by Katie May
We fall to the ground with our hands intertwined.
Chapter 36
Cain
“Cain.” Abel shakes my shoulder. “Cain, we have to go.”
I drowsily lift my head, turning toward my brother. His eyes are wide, frantic, and his hands are stained with blood. It slides in rivulets onto the floor, blending into the red carpeting.
“Where am I?” I ask, attempting to clear the fog from my head. The last thing I remember is getting pulled out of my cage by one of Boris’s bastards. Dragged into the familiar heart bedroom, I spent hours pleasuring Phillip Manning, an assistant to Councilman Draco. He had given me something to drink, something sour, and I had slipped into unconsciousness.
Had he drugged me?
Nausea swirls in my stomach like acid at the thought. Anything can happen when you’re not aware of your surroundings.
“Cain! We need to go!” Abel grabs my arm and heaves it over his shoulder. My head lolls, giving me a view of my naked body. Blood cascades down my thighs from where Phillip had obviously...
Well, I don’t want to think about that.
My gaze lands on Phillip lying on the floor. Blood pools around his flaccid body from a slit across his throat. Dead. He’s dead.
And there’s blood on Abel’s hands...
We move into the hallway where absolute chaos reigns.
Prisoners are running down the halls, screaming, crying, and fighting. Guards attempt to corral them back into their cells, but if there’s one thing I know about prisoners, it’s that the second they scent freedom, they’ll grasp it with both hands.
“What the fuck?” I slur, relying on my brother to carry half my weight. Each movement is slow and sluggish like I’m wading through knee-deep murky water. As the fog in my brain recedes, I become aware of a deafening siren and bright red lights flashing intermittently.
“Uprising,” Abel explains as we turn at a fork in the hallway. “But we need to run. If they discover who I killed...”
“They’ll kill us,” I fill in.
His eyes turn distant, hazy, as he no doubt thinks about the paranormal prison rumored to house the worst of the worst. And us...two pretty boys with a reputation for sex.
“We need to keep moving,” Abel says at last. “Let’s go.”
“Oh fuck,” I grumble, my head pounding. I move to place my palm against my forehead only to discover my wrist is restrained.
Fucking great.
“Abe?” I inquire, cracking open my crusty eyelids. Bright artificial lighting pierces my eyes, and I immediately snap them closed with a groan. Fucking light. Taking a deep breath, I peel open first one eye and then the other.
I’m in a fucking interrogation room.
There’s a floor to ceiling one-way mirror against the far side of the room. No doubt, there are a dozen armed guards peering in from the other side, safe and cozy. A single table sits directly in front of me with a plastic chair opposite it. My hands are cuffed to the metal legs of the table, the manacles rubbing into my skin. A bottle of water taunts me from its perch on the table. Fucking assholes. My throat is always parched after their bitch mage uses his magic on me.
The door to the room clicks open, and a timid man scuttles forward. My heart drops to my stomach as a ball of lead and nerves form around the organ—like thorns protecting a rose.
The man is unassuming. Small, with light brown hair, glasses, and a triangular mustache. I recognize him immediately as Henry Miller, one of the clients I serviced. My hands ball into fists as I stare at the sinewy man, but I force myself to relax. I won’t get any information out of him if he’s dead.
“Henry,” I purr, flashing him a sultry smile. On the outside, I’m calm and collected—sex personified. On the inside, I’m a trembling mess of nerves and fear. Where is Abel? Why isn’t he here with me?
Henry’s body notably deflates with relief at my welcoming greeting. No doubt he thought I’d be pissed seeing how he’d practically raped me for many years.
I daydream every day about turning his ugly ass into a lobster, roasting him over hot coals, and then eating him limb from limb. My imagination is quite vivid, thank you very much.
“I got your message,” he says, perching himself on the seat opposite me. Already, I can sense his arousal and excitement. His pupils dilate, breaths coming in pants.
My palms are unbearably sweaty. I hate this man with a passion, and I especially hate that I have to flirt with him, tolerate his disgusting presence.
But then I think of Nina—her soulful white eyes, obsidian black hair, and lilting laugh that always serves to bring an instinctive smile to my own face. For her, I’ll do anything. Be anything.
Even if it’s a monster I can’t recognize in the mirror.
“I have some questions for you, Henry,” I say, enthusing each word with a wave of lust. Already, he’s nodding his head like a damn bobblehead.
“Anything.”
“I missed you, you know,” I continue, voice husky. He gulps audibly. “I missed your cock in my mouth.”
Vomit churns in my stomach, but I push away the queasiness. It’s just words, and if my time as a slave taught me anything, it’s that words can’t hurt you. Just the prospect of flirting with someone other than Nina has my stomach in a knot, though.
“Yes,” he agrees readily. The poor man is smitten. Fucking rapist shit.
“So, tell me what I want to know.” A slow smile blossoms on my luscious lips. I purposely lick my bottom lip, and his eyes track the movement. “Raphael Turner. Did you hear the news?” My voice raises in mock sincerity as I cock my head to the side.
His eyes lower to the table. As an assistant to Draco, he would’ve had to hear about it. “Yes, it’s quite sad.”
“Do you know what happened?” I ask innocently, batting my lashes at him. “How did he die?” I lean forward as far as the chains allow and lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper as if we’re telling each other a secret, something just between the two of us.
His breath hitches at my proximity, and his eyes flicker to my lips before lifting.
“I heard...” He casts a glance in both directions before leaning across the table. This position puts his face near mine, and I instinctively back away. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice my slip. “I heard he was murdered by a little blind bitch.”
A growl escapes me before I can stop it. If I didn’t have the magic dampening cuffs around my wrists, I imagine my eyes would’ve been red and black as my demon came out to play. No one, fucking no one, calls Nina a bitch.
Except for me. But I was a little shit back in the day.
“I met her,” I drawl with a lazy smile. “What makes the Council think she did it? Because of the blood on her?”
“That’s part of it, yes.” Henry leans even closer until I’m forced to smell his rancid breath. Fuck, I’m going to need to burn my nose off after this. “But it’s also what they found on him.”
Well, this is interesting. I haven’t heard anything about the dead body itself.
“What did they find?” I try to keep my curiosity to a minimum. Men like Henry thrive on dangling information over your head like a tasty morsel you can’t help but clamp down on. Only then do you discover it’s attached to a double-edged sword.
When Henry doesn’t immediately answer, I send a wave of lust toward him. He releases a guttural groan, hand sneaking to his pants. My eyes flicker to the mirror, but I know that whoever’s in there won’t stop this sick man if he decides to take his infatuation a step further.
Even with the table obscuring my view, I know Henry is jacking himself off.
“Henry...” I trail off with another trademark smile. “Did you get distracted, darling?”
Sweat beads on his forehead as he begins to stroke himself faster and faster, his breathing gradually becoming more erratic. With a sigh, I release another wave of lust, and Henry comes with a groan.
If I have cum on my shoes, so help me...
“Why are we talking about this?” Henry questions at last, regaining his senses. He stands, flaccid dick still hanging out of his pants, and walks toward me.
Fuck, no.
“Because I’m curious,” I say indolently. “Is that a problem? Are you jealous I’m asking about another man? You know you’re the only man for me.”
The only man for me to kill. I may have conveniently left that last part out.
“Apparently, they found a picture of Nina in Raphael’s jacket,” Henry divulges at last.
“Wait, what?” I don’t even bother to hide my shock and disbelief. Raphael Turner, the oldest vampire in this area, had a picture of Nina on his person?
“And her blood was beneath his nails,” Henry adds finally.
My thoughts are circulating rapidly, unable to settle for more than a second. What. The. Fuck?
Was Nina’s blood actually on Raphael Turner’s body, or was she framed after the murder was committed? And how did he get a picture of her? Was that another attempt to frame her? My thoughts continue to swirl like smoke, so much so that I don’t notice Henry until he’s directly behind me, his hands on my shoulder.
Darkness coats my vision, my thoughts. It’s a fucking ghost that hovers just over my body, never touching but making its presence known.
No. No. No. No.
No!
“Cain, hurry up, you heavy bastard,” Abel pants. He props me against the wall as he hurries to open the door.
Sunlight blinds me. I can’t remember the last time I felt its natural heat on my skin. I squeeze my eyelids shut, pressing my forehead against the wall. I have spent years underground with little to no sun exposure.
I haven’t even realized how much I missed the light until now. Fuck, I need it. I’m tired of this darkness, this pain.
“Let’s go, brother.” Abel helps me stand, and together, we hurry outside. The frigid wind and subdued sun hints that it might be late fall or winter. Dark clouds speckle the sky, not quite obscuring the sun completely from view.
The moment we take a step forward, armed guards swarm us. I count at least thirty, if not more.
“Get on your knees!” someone demands, pointing a gun at my head. “Get on your fucking knees!”
I exchange an anxious glance with my brother, noting the strain on his face and the circles beneath both his eyes. He’s tired of fighting, tired of this life we’ve been unwittingly thrust into. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time we gave up.
Maintaining eye contact with the person I love most in the world, I drop to my knees, placing my hands on the back of my head. Abel copies my movements, mouth a grim line.
Wherever we’re going has to be better than this.
Anything is better than fucking this.
I’m wrenched from my flashback as pain erupts down my spine. I roar, back arching, as I come back to the present.
A lone cuff dangles from my wrist, no longer connected to the table. Claws have broken through all ten of my fingers, and I know that my skin is black and crispy from my demon fire.
At my feet, a burning mess of flesh, is Henry.
Oh fuck.
It’s the last thought I have as the guards converge on me.
Chapter 37
Nina
Someone is singing.
An angel. An angel is singing to me, lulling me to sleep. The oddly seductive sound feathers down my arms, as soft as a butterfly’s wing. I breathe in deeply, filling my lungs up with the scent of copper and citrus, before exhaling.
I don’t recognize the song, but a sense of comfort seeps into my bones. It penetrates the darkness consuming my mind.
Focusing on the voice, only the voice, I open my mouth to sing back. Reply to his melodic song with one of my own.
He trips over his verse, pausing momentarily, before resuming with a gusto. His beautiful, ethereal voice soothes all of the jagged edges inside of me.
Despite not knowing the words, I join him and sing a song from my past. It was a song Kai used to sing to me in the Compound. He told me that his mom taught it to him.
Slowly, I come back to myself. Instead of drifting above my body like a malicious phantom, I become aware of every ache and pain inside of me.
My arms are wrapped around my knees, holding them to my chest. Cold tears slide down my cheeks and hang suspended on my lips. A distinctly salty flavor overwhelms me. There is another pair of hands on my knees, where my dress has ridden up, rubbing soothing patterns into my skin.
“There you go, Angel. Come back to me,” Damien whispers. I never would’ve believed that he was the owner of such a soulful, beautiful voice. I always knew there was light in him—light tainted by his own inner darkness. He just needs help feeding the flame until it reaches an inferno. He needs someone who accepts his darkness and embraces his light.
“Damien?” I sob.
“I’m here. I’m right here.” With a cry, I lunge forward and wrap my arms around him. My face settles into the crook of his neck.
At first, his arms are hesitant around me, limp and unsure, but the longer I hold him, the more courage he gains. His body molds to mine until I can’t demarcate where he ends and I begin.
“Thank you,” I say into the hollow of his throat. His arms are steel bands around me evoking a sense of irrevocable peace and security. The remnants of my flashback dissipate with each second in his embrace.
“I’ll do whatever you need,” he replies resolutely. I feel something feather-soft on my scalp—his lips. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, reluctantly lifting my head. My arms remain twined around his neck, my fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape. “I don’t usually get flashbacks. I guess it was when you grabbed me from behind.” I shudder delicately. “That was how Man used to grab me.”
“Man.” Damien’s voice drops to a deadly whisper, ice enthused in every word. “Is he from the Compound?”
“I think he was one of the guards,” I admit, recalling the brief second I had seen his reflection in the window. It will haunt me until the day I die. “He would come into my cell and call me ‘Little Monster.’ Sometimes, I wouldn’t even hear him enter. I would be minding my own business when he grabbed me from behind.” I rub at my arms hoping to dispel the sudden surge of goosebumps pebbling on my skin. Fear pulses through me, tainting my body with the pungent, sour smell of it. “I don’t want to be scared anymore. I don’t want what he did in the past to dictate my future.”
Damien cups my cheeks with a tenderness and warmth that belies his frigid exposition. It’s hard to associate this Damien with the man others claim him to be.
“Fear is not a bad thing,” he says after a moment. “Having feelings is not a bad thing. It just means that you’re human. I once thought I would be happier if I didn’t feel, if I didn’t let my past consume me. I was like you, in a way, though I don’t think it’s wise to compare one tragedy to another.” He pauses, breath feathering in and out, before beginning again. “When I was a little boy, I was plucked off the streets and taken into an assassin’s guild.” His hands tighten almost imperceptibly on my face. “I did a lot of bad things when I worked for them, killed a lot of people. And you know what? I liked it. Maybe it’s because I’m a sick, cold-hearted bastard, or maybe it’s because my sins and choices were already piling up on me, burying me in a coffin I created. It terrifies me, but that’s the thing about fear—it’s not rational and it doesn’t listen to reason.”
He doesn’t speak for a moment, holding me in an embrace that is anything but cold. Warmth emanates from where he touches me, migrating to the center of my stomach. My heart begins to palpitate.
“I see you, Damien,” I whisper. “The good and the bad. I see you.”
“I really wish you didn’t.” He presses his forehead against my own. “I’ve killed people for the fun of it. I did horrible, horrible things. Things that would scare you away if you ever heard of them.”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” I
place my hands over his on my cheeks, holding him to me. Holding the broken pieces of this proud man. “You’re not made of ice, Dam. I see the warmth in you. If you really didn’t feel, didn’t care, you wouldn’t have sung to me until I crawled out of my flashback. You wouldn’t have offered to train me to fight. You wouldn’t have looked after me. You’re warm.”
“Only with you,” he answers immediately. “Only ever with you.”
Footsteps echo from down the hall, and Damien moves away from me as if he’s on fire. I want to be sad that he’s reverting back to his ice-cold persona, but I know that with me, at least, he has a different facet. And maybe a tiny part of me wants that warmth to only belong to me. To be the only witness to the snow melting and the brilliant flowers taking its place.
“Move out of the way, Braelyn,” Bronson hisses. “Let me see my mate.”
I push into Bronson’s head to see Braelyn and Jenny guarding the door, their backs to me. I have no doubt they at least heard some of my conversation with Damien. Hopefully, for their sake, they don’t mention the fracture in his apathetic mask.
Braelyn and Jenny both move to the side, lowering their weapons as Bronson lunges for me. Briefly, I catch a glimpse of Damien leaning against the wall, a bored, disinterested expression marring his handsome face.
“Bron,” I whisper, hugging him back just as tightly. I inhale his spicy, masculine scent as he rocks me from side to side, his body rumbling with his growl.
“The guards went looking for the twins. I got worried and came as fast as I could. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He puts his hands on my shoulders, holding me away, as his eyes roam across my body. “Fuck. We need to complete this mating bond soon. I don’t know how much more my wolf can take. How much I can take.”
“Complete the mating bond?” I question. “What does that entail?”
