1 We Eat Cheaters ‘Round These Parts
1: We Eat Cheaters ‘Round These Parts
Dorian
R unning my tongue over my teeth, I watch closely from behind my glasses as the men across from me fidget with the cards in their hands.
They’re nervous.
Far too nervous for a couple of morons who decided they should try their hand at poker with a gargoyle who has a short fuse, and a temper to match.
Sure, they might be alphas out in their world. Men in positions of power with wealth, and success, and dozens of people following them around, ready to kiss their asses at the drop of a hat, but we aren’t in their world.
Being an alpha in the seedy underbelly of London and it’s much more dangerous labyrinth of secret sects, doesn’t mean shit.
This is our world.
One that very few know about, and even less are granted access to.
A world where men like them are playthings for males like us, and designation doesn’t count for anything unless you’re like my beautiful Jericho.
A gargoyle, an alpha, and a royal dickhead. That makes for a lethal combination, and I love it when I have a front row seat to what no doubt is going to be one hell of a show. Just like I do now.
These men are cheating.
It’s subtle, almost imperceptible. They’ve clearly perfected their skills since the game started gaining popularity here, but my unblinking eyes catch everything, and I saw the signs during the very firsthand.
A sideways glance that could be mistaken for the usual eye contact during conversation, a bored drum of fingers against the worn wood. The incessant, and obviously rhythmic bouncing of a knee under the table. Nearly everything they’ve done has been some sort of signal, so they know when to up their bets or hold steady, and I’m almost sorry that my alpha is going to figure it out if he hasn’t already, then deal with the cheaters the way he usually does.
“I’ll see your two hundred,” the man on the left says, glancing at Jericho before counting out his chips. “And I’ll raise you another two.”
I grin as my mate matches him, then tosses his cards on the table. “Full house.”
Shifting uncomfortably, the man looks at each of us before he lays his hand out with trembling fingers. “Four aces.”
Jericho immediately crushes the mug he was lifting to his lips, shards of metal and foamy beer squeezing between his fingers like grains of sand. He growls, the sound vibrating low in his chest before it works its way out, slipping through the gargoyle’s clenched teeth as the points of his canines scrape along his bottom lip.
Beautiful.
My alpha is absolutely gorgeous when he’s pissed off, and knowing what that means for me is just as lovely. It makes me hard just thinking about it.
Which immediately shifts Jericho’s attention from the man he was going to kill, to me, because he can now smell me.
Those bottomless white eyes flare, and all I can do is shrug. “Don’t act like you’re surprised; you know what happens when you do this.”
“Enough of that, Dorian,” he growls in that deep, gravelly voice, and French accent that is not helping the situation. “Now is not the time.”
“If you say so, honey lamb.” Letting my forked tongue flick out over my lower lip, I smile when Jericho barely stifles his groan. He hates when I call him that, despises it with everything inside him, but the male loves what I can do with my tongue, and obviously that won out in the battle of his reactions right now.
“Enough,” my alpha grunts, not so discreetly adjusting his dick while he turns to the men. “Four of a kind is impossible.”
The one who thinks he’s taking home nearly six thousand pounds swallows hard, his eyes bouncing between us before settling on Jericho. “I… I have it. See, right there, it’s four of a kind.”
My mate pushes his pin straight, snow white hair out of his face and between large, curled horns on his head, the silky strands exposing the smaller set at his temples. He sighs, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair.
“Four of a kind,” the other man, who’s been silent until now, says with a nod. “It’s as plain as day.”
“Mhm,” Jericho hums, one of his barely visible brows arching. But he says nothing. No more than a grunt while he stares so hard I’m concerned he’s about to do what he’s not supposed to do in this pub after the last time he did it.
Which was to turn one player to stone before eating the other, and it’s why this is ultimately going to be up to me to handle this right now, if I don’t want us to get kicked out of this pub.
There are only so many in London, less than twenty that will cater to the likes of us, and if my math is correct, this one makes five that Jericho and I are still allowed in.
The Silver Bullet is my favorite of our options, it’s the closest to our home in the East End, and I like that it allows humans to mingle with us.
Considering our backgrounds, it’s odd that Jericho and I have such an affection for this disease infested, poverty ridden area, or maybe that’s exactly why we do. Coming from something similar makes us more empathetic to it. So much so, we actually have our own doss houses, and we charge less than the four pence most do for the same reason.
Do we live in those doss houses? No, far from them, but we have a second home of sorts here, off Dorset Street close to our lodgings. It’s for nights like tonight, when we come all the way into Whitechapel to collect from our tenants, grab an ale at The Silver Bullet, then proceed to get far too drunk to return to our statelier home in the peaceful countryside of Essex.
Jericho and I have a good thing going, something so much better for us than what we were doing in Greece, and having options when it comes to our social life is something I’m not ready to give up. Again , since it’s part of why we left my home country and came to England.
So, with an over dramatic sigh, I stretch my arm out in front of my mate to keep him seated and lean toward the idiot humans.
“If the man says it’s not possible, I think it’s safe to say that we should just agree with him so that we all leave here with everything we came in with.”
The chattier of them frowns. “Everything we came with?” Then he signs his death warrant by adding, “I won’t agree with no liar, monster or not.”
I try to keep my arm across Jericho’s chest, try and fail to keep him at bay, but this dumbass called him a liar and while my mate might be a lot of things, a liar isn’t one of them.
He really fucking hates being called one. My lovely gargoyle is not very fond of being called a monster, either, especially by human men who are usually more guilty of heinous crimes and nefarious behavior against their own kind, than the two of us combined.
The tip of Jericho’s tail darts across the table between us, the razor-sharp point stabbing the ace of clubs I had in my hand before it wraps around the man’s neck several times then shoves the card in his face.
“Impossible,” he growls as he tightens his hold. “You are the cheaters, the liars, and the monsters .”
“Drop him,” the other human says quietly as he aims a pistol at me. “Drop him, or I’ll blow your mate right out the back of this building into the middle of Commercial Street.”
I’m not sure what’s more impressive. The level of bravery these two are no doubt trying to exhibit, or the sheer stupidity that they are actually exhibiting it with the same amount of tenacity.
“Drop him?” Jericho asks as he tilts his head and cocks a brow. “Is that supposed to be a command? Like one you’d give to the family dog?”
Oh dear. “Look, gentleman.” I lift my hands, trying to calm both sides of this stupid argument. “It’s clear that you were cheating based on the card that I had in my hand. Folding early doesn’t change the fact that I had it, and if you’ll be so kind and admit defeat, then pay what we are owed, I do believe this evening will be a much better one for all of us.”
“Bugger off,” the one with the gun says just as Jericho lets his skin glimmer back into that almost sparkly dark gray hue, indicating he is now holding nothing back. “We’ll do no such thing, not when—”
I barely have time to anticipate his move, my mate shoots up from the table so fast he’s a dark colored blur in the corner of my eye, the talon on the end of the bone in his right wing puncturing the gunslinger’s shoulder instead of the side of his head as I get to my feet and manage to deflect it.
He growls at me, my alpha pissed that I stopped him, but I have the man’s throat in my hand, and I was able to disarm him thanks to his shift in focus. “He’s no longer a threat.”
Jericho’s grip tightens around the other’s throat. “They never were a threat.”
“Fine. He’s no longer a nuisance . Is that better?”
“It’s a start.” He pulls the one closer, his tail suspending him above the ground. “Never a threat.” Jericho tilts his head from side to side, examining the man as if he’s never seen one before, the light catching on all four of his onyx horns in a way that has my heart fluttering. Beautiful. “Not here, not—”
“Take it outside!” The bar keep, who is a rather crabby cyclops, barks from across the room. “I told you, gargoyle, not in my pub!”
“We were just leaving.” I wave the fingers of my free hand then immediately grab Jericho, dragging him and the human men out through the back doors and into the alley.
I slam mine against the brick wall, pinning him about two feet from the ground as my mate lifts his plaything with his tail, flips him horizontally, then uses the talons on his wings to keep him in place.
“Dorian,” he grunts, those white eyes completely fixed on the man in his grasp. “ Mon coeur serpent, I fear my control is slipping.”
No shit.
He’s eliminated almost all of his camouflage and exposed his wings. His claws are growing by the second, as are his fangs, and one more wrong word from either of these men, and Jericho will be bursting out of his suit just so he has his full range of motion while he kills them.
Unfortunately, that’s going to happen no matter what I do at this point, because we’re in a dark alley off of Commercial Street, which means Jericho can do as he pleases without drawing any attention to us. What I have to say won’t matter, not right now, especially when the trigger-happy asshat in my hand manages to egg him on despite the fact that I’m crushing his throat.
“You’re exactly what they say you are,” he says hoarsely. “Monsters. Scum. You should have been drowned at birth, all of you.”
Leaning in closely, I allow my own anger to win, that simple, hateful statement one that strikes a nerve for me while I whisper across his cheek. “The plague should have wiped out your kind, but it didn’t.” My tongue flicks out to the corner of his eye, carrying with it my deadly breath, and fatal venom. “So, we must do what the rats failed to do.”
I lean back and watch as the white of his eye goes red as the blood vessels burst in rapid succession, the veins spidering out from the lids lighting up in a bright green before it fades to almost black. My venom moves quickly through his system, the man fully aware of what’s happening but he’s now unable to speak, or blink, or move in any way. All he can do is watch me, watching him, while he burns from the inside out. I let him slide down the brick as his muscles atrophy while simultaneously twitching, my venom now hitting his nervous system, making this as painful as it possibly can be.
Letting my sunglasses slip down my face, I grin as it works, the man staring up at the sky, watching the clouds move across the moon while he dies. It always gives me such a thrill, knowing that I’m capable of something like this, that my body produces secretions so lethal that all it takes is a tiny pinpoint for them to kill.
I watch until the light leaves his eyes, completely lost to the death playing out before me as all of his exposed skin starts to blacken, as my venom finally stills within his veins.
What a rush.
“Jericho, honey, did you—”
Suddenly, I’m slammed up against the brick in front of me, my glasses falling to the ground as my face is turned, my scales scraping along the rough texture as fingers bury in my hair, and a massive body flattens against my back. My head spins a little, the endorphins from releasing my venom crashing into a quick burst of adrenaline-fueled fight or flight, one that intensifies when another hand quickly moves to my trousers, roughly ripping the buttons open, and I feel it cup my groin.
I hiss as I try to wiggle free, bracing my hands on the wall to try to push myself away, my head pulsing right along with both of my dicks as that grip tightens. Which is when the first flare of rational thought flashes in my mind.
I like this.
I like the way this feels, the forcefulness of my attacker, but the shock to my instincts while in the throes of murder still has fear starting to build in my stomach.
Especially when I feel sharp-tipped fingers part my slit, and immediately grip both of my cocks tightly.
Which means…
“ Mon coeur serpent ,” Jericho practically hums against the side of my neck. “You think I would allow anyone else to have you?” He pumps me only twice before I’m as hard as I can get, my mate holding firm while they push from my body into his palm. “No, not what is mine.”
Calming with each stroke of his hand, the endorphins rush me once again, the pointed heads leaking precum down the multiple rows of tiny tendrils, and smooth, sensitive skin along each shaft.
“Jericho,” I hiss, arching my back, pushing my ass against his erection like the needy mess I’m quickly becoming. “I… You… You—”
My trousers drop to the ground as he pops my ass further into the air, pulling it against his naked cock, that enormous appendage sliding between my cheeks a few times before his hand on my head disappears. His fingers circle the tips of my dicks, dragging more fluid all the way down to my slit, his warm fingers coating my asshole with something similar seconds before the thick, triangular head of his erection slips into that tight ring of muscle with ease.
I can feel my alpha’s hand sliding up and down his shaft, slowly pushing a little more inside of me with each stroke. He keeps going slowly at first, allowing my body to accept him as he continues working my dicks to the same rhythm, moving a little quicker with every inch I take.
“Fuck,” Jericho grunts as his hand flies to my hip, his nails biting into the scales while each one of his ridges sink deeper into my ass. “Dorian…”
I nod quickly and push back against him, taking his fat cock all the way to his knot, stretched out and fuller than I’ve ever been, the only way I’ve ever been with him, before he pulls almost all the way out. “Please, Jericho. Fuck me.” I look down at the corpse at my feet, the terror painted permanently on his face, and it sends heat licking low in my belly. “Take me here, fuck me right—oh!”
Jericho slams into me, his knot pressing against my asshole, his hand furiously working my dicks at the same brutal pace that he’s now fucking me.
Fast. Hard. Deep.
I can feel every ridge, every crack-like vein, every pulse of his cock as it pounds in and out, in and out. My face hits the brick again, and I welcome it. The bite of pain, the scrape on the thin scales of my cheek, the way it feels as though Jericho will pop the ones from my hip each time he buries his erection in my ass.
My mate grunts and groans, his hand leaving my hip to slam the wall next to my head, punching into it in front of my face, his beautiful body looming over me as I watch his fingers curl then dig into the brick.
Which is what sends me over.
A stream of incoherent bullshit spills from my lips as the first rope of cum explodes from each of my dicks, both of them emptying into Jericho’s warm palm as he catches it, using every drop he can to make my orgasm last long enough for him to join me.
“Fuck, mon coeur serpent, goddamnit,” he growls as he smashes me between him and the wall, pounding into my ass with jerky, forceful thrusts until I can feel his cum leaking out of me, and running down the back of my thighs. “Shit.”
I nod as he stands us up, holding me against his chest while I catch my breath. “Honey, that was… Is that fucking blood?”
Moving as quickly as I can, I lunge forward and grab his giant hand, his cock slipping from my ass as I do. I turn it over, inspecting the palm to see that all three fingers and his thumb are coated in blood, and for a split second, I’m a little worried it might be mine.
We’ve been together long enough, I can take Jericho fine now, even if his enormous body has an equally if not more enormous cock attached to it—that, truthfully, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to take after the first time I saw it—but I have to wonder. It isn’t out of the realm of possibility, anyway.
Which my mate clearly realizes as he steps into my line of sight with a smirk before he thoughtfully helps put my dicks away. “Not yours, Dorian. Consider it…” He frowns as he finishes then begins tucking himself into his trousers. “How you say, lubricant?”
“Yes…” I say slowly as I pull up my pants. “But where did it come from?”
Jericho nods over his shoulder then starts fixing his suit as if he didn’t just tell me he used the blood from a dead man, that he literally tore into two pieces, to lube his dick, both of mine, and my asshole before we had sex over a couple of corpses.
To think, somewhere out there, someone else is missing out on all of this.
I almost feel sorry for them, but they better be ready.
We are coming, and we won’t be stopping until we have them.