Fangs & Freaks (Shifters of Myths and Legends #1)

Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Warrick

The air before church is heavy, even before I open the door. I can feel it—something ominous. My pulse thrums in anticipation as I press my palm to the cool metal and shove it open. The scent of iron hits me first, unmistakable. Blood. And not the kind that belongs to just anybody, or someone who just overstepped their bounds and stumbled into the room we hold church in. This is deliberate.

My boots echo against the floor as I step inside, eyes scanning for the source. And there it is, boldly mocking us on the far wall.

Blood for blood, and pain for pain. You stole my prize, now feel my reign.

The letters are bold, painted with deliberate strokes in vivid crimson that glisten under the room’s light. My jaw tightens, and fury bubbles beneath my skin like magma.

“Bloody fucking Mary,” I growl.

I don’t need to ask who left it. No one else would be brazen enough to waltz into our home undetected. She’s toying with us, staking her claim in a way that’s both dramatic and infuriating.

I approach the wall, careful to avoid the knife discarded on the floor. The blade still glistening with what I can only assume is her blood, a little calling card left for us to stew over.

“She thinks he’s hers,” I mutter, running a hand over my hair.

Varys is ours. We saved him. Protected him. We are still nursing him back from the brink. He’s part of us now, whether he knows it or not. And Bloody Mary? She can rot in whatever pit she crawled out of. Blackwell and I won’t let her take him.

But how do you fight someone you know nothing about?

I force myself to turn away from the message, pacing. Blackwell’s voice echoes in my head about how sexy she was and his request for her to mark him while riding his cock.

I can’t let his craziness distract me.

Easier said than done.

The description of her from Varys and Blackwell paints her as almost otherworldly–lethal, yes, but sexy as hell. The kind of creature who could make you forget your mission with a single glance. I scoff. How dangerous could she really be?

The door creaks open behind me, and I don’t need to turn to know it’s Blackwell. His heavy footsteps and the weight of his disapproval fill the room like a thundercloud.

“This is what she left for us?” he asks, his voice clipped. “She’s trying to intimidate us.”

“It’s working,” I mutter.

He spins on his heel, crossing the room to close the distance between us. “What exactly is your problem, Warrick? Scared of a little theatrics?”

My jaw clenches, and for a moment I think about ripping his throat out. “My problem is that she walked in here and left that message without a single soul noticing. That’s not just theatrics, Blackwell. That’s a problem.”

Blackwell opens his mouth to retort, but steps closer, his dark eyes locking on mine. “We need a plan then, if you’re that worried about her. And don’t tell me you’ve already thought of one, because I know you haven’t.”

“I’m working on it,” I snap, my hands balling into fists.

Blackwell doesn’t flinch. “Maybe we should be asking Varys. He’s the one with the family history, isn’t he? His grandma apparently told him all about Sexy Little Mary.”

The mention of Varys cuts through my anger, redirecting my focus. Varys. The unicorn. The reason we’re even having this argument in the first place.

“Fine,” I say, pushing past him. “Let’s ask him.”

“What about church?” Damon asks.

“Postponed. Make sure no one gets in or out of the compound without me knowing!” I bark, storming away.

Varys is in his room, the door slightly ajar. I pause, hearing a soft, rhythmic sound. My eyes narrow as I push the door open further, and the sight before me freezes me in place.

Varys is standing in front of the full-length mirror, his muscular frame illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp. One hand is braced against the mirror, the other working the length of his cock with a deliberate rhythm. His head is tipped back, his dark hair damp with sweat, and his lips are parted, releasing soft, breathy moans.

I shouldn’t look. I know I shouldn’t. But I do.

He smells like dessert—something sweet and tart, like cranberry and orange, the scent thick in the air and utterly intoxicating. My mouth goes dry, and I clench my fists to keep from reaching out.

Blackwell’s sharp intake of breath tells me he’s just as affected, though he hides it better.

“Varys,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend.

His head snaps up, eyes wide with surprise. His hand stills, and for a moment, the room is silent except for the sound of our breathing.

“I—” he starts, his voice shaky, but I cut him off.

“Don’t stop,” I say, surprising even myself.

Blackwell shoots me a sharp look, but he doesn’t protest. Instead, he steps closer, his dark eyes locked on Varys.

“We’re not here to judge,” Blackwell says, his voice low. “But if you’re going to put on a show, don’t half-ass it.”

Varys’ cheeks flush a deep crimson, but he doesn’t look away. Slowly, he resumes his movements, his hand sliding over his thick cock with a renewed purpose.

My control snaps. I cross the room in a few strides, dropping to my knees in front of him.

“You smell incredible,” I murmur, my hands gripping his hips. “Like something I want to devour.”

Varys shudders, his hand faltering. I bat it away, replacing it with my own, and he lets out a soft gasp as I take him in my hand.

Blackwell moves behind him in a flash, his hands sliding up Varys’ sides as he presses his lips to the curve of his neck. “Tell us, unicorn,” Blackwell whispers. “Have you been with a man before? A vampire?”

Varys freezes for a moment, caught between us, his breath coming in uneven gasps. His lips part, and the words tumble out in a soft, broken rush. “Yes—men. No vampire. Wait—a vampire woman.”

My grip tightens slightly, and I feel the tremor that runs through him at the action. His answer shouldn’t make me jealous—it’s ridiculous to be jealous—but the sharp sting is there anyway, like the idea of someone else, anyone else, staking a claim on him cuts deeper than I want to admit.

“A vampire woman,” I repeat, unable to keep the sardonic edge out of my voice. “How interesting.”

Blackwell chuckles softly, his lips skimming up to Varys’ ear. “Was she anything like us?” he asks, his tone mocking but laced with curiosity.

Varys shakes his head, a quick, jerky movement that sends his curls tumbling. “No,” he breathes. His voice is barely audible now, heavy with arousal and something else—something like surrender.

I can’t resist the urge to press closer, my free hand gripping his hip as I lean in. His scent is overwhelming, that sweet-tart combination of cranberry and orange flooding my senses. My mouth is so close to his skin that I can feel the warmth radiating off him, hear the frantic pounding of his heart.

“Good,” I murmur, letting my breath fan over his pelvic bone. “Because you deserve better.”

Varys lets out a small, broken sound, and it’s like a spark igniting a powder keg. Blackwell’s hands tighten on his sides, and my grip on him becomes firmer, possessive. He’s caught between us now, and there’s no escape—not that he seems to want one.

“You’ll like this better than anything before,” Blackwell murmurs against his skin, his voice dripping with dark promise.

“And you’ll remember,” I add, my tone edged with something that feels dangerously close to a vow. “Because you’re ours now. Not hers. Not anyone else’s. Ours. ”

At those words, Varys shudders violently, and a soft, fractured cry escapes him as he comes undone. His release spills over my hand, warm and slick. I chuckle low in my throat, savoring the sight of him breaking apart beneath our touch. Without hesitation, I bring my hand to my mouth, tasting him. His tart sweetness floods my senses, just as intoxicating as his scent. My tongue flicks out to savor every last drop, and I can’t stop my mind from wandering, wondering if his blood is just as divine.

A sharp whimper draws my eyes up, and what I see sends a jolt of heat through me. Blackwell has sunk his fangs into the tender flesh where Varys’ neck meets his shoulder, his jaw working as he drinks deeply. The sight is raw and primal, a claim as undeniable as the hunger coiled tight in my own chest.

Varys releases again with a choked cry, his body trembling as he surrenders to the intensity of it all. I wrap my hand back around his shaft, stroking slowly, deliberately. When he’s done, I lean forward and use my tongue to clean him. Not a drop is forgotten; I refuse to let anything of his go to waste.

When Blackwell finally pulls back, his lips and fangs stained crimson, he sticks out his tongue to lick the puncture wounds, sealing them shut.

“No, leave them. Let him wear our mark to show her he’s ours.” Warrick orders.

Varys’ knees buckle, and he collapses before me, trembling and utterly spent. His golden skin glows faintly in the dim light, and his wide eyes are glazed with a mix of pleasure and disbelief.

Blackwell wipes the corner of his mouth with a casual swipe of his thumb and smirks. “Now it seems we’ve marked you too,” he says, his voice deep and satisfied.

I meet Varys’ dazed gaze, brushing a damp curl from his forehead. My own voice is softer, but no less certain as I add, “Bloody Mary doesn’t get to take you. Not now. Not ever.”

Varys stares at me, his lips parting as if to speak, but all that escapes is a soft, shaky exhale. His chest rises and falls in rapid bursts, and his hands reach out instinctively, grasping at me like he’s searching for something solid to anchor him.

I let him. Because as much as I might hate admitting it, he’s not just ours because we’ve claimed him. He’s ours because he’s made us his, too.