Revenge- House of Nephilim

by May Dawson

  “You betrayed my trust,” I say, my voice quiet, but not soft at all, and he stiffens at the accusation.

  “I’m trying to help,” he reminds me.

  I raise my hand. “I’m not going to argue with you, Lincoln. You need to shelve the bossy protective bullshit. That’s not what I need, and it’s not what I’m going to tolerate.”

  His lips part.

  “I’m done,” I tell him. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  As I start to close the door, he puts his powerfully muscled arm up to block me. The door bounces off his shoulder as he steps in toward me. His jaw is tense. “Eden, you’ve got to talk to me—”

  “Nope,” Julian says, moving swiftly beside me. “She doesn’t have to do a damn thing with you if she doesn’t want to.”

  “Oh, come on,” Lincoln begins.

  Julian pushes him back as he steps into the hall, telling me, “I’ll talk to him, Eden.”

  Julian slams the door behind him. I stand there listening, chewing my lip. There’s a thud in the hallway, as if someone just pushed someone into the wall. It’s followed by another, louder, thud, as if someone was just thrown across the hall and into the wall.

  I roll my eyes. Julian means well, but I can’t let the two of them fight and perhaps end up in the detention center. We all need to look after each other right now, even if some of us are arrogant fools.

  I walk out into the hall, but Everett is already between the two of them, shoving them apart. Other doors start to open along the hall. Ever pushes Julian and Linc into Julian’s room.

  “Just some hand-to-hand practice!” Ever calls, sounding far more cheerful than usual as he waves to the people who are starting to congregate in the hall to watch a fight.

  Then Ever slams the door behind him, his face resolving into its usual bleak but handsome visage.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you all?” he demands.

  Lincoln’s hands grip the chair back of Julian’s desk chair so hard his knuckles turn white as Ever looks at him.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “We’ve got witches to meet.”

  “It sure seems like it matters.” Ever looks between Julian and Lincoln. “Usually, everyone wants to kick my ass.”

  “Always on the table,” Lincoln drawls. He notices me watching him, then releases his stranglehold on the chair back as if he remembers my suggestion that he get his temper under control. He raises his hands in a placating gesture.

  I debate whether I should have them all come with me, but honestly, even though I’m so furious whenever I look at Lincoln that I want to punch his handsome face, it doesn’t seem fair to leave him behind. I know how much he loved Elliot.

  “I’m going to breakfast with Ever,” I say abruptly. “You two, make up.”

  Ever shrugs at them as Julian and Lincoln glower—at him or at each other, I can’t tell. Then he offers me his arm, and the two of us head into the hall. He’s still limping, but just barely now.

  “I need a shower before breakfast,” I tell him.

  While I’m gathering my clean clothes and my makeshift toiletry collection, I hear a raised voice. Julian’s.

  I can’t catch it all, but I catch Julian’s sharp retort: “I have the feeling she was pretty fucking clear, Linc.”

  Ever and I trade a look. Then he says carefully, “I don’t think they’re going to make up this morning.”

  “I don’t want them to fight about me,” I say. “I don’t want it to be my fault.”

  Ever takes a stride toward me, closing the distance between us. “It’s not your fault. Those two care about each other, but there are…cracks in their friendship. Hell, maybe you’ll force them into fixing them.”

  “What if they don’t?”

  Ever touches my chin tenderly. “Eden, I think they’ll try their hardest for you.”

  I bite my lip as I stare up into his face. The two of them abandoned Everett, and he’s still trying to see the best in them. I want to ask him how he was ever a Lord, but then, he was never entirely one of us. That’s why Lincoln hates him so much now.

  Because Lincoln hates himself.

  There’s a thud in the hall outside, and Ever pulls a face.

  “Would you send Julian in to bodyguard me before he and Linc go beyond cracks and shatter each other?” I ask.

  “Sure.” He brushes a quick kiss across my forehead and then strides to the door. He doesn’t look back, and I watch him go, his broad shoulders and the lean taper of his waist, the squeezable curve of his ass and long, athletic legs.

  Ever’s casual physical grace isn’t what I appreciate about him most, though.

  Julian and Linc missed out by spending a year without him.

  And I can’t judge them. I missed out on two years while I plotted to kill them all.

  I head into the bathroom and as I brush my teeth, all I can think is: thank god someone spoke up and mentioned not having left me for dead. Communication is key. Otherwise, you get your heart ripped out.

  Julian steps into the bathroom behind me, closes and locks the door. “Your servant, majesty.” He bows slightly at the waist, his dark curls flopping.

  I pause with my toothbrush still in my mouth. “That’s a good look on you.”

  He straightens. “You would think so.”

  But despite his playful words, he seems like he’s in a bad mood. He heads into a shower stall and turns on the water, and for a few minutes, there’s nothing between us but the sounds of water hitting the tile.

  “Is Linc okay?” I ask after a while.

  He laughs, not a nice laugh; he sounds surprised by the question. “He dropped you from three hundred feet up, and you want to know if he’s okay?”

  “I don’t hold grudges.”

  This time when he laughs, there’s a genuine note in it, and I smile too.

  “Can I come over?” he asks.

  “Why not?”

  His feet pad across the tile, but he hesitates just outside my stall before he steps in with me. He pauses, his eyes valiantly fixed on my face.

  “You can look at my breasts, Jules.”

  “Oh thank god.” He exhales like he’s been dying as his gaze drops to my breasts. Then they’re back on my face, as he steps in with me. I’m just opening my shampoo bottle, and he holds out his hand. I give it to him, and I take my time looking at him, too.

  Julian is toned and tall, his body leanly muscular. There’s something elegant about the way he carries himself. Hell, he’s just elegant, from the smooth planes of his chest to his flat, taut abs. He’s completely groomed, no trace of dark hair as my eyes drift south, and his cock is stiff between his thighs. He sees me noticing, and he shrugs.

  I decide that now is not the time to ask if that thing vibrates.

  Instead, I turn my back on him as he squirts shampoo into his palm and works it through my hair. He caresses my scalp with his fingertips, and my ass brushes against his cock as I lean back into his touch.

  “This feels like a dangerous game,” I murmur.

  “It’s not a game,” he says. “There, all clean.”

  His soapy hands glide down the nape of my neck, trace the curve of my spine, stroke over my sides, the curve of my ass.

  I rest my head on his shoulder and gaze up at him. “Do you think there can be a happy ending for people like us, Jules?”

  He bows his head, kissing my throat, just beneath my ear. His slow, lingering kisses seem to hum through my blood.

  He raises his head, and his lips graze my ear when he whispers, “Eden, you wanted nineteen powerful full-grown Nephilim dead, and you got it. I think if you ever decide you deserve a happy ending, you’ll get that too.”

  My lips quirk. “Of course I think I deserve a happy ending.”

  “Do you? Really?” His hands glide across my hips, then he turns me toward him.

  He walks me backward under the spray until my back meets the warm tiles. The spray soaks his hair to his head, and he shakes it out of his eyes
as he emerges.

  He kisses me slowly, teasingly, as he presses me against that wall, and I run my fingers through his wet hair. When he starts to pull away, I tighten my fingers in his hair and tug his head down to mine again.

  His cock brushes between my thighs as his body sways against mine, as if he can’t resist getting even closer to me.

  Then he straightens abruptly, his fingers curling around my shoulders. “Our first time should be special, shouldn’t it?”

  “Julian,” I kiss the corner of his mouth insistently, my hands stroking down his abs, then stroking lower until my fingertips graze his cock. “It’s special to me because I’m with you. I don’t need anything else.”

  “Are you serious right now?” He cups my chin with his hand, studying me, a smile curving his lips. “You are so fucking perfect. It’s a little hard to believe, to be honest.”

  “You’re only saying that I’m perfect because I’ve got my hand wrapped around your cock.” I grip him firmly, then smile up at him.

  He regards me with those glittering dark eyes, then pushes me against the tile wall, claiming my mouth with his.

  When he breaks away, he murmurs, “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “You’re a jackass,” I say, and I push him away, only to catch him with my fingers curled around the back of his neck and reel him in again.

  Our bodies sear together as we trade kisses. Then he frowns, pulling away. “Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph, I think I got your shampoo in my eyes.”

  I laugh, which maybe makes me a terrible…whatever we are…right before I push him under the water. I pretend to baby him, cooing as I help rinse his eyes. He blinks and complains but his cock never stops being hard. I actually think maybe Julian, as much of a badass as he may be, likes being babied.

  He glares down at me balefully, his one eye still a bit bloodshot. “This is definitely not the memorable first time I’d hoped for.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “For one thing, you’re doing an awful lot of giggling.”

  I haven’t giggled in years. His accusation reminds me that it feels like I’m coming back to life here—in ways both good and bad—and a giddy lightness fills my chest. As he pouts down at me, I can’t help laughing harder.

  “Laugh it up, Greyson,” he says. He presses behind me, pressing me into the wall, and I rub my ass across his cock.

  “I will,” I say, right before he takes his cock in his hand, gliding the tip over the curve between my cheeks, down to the heat between my thighs. I gasp as he brushes over my throbbing clit.

  He presses a kiss to my shoulder, then bites it tentatively, his teeth teasing across my shoulder. I like the feel of his mouth against my shoulder, and I rock my hips back, welcoming him in.

  He bites harder, and I rock harder, and he grins against my skin. I push my ass back into his hips, wanting more of him, but we seem to be stuck in second gear.

  “I thought you were going to be good at this,” I chide him gently, pressing my palm to his cheek. “I thought you were an expert.”

  “You throw me for a loop.” He kisses my shoulder again. “Also, you’re delicious.”

  “That’s not even the best part,” I tell him.

  “Oh, I can’t wait to find out.”

  “I mean, I’m no strawberry shortcake…”

  I crack myself up, but he doesn’t pursue the weird stuff I say, not right now. Instead, his tip glides over my clit again as I bend over, my hands flat against the slick tile. He sheathes himself inside me slowly, and my lips part as he fills me.

  His hands grip my hips hard as he drives into me over and over, and our bodies rock together. I slam my hips back into him, his tip scraping over my g-spot every time and then slams so deep that there’s a burst of faint pain that blurs into pleasure. The sound of our wet bodies slapping together is loud in the bathroom.

  His fingers curl deeper into my hips, which is good, because as the pleasure builds through my body, it feels as if his hands are the only thing holding me tethered. I’m about to fly apart into a million pieces.

  “God, Eden,” he says, his voice choked with desire, and that tone in his voice drives me over the edge.

  He rocks into me deep and stops as I tighten around him, the two of us panting as my waves of pleasure roll over us both, and I feel him come apart inside me. He mutters my name again, his voice full of darkness and pleasure.

  Then it’s just the two of us, up against the tile wall, his body hard and warm against mine. The water’s turned cold, but it doesn’t matter. I’m still flushed.

  He grins down at me as I turn in his arms, then he strokes my hair back behind my ear. The expression on his face is fond, and his lips part, no doubt to say something sarcastic and sweet all at once, like Julian himself.

  But someone hammers on the bathroom door. “Come on, man!”

  “There’s another one on the other side of the hall, man!” Julian shouts back, almost blowing my eardrums out, and I press my fingers to my ears even though I can’t help laughing.

  He looks back to me, and his lips quirk ruefully. “You still owe me romantic, Greyson.”

  “We’ll see,” I say, but I bob onto my toes and press a quick kiss to his lips. That quick kiss turns into a longer one, and his hands begin to skim my body, and if Ever didn’t bang on the door next, we might never have left that bathroom.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Lincoln is in a dark and silent mood, even by his standards, as we eat breakfast. I don’t care right now. I glance between his black eye and the bruise on Julian’s cheek, then decide to let it go. Instead, I make cheerful conversation with Ever and Julian while Lincoln eats the bleakest of breakfast foods, oatmeal, with the bleakest of faces.

  Once it’s time to start toward the academic building, we quietly slip out of the crowd, and then head over to the witches’ house.

  “They’re cutting class for us?’ I ask Ever.

  Julian glances at him sharply, and Ever says, “That’s not surprising. It is a school of delinquents, after all.”

  “You’re going to get caught,” Julian warns him.

  Ever claps his shoulder. “You didn’t care before.”

  “Caught doing what?” I demand.

  “Maybe I did care,” Julian says. “From a distance.”

  Ever scoffs.

  I grab Ever’s hand and jerk him to a stop. “Hey, friend. Asking questions over here. You’re at risk of getting caught doing what?”

  Ever meets my gaze evenly. “This time? Nothing. Despite what Julian thinks, I can make friends without using any Compulsion.”

  Lincoln snorts at that.

  “Is that why you went to the detention center before?” I demand. It’s so hard to imagine Everett using his abilities to make someone do his bidding…for anything more important than a white chocolate mocha. The memory of the morning he brought me coffee suddenly unsettles me. I’d thought then that he was a villain. But when we were Lords, Ever was always reluctant to compel anyone to do his bidding, though he did it grudgingly.

  “Yeah, but I haven’t used it on Alyssa,” he says. “She’s just my friend. She’d do this for me anyway.”

  “Everett.” I feel lost. “I thought you hated to use it…”

  He frowns down at me. “Yeah, I do. But sometimes we do things we hate.”

  “And if we get caught,” Julian raises his eyebrows, his hands in his pockets, “What do you think the odds are that the witches will pretend you forced them?”

  “That would make more sense than all of us being punished,” Everett says. Thoughtfully, he adds, “If things go awry, the rest of you should pretend it was all my idea. Then I could take the fall.”

  “I am so not okay with this plan,” I warn him.

  He gives me a shrug, but I know that deep down, he’s terrified of the detention center too.

  Then he says, “Eden, we need to know. And I’m not worried, as long as they don’t send you in.”

  “Maybe they’d kill
you off, just to make sure you couldn’t keep protecting me.” The memory of closing up back-to-back with Ever, fighting the ghosts that attacked us, makes my chest so tight I can barely breathe.

  Ever’s eyes search mine. Then he says, “You guys go ahead. We’ll be right there.”

  Lincoln starts to say something, no doubt to reject the idea of splitting up right now, but Julian convinces him in a whisper. Lincoln glowers over his shoulder at us, but reluctantly moves up the trail.

  “Are you still scared to see your memories?” he asks.

  I don’t love that word, scared.

  “If we get caught,” I begin. The truth is, I’m not just terrified of my memories, but of going back into that detention center.

  I can almost feel Richmond’s fingers sinking through my skin again, grasping for my heart, and I absently touch the healing wounds through my blazer.

  “If we get caught, let me take the blame,” he says. “I’ve been preparing for my chance to be the white knight for once.”

  Suddenly I realize that the white mocha might have been him setting the stage. He took that risk for a reason.

  “You are a wily bastard, and I mean that in the most loving of ways,” I tell him. “But I don’t want you to suffer for me.”

  “I know.” His hand cups the back of my head as he brushes his lips across my forehead, and I lean into him instinctively. When my lips find his, he returns my kiss slowly, tenderly. Then he tells me, “That’s why I don’t mind.”

  “Ever,” I say in exasperation.

  “Let’s just not get caught, all right?” he says, taking my hand in his. “We used to be pretty sly.”

  That’s hard to argue with, so I follow him toward the witches’ house.

  Lincoln and Julian are waiting just down the path for us. Together, the four of us walk around the lake and through a colorful garden toward a big brick dorm.

  It’s brighter than I would’ve expected, but then, I don’t know much about witches.

  We walk into a big, comfortable lounge, with couches and little tables everywhere. The walls are plain white, but they’re covered by a mix of bookcases full of books and framed art.