allowing me to choose whether or
not I would answer. The man had bared his soul to me, had made himself
vulnerable in front of a stranger. Though it went against every fiber of my
being, I owed it to him to give him the same level of trust. For so long, I had
kept shields around my heart. They were impenetrable barriers that nobody
dared break. At that moment, a tiny crack appeared.
“They were killed,” I said bluntly. “By Nightmares.”
There was no guilt in his face, only sadness. It struck me as odd that he
didn’t classify himself as a Nightmare, that he separated himself from that
title and identity. There was also empathy in his handsome face. I realized
long ago that there was a distinct difference between empathy and sympathy.
You never really understood what someone was going t
hrough unless you
had been through it yourself. We had both lost people, and that bond
connected us in a way only shared grief could.
“And then I made the stupid mistake of falling in love. Twice.” I snorted
at how ridiculous I had been. “The first man left me.” And had torn my heart
to pieces in the process. “The second one was killed. By a rogue Shifter.”
And it should’ve been me. If I hadn’t gotten involved…
If I hadn’t insisted…
If I hadn’t…
I couldn’t allow my thoughts to continue down that dark path. Guilt
would consume me.
To keep from divulging anything else, I took another bite of my
sandwich.
“Yum,” I mumbled around a mouthful of food. Killian hesitantly traced a
pattern on my arm. The touch made my stomach flutter and for goosebumps
to appear on my skin.
“So we both had fucked up lives?” he asked softly.
Up and down his finger went.
Up and down.
Up and down.
“I know the only reason you agreed to go to lunch with me was to figure
out how much I knew about your identity,” Killian said casually, and I tensed
beneath his stroking fingers.
Up and down.
Up and down.
“I don’t care that you’re an assassin. I don’t care that you’re competing in
The Damning. I don’t care that you kill Nightmares for a living. I care about
the girl I see now. And what I see is someone funny and smart and so
incredibly beautiful.”
“You don’t even know me,” I whispered, my heart in my throat. Tears
sprang to my eyes unbidden.
“I know.” He sighed heavily. “Trust me, I know.”
We were amicably silent for another moment, each finishing up the last of
the sandwiches and basking in our own thoughts. I didn’t know how I felt
about his revelation. It was immensely dangerous for him to know who I was,
both for me and for him.
“What’s this?” he asked, pulling away from me. I immediately missed the
warmth he emitted and hated myself for my neediness. I told myself I just
met this man, that it was irrational and utterly illogical to have feelings for
him. But my traitorous body refused to listen.
It took me a moment to realize that Killian was grabbing something out of
my purse. For a horrible, nauseating second, I thought he had noticed the
knives I had packed away. That fear turned into confusion when he pulled out
a small paperback book.
I recognized it immediately as the book Ryland had thrown at my head.
Lovers on the Snowtop.
“Is this what the scary assassin reads?” Killian teased, quirking a brow in
amusement. I felt my cheeks flame.
How did that even get into my purse?
The answer came easily: Ryland.
Flipping it opened, Killian peered down at the novel.
“She massaged his balls, and he rubbed her lady part. She came like a
wave cresting against the shore...the shore of pleasure. ”
Killian paused and flipped to a new page.
“Her hot molten lady cave quivered. ”
Frowning, he turned towards one of the last pages.
“His huge cock filled up her ass crack. It was as if she was taking the
meanest shit in her life...and what the hell am I even reading?”
Killian dropped the book as if it was on fire.
“It’s an erotica,” I said with a giggle. When Killian continued to look
down at it with horror, I timidly asked, “Have you ever been with a girl
before Kill?”
His eyes flickered to my face, and he noticeably gulped.
“I didn’t want to be like him. Like my father.”
“So how do you survive if you don’t have sex?” I was genuinely curious.
From what I knew, Incubi needed sex to live until they found their fated
mate. And from what I knew of Killian, he had yet to find her.
“Sexual energy,” he said at last. “I go to brothels and sit in the hallways.”
Before I could rethink my words, I whispered, “Do you want to?”
“Want to what?” It sounded as if he wasn’t breathing.
“Touch a female.”
Now I was positive he was holding his breath. I could feel his incredible
power rise up in tandem to his own lust. His eyes flared with desire.
“I want to touch you more than anything,” he gasped at last.
“Okay.”
Without breaking eye-contact, I pulled my shirt over my head. He sharply
inhaled, eyes roaming the exposed skin of my stomach. The air was slightly
chilly with only my bra and pants on, but I had never felt so warm before. His
gaze set my skin on fire.
Slowly, as if giving me the chance to change my mind, his fingers
touched the sides of my stomach. They were as light as a moth’s wing, gently
tracing my protruding rib cage.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, leaning closer. The movement
propelled me backwards until I was lying on the grass with him overtop of
me. Normally, I would’ve hated being in that type of position. I was at the
mercy of another individual - but I only felt empowered with Killian staring
down at me as if I was a goddess personified. “So beautiful.”
I reached for the clasp in my pants, wiggling them down my hips. Killian
helped me pull them all the way off.
His hands started at my toes and slowly made their way up. Over my
calves. My thighs.
They paused there, lightly drawing invisible designs on the sensitive skin,
before moving upwards. They skimmed my hips, his fingers sliding beneath
the elastic of my underpants and touching the bare skin there. I moaned at the
contact, tiny spurts of his power rushing straight to my core.
He pulled away suddenly, eyes hooded and fixated on my heaving chest.
Nodding to give him permission to touch me further, I unclasped my bra
strap.
Killian leaned over me once again, and I felt his dick press against my
mound, only his pants and my underwear separating us. I yearned to
articulate his broad, tattooed shoulders through touch alone, yet I resisted.
This was about him. Only him.
His hand cupped one of my breasts, testing the size, while the other
tentatively drew a circle around the mound. His finger went upwards until it
was hovering over my peaked nipple. Eyes locked on mine, his finger grazed
the tip.
I let out another mewl from his simple, innocent touch. I wanted him to
consume me, to eat me alive, to make me his.
As if he could read my mind, he lowered his mouth to my aching breast
and darted his tongue out to lick my nipple. His expression turned
contemplative as he watched me - the desire I knew was in my eyes, my
opened mouth as I struggled to breathe, my incoherent pleas. The smile that
lit up his face was smug satisfaction and so positively male that I couldn’t
resist moaning yet again. He dropped his head back to my breast, his teeth
grazing my peak. He rolled my other nipple between his thumb and
forefinger, the same way he had the grass earlier.
Before I could beg him to continue, he began kissing down my breasts.
Down my stomach. Once he reached my panties, he paused, hot breat
h
warming my aching core. Over the thin material of my underwear, his tongue
darted out and licked a long line over the seams.
“Yum. You taste delicious,” he murmured. All I could do was whimper
for him to continue. Using one hand to press my underwear to the side, his
skilled tongue finally met my wet slit. The pleasure was immeasurable. I was
a trembling pile of puddy under his inexperienced, albeit obviously skilled,
hands. And tongue.
“Again.”
His tongue leisurely licked me yet again. Savoring me. Tasting me.
It wasn’t enough. Call me a greedy bitch, but I wanted him to devour me.
I wanted to get lost in his body and forget my own name. I wanted us to
merge as one, so I had trouble deciphering where he ended and I began.
I wanted-
The arrow soared through the air, landing millimeters away from my
head. I froze, and Killian staggered backwards in horror. Another arrow
descended, and it would’ve hit me if Killian hadn’t pulled me out of its path
with an almost blistering speed. I pressed my naked body against his, panting.
“Shit,” I cursed, glancing towards the roof of the Capital. I could make
out a silhouette in the golden glow from the high sun.
We were under attack.
TWENTY-ONE
JAX
The insistent stomping of feet reverberating down the hallway.
Coming. They were coming. Coming for me.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
The grandfather clock ticked simultaneous with the footsteps.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
And the voices….
I pressed my hands over my ears, a futile but desperate attempt to drown
out the sounds. I didn’t want to hear them. I didn’t want to hear anything. For
the umpteenth time, I debated detaching my ears from my head.
Too loud.
The voices, the footsteps, the tick tick tick of the clock. My head pounded
at the onslaught of noise, my senses over-stimulated.
Your fault…
Monster…
Drink…
So thirsty…
“Stop!” I screamed at the voices. Why couldn’t anyone else hear them?
Why wouldn’t they just leave me alone? I moved further down the carpeted
hallway, anxiously glancing from door to door. I hated doors. Anything or
anyone could be lurking behind them. Doors were meant to be open, and yet
they were always closed.
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
