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

Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

Bellonna

“Where the hell are we?” he shouts, his voice sharp enough to wake the dead as he attempts to move, but falls short as he’s still frozen in place.

I grin, savoring his confusion like a fine wine. “Oh, you don’t know?” I say, my hand flying to my mouth, feigning shock with an exaggerated gasp. “Well, before we get into the whole Q&A thing, let’s get everyone together, shall we? It seems we don’t have everyone in attendance.”

With a snap of my fingers and a flash of light that’s as dramatic as I am, the remaining members of the family—both blood and adopted—appear before me, blinking in stunned disbelief. I could’ve made them appear without all the fanfare, but I feel like taking them out with a bang.

My eyes move through the family members, soaking in the fear wafting off of each one of them. Happiness boils in me, knowing they are feeling just an ounce of what I did all those hundreds of years ago as a scared, wrongly accused young woman. And why? All because my supposed best friend was jealous that the man she desired had eyes for me.

My gaze lands on a pregnant woman among them, and for a fleeting moment, something in my chest twists. Compassion? Sympathy? Nah, that can’t be it. Whatever pity I might have had for her pregnant state evaporates like dew under the rays of the scorching sun as she opens her mouth.

“Who the fuck are you, bitch?” A torrent of insults comes from her mouth, each more creatively vulgar than the last. I listen to each of them, my expression never faltering, letting her think she has some kind of power. I know she has none.

When I’ve finally had enough, I flick my hand, sealing her mouth shut. “That’s better. My ears were starting to bleed. How about yours, Blackwell?” My eyes never leave her as I ask him the question. I want to see her face when she hears whatever crazy ass response I’m sure he’ll make.

“I might need to go check and see if I still have a cock. Her shrill voice had him crawling so far up inside me I might have an innie instead of an outtie now.”

“Well,” I say, brushing imaginary dust off my hands, “Ready to have some fun?”

He cocks an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. “Define ‘fun’. Just so I know we’re on the same page.”

“Stupid bitch, you can’t do this,” the man, their self-proclaimed leader, barks at me like I’m his lap dog, ready to jump and bend to his will. “Why are we here? This isn’t right.”

“Lots of things aren’t right. I can and will do whatever the hell I want. I’m Bloody Mary, and long before that I was Bellonna Thorne. Many, many years ago—long before your time—I was killed in this very field.” I gesture dramatically to the surrounding expanse, the moonlight glinting off the dew-kissed grass. “Accused of being a witch all because your fucking great what-the-ever-hell relative was jealous that the man she pined over like a lovesick puppy only had eyes for me. And now, history has come full circle. Your family’s story? It ends here tonight. Poetic, don’t you think?”

Before anyone can protest or even process my words, another flash of light illuminates the field. When it fades, every one of them—minus one—are strapped to metal tables, restrained, unable to move or fight what is about to happen to them. They writhe and shout, their voices an orchestra of panic and fury. Each of them begs for me to let them free. Not him though, he just shouts about how I’ll never succeed. Even now, in his current situation, he still thinks he has the upper hand. That tonight will end vastly differently than it’s going to.

The lone person not strapped to the table is her. The exception. She stands frozen, defiance flickering in her eyes like a dying ember. “I’ll let you handle this one, Blackwell,” I say, my tone sweet but laced with cruelty. “Go ahead. End her life. Feed on her blood. I’m not completely heartless, you know. She’s with child, and while no one in this bloodline will live, the unborn doesn’t deserve the same fate the others are about to meet.”

See? I can show compassion.

Death is still the end result, just delivered differently for one innocent soul—a soul I won’t claim. Instead, I’ll allow it to move on to the afterlife, free to be reborn into a bloodline untainted by the sins of this one. My gaze flickers to Blackwell, already savoring his meal-to-be, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if I should tell him reincarnation is real.

Blackwell steps forward, but there’s a flicker of hesitation in his movements before he steps behind her, his hand sliding around her waist, cradling her stomach as his other tilts her head to the side. He leans his head back, baring his fangs, and my pussy clenches, imagining them puncturing into the creamy, soft flesh on my leg, right at the apex of my thigh.

She screams out as Blackwell feasts upon her, draining her useless body of blood. I ignore her, turning back to the others. One by one, I place smooth, dark stones on their struggling forms, each stone heavy with malice and hate. Their cries grow louder, sharper, as the stones press down, making them feel twice the pain I endured so many years ago.

It’s justice in its most poetic form.

And then, the grand finale. The big show, the attention grabber. With a flick of my wrist, flames ignite, devouring each of their bodies in an inferno of retribution. The air fills with the acrid stench of burning flesh and the symphony of their screams.

Only when they're dead do I finally extinguish the flames. Blackwell exhales, his voice low and guttural. “That was... fucking hot. But I didn’t get to perform nearly enough killing. Just one lone woman.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. Want to fuck before we leave?” I wave my hand, clearing one of the charred bodies from the table. With another flick of my hand, my clothing disappears and I make my way over to the table, making sure to add some exaggerated sway in my step as I go.

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” His voice rises as he begins removing his clothes.

I let my nails extend, turning into sharp blades. Blackwell loves it bloody, thrives on the chaos, and tonight, I’ll give him exactly what he craves. I place a nail at my shoulder, right below my mate mark and drag it along my flesh, over my heaving breast as blood flows in crimson glory from the wound.

“Oh,” he groans, his eyes gleaming with hunger. “That’s fucking hot.”

He moves like a predator, stopping at the edge of the table before leaning down, tongue out, lapping at the slick, metallic trail running down my body. Each pass of his tongue sends jolts of sensation through me, my nipples hardening to tight peaks. The deep, guttural moans he lets out ripple through my core, making my pussy clench with need.

When he latches onto my nipple, his fangs sink in without warning, piercing me with that perfect combination of pain and pleasure. His tongue flicks and swirls over the pebbled mound, teasing the sensitive flesh. I arch into him, craving the bite, the heat, the wild chaos of it all.

But this isn’t enough. Not yet.

“As much as I’d love to drag this foreplay out,” I say, my voice ragged, “we still have business to handle. Lay down, Blackwell.”

He grins, wicked and feral, before sprawling on the table like he owns the damn world. I move to the side, my movements slow, deliberate, teasing. As he settles, I climb on top of him, straddling his waist, gazing down into his hooded, lust-filled eyes.

Without breaking eye contact, I run my hand through the blood on my chest before lifting my blood-soaked fingers to my lips, sliding them into my mouth. I suck slowly, my tongue swirling around each digit, savoring the taste, putting on a show like it’s his cock between my lips. His sharp intake of breath is all the encouragement I need.

He bucks his hips upward, his rock-hard shaft brushing against my clit, sending jolts of fire through me.

But playtime is over. It’s time to fuck.

Reaching between us, I grab his cock, feeling the heat, the throbbing need beneath my fingers. Pre-cum drips from the swollen, angry head, slicking my palm as I line him up with my entrance. Then, with one hard motion, I drop down, taking him to the hilt.

The stretch is glorious, the pain exquisite as he fills me completely. My walls clamp around him, tight, unforgiving, and I don’t hold back. My hands brace on his chest, my nails sinking deep into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks. He hisses in pain, but I know he loves it—thrives on it.

“You like that, little fanger?” I growl, rolling my hips, dragging his cock against every nerve-ending inside me.

Blackwell’s hands grip my ass, rough and possessive, his fingers digging into the flesh as he thrusts upward, meeting me stroke for stroke. The slap of our bodies echoes in the field, a primal, raw rhythm that sends us spiraling closer to the edge.

Sweat slicks our skin, mingling with the scent of blood and lust. Each thrust sends us higher, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps. He spills into me with a guttural roar, his body bucking beneath mine as I cry out, my own orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave.

We’re both a sweaty mess, both reaching our orgasm and coming undone together as I collapse forward.

Before I can fully settle, a blur of motion shifts beneath me, landing me on my back atop the table, his teeth sinking into my neck. It’s not to feed—he doesn’t drink—but to mark. The sharp, unexpected pain draws a gasp from my lips, my body jolting against his as a rush of electric fire courses through me. It’s raw, primal, and unmistakably his.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, stepping back, panting heavily as he stares at me like I’ve just set his world on fire.

I press a hand to my neck, the lingering heat from his bite a soothing comfort. Through the haze of adrenaline, I realize I can feel him—not just his presence, but his essence, thrumming through me. It’s familiar, like Varys, but... softer. Weaker. Can it be? Fuck me!

“You just marked me,” I whisper, half in awe, half in accusation. He marked me. Part of me wants to ride him into the early hours of the morning like a stallion, and another part wants to rip his head from his neck.

“Vampires don’t mark. We don’t have mates,” he protests, climbing off the table, running a hand through his hair, as he paces, trying to make his own sense of what’s happening. “It’ll heal. It’ll fade. It’s just a bite mark. Nothing more. Just like with Varys and anyone else we bite, to show our ownership.”

I tilt my head, a wicked grin spreading across my face. “You didn’t feed, Blackwell. You only bit.” I slide from the table and step toward him, my voice dropping to a low purr. “Fate’s a funny bitch, isn’t she? We’re mated.”

His eyes widen. “I don’t have a mark, though.” He glances down at himself, craning his neck as much as he can without a mirror as he runs his hand along his chest.

I chuckle, placing my hand on his chest. “Oh, you will.”

Before he can protest, my hand begins to glow a fiery red. He flinches, a hiss escaping his lips as the heat spreads across his skin. When I pull my hand away, a vivid mark appears, identical to the one Varys bears.

Blackwell stares down at it, his expression a mix of awe and terror. “What the hell? What did you do?”

“We’re mates,” I say simply, stepping back and crossing my arms with a satisfied smirk. “You didn’t have a mark, and I did, so I gave you one. Welcome to forever, psycho boy.”

“Forever. Me and you.” His voice rises with excitement.

He groans, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s just... go get the damn unicorn.”

I laugh, the sound echoing across the field now riddled in death as the moonlight bathes us both in its silver glow.