Chapter Twenty
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Chewing the last of her bagel a few days later, Wynter shrugged at Cain. “I’m just surprised by your request, I guess.”
Well, it had been more of a declaration of intent, but still. “Very surprised, in all honesty.”
He set his mug down on the bedchamber’s table. “Why?”
“You got to know my coven a little but, for the most part, you’ve stayed separate from the witch-side of my life.”
“Not out of disinterest. It’s like how you haven’t asked to be part of my day-to-day business. It’s not a slight, is it? You simply have other responsibilities. A coven to lead. A shop to run. A position you can never neglect. You wouldn’t wish to push any of that aside to attend meetings with me, deal with complaints from or issues among those in my service, interview potential new residents, or go through my heaps of paperwork.”
She definitely wouldn’t. Not merely because it sounded boring as fuck and she was a busy girl, or even because to not keep a close eye on her coven could possibly be disastrous. But because it would be pointless—it was all quite simply Ancient business. She was no Ancient.
“Just the same, I can’t neglect my own duties,”
he continued. “But I will when it counts. And I know the Samhain Feast is important to you, so I’d like to attend it with you and your coven.”
Touched that he not only acknowledged its importance to her but wanted to share in that with her, Wynter said, “I’ll be happy to have you there.”
Warmth filled his eyes. “Good.”
The Samhain ball, which would begin tomorrow on All Hallows’ Eve in the city’s hall, was exclusively for magick users and their partners. A separate gala would occur in the town up above for the rest of the residents. Both events would mark the end of the Halloween celebrations. Sadly.
“The ball won’t be over until after sunset November first,”
she told him. “What time will you have to leave?”
“The other Ancients and I decided we’d try at midnight.”
Wise choice, since both magick and power were more potent then.
“I’d like you to be there when we attempt to fracture the cage.”
Her brows lifted. “You would?”
“Yes. I know it’s not fair to ask that you leave the ball early, but I believe that your assistance could make a difference. Your magick is dark. It causes things to burn and rot and decay. If we add it to the power of the Ancients and the Aeons, it could truly help damage the cage.”
“Then of course I’ll be there.”
Maybe it would make a difference just as he thought, maybe it wouldn’t, but she’d give it her best shot. She glanced at the clock on the shelf and then gulped down the last of her coffee. “Time for me to get dressed.”
Standing, he helped her place their dishware and napkins back on the tray, which he then set on top of the dresser. “I haven’t finished my breakfast yet,” he said.
Wynter felt her brow wrinkle. “Huh?”
He fisted her shirt and yanked her close, his gaze darkening with need and intent. Then his mouth was on hers. He didn’t roughly devour her as she’d expected. He sipped, licked, nibbled, savored. Like she was a dessert he wanted to take his time enjoying. They didn’t have time.
Still, she felt herself melting, lured into that warm, sensuous, exquisitely languid place where nothing but pleasure existed . . . only realizing he’d lifted her when she felt her bare ass meet the wooden table. “Dammit, Cain, you’ll make me late.”
“Not this morning, little witch. This is going to be fast. I just need to get you nice and wet first.”
He gripped the hand he’d marked and pressed his thumb into the center of the brand.
She jolted with a gasp, feeling like the digit was now buried in her body. He kissed her hard and deep as he played with her pussy using her mark. His mouth wasn’t soft and tentative this time. It was hungry. Urgent. Demanding.
She braced her hands on the table, unconsciously lifting her hips to meet the phantom thumb—she couldn’t help it. That thumb swiped, stroked, flicked, swirled, and probed. God, she was so damn wet, and she needed more.
Cain crouched in front of her and licked at her slit. “I can see your pussy spasm and clench as it tries gripping a cock that isn’t there.”
He rolled his tongue around her clit. “Let’s fix that, shall we?”
Yes, let’s.
He stood, released her hand, and freed his cock from his pants. “Lay back. Good girl.”
He lodged the head of his cock inside her, his eyes two pools of heat and menace. “You’re going to hurt for me this morning. You’re gonna hurt so hard.”
He slammed home, ruthlessly stretching her to bursting. “And you’ll come just as hard.”
His jaw tight, he gripped her shoulders and pounded that long, thick cock into her pussy again and again. Fast and aggressive, he plundered and ruled her as blatantly as always. The message was never anything but abundantly clear—he owned her, and he could take and do what he wanted. Which she’d have totally slapped him for if she hadn’t gotten off on it.
Her breath caught as a ripple of pleasure/pain scraped along her soul like blunt nails—they stung. Burned. Set her nerve-endings on fire.
She hissed as more “nails”
scored her soul—harder this time. “Fuck, Cain.”
“You like it. You want more. Don’t you?”
“Yes,”
she bit out.
A decadent assault on her soul began. There were no waves of pure pleasure. He struck her with outpourings of dark, electric sensation. Hot smacks. Cold bites. Prickly thrashes. Fiery scrapes.
It was raw and wicked and intoxicating. It pushed her into that oh so familiar hazy place where she felt like she was soaring. Drunk. Bodiless.
Cain felt his balls begin to ache as her eyes completely glazed over. Tightening his hold on her shoulders, he upped his pace, fucking in and out of her so savagely it was nothing short of animalistic.
She bucked and arched beneath him, moaning and whimpering, scratching at the table. The slapping sounds of her breasts bouncing, his cock hitting her slick core, and his balls tapping her ass filled the room.
His pace now close to feverish, he tunneled deep into her pussy with every thrust, all the while still pleasuring her soul and dazing her mind. He overloaded her with sensation on every level—mental, physical, soul-deep—wanting her to feel like there was no part of her he couldn’t touch. No part he couldn’t possess. No part that didn’t belong to him.
His creature urged him on, just as possessive, wanting to see her explode beneath them. It also wanted to sink its teeth into her skin but, unscrupulous though it might be, it would never force its mark on her—not while in full control of itself anyway.
Feeling her pussy blaze and clasp his dick tighter, Cain plunged faster and inundated her soul with more pleasure that was edged with pain. Her breaths came quicker. Her skin flushed deeper. Tears gathered in her eyes, making his balls draw up tight. He groaned, slamming harder.
“I can’t take any more,”
she sobbed. “I’m gonna come.”
He grunted. “Then come.”
She imploded, her head falling back, her spine arching, a broken scream clawing its way out of her throat. Her pussy clamped down on his cock with a scorching, tight, rippling grip that swept him under, throwing him into a release so powerful it all but poleaxed him.
*
An hour later, Wynter breezed into the cottage with Cain close behind her. Since Adam upped the bounty a few days ago, Cain had taken it upon himself to escort her to and from work. She hadn’t argued, since it didn’t bother her and she knew he needed this.
There’d been no further attempts to cash in on the bounty. Also, there’d been no more attempts by her monster to join their souls. Nor had there been any more weird communications between the entity and Kali. All of which was a humungous relief. But she was still on her guard.
“Morning all,”
Wynter greeted as she entered the kitchen, finding her coven scattered around the room. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Almost late,”
Cain corrected. “You’ve got two minutes before you need to open up the shop.”
“Exactly. Not enough time to have a cup of tea and check that nothing’s on fire.”
Sitting at the table shuffling his tarot cards, Xavier sighed. “I really wish you’d have more faith in us. The cottage is intact. Nothing is broken. No one is injured. Both last night and this morning went without incident.”
“Then why is there a scorch mark on the floor?”
Delilah, Anabel, and Xavier all glanced down at the spot where Wynter was pointing. Hattie, however, didn’t seem to be paying attention—leaning against the counter, she had her face practically buried in her book.
“Well?”
Wynter prodded.
No one responded. They simply went back to what they were doing, keeping their gazes averted.
Sighing, she looked at the witch carefully stirring her bubbling cauldron while seeming overly casual. “Anabel, want to tell me what happened?”
The blonde whirled with a soft curse, wringing her hands. “Why would you automatically assume it was me?”
“Because it was you. When it comes to fires and burns and scorch marks, it’s always you.”
“You and logic,”
Anabel grumbled. “I’ll get rid of it, I swear.”
Wynter went to question her further, but then a cup of tea was pushed into her hand. She smiled. “Thank you, Del.”
“You’re welcome, dear Priestess.”
Delilah looked from her to Cain. “Since you’ve both got a well-fucked air going on, I don’t have to ask why you’re late.”
“Almost late,”
Cain repeated.
Pulling a face, Delilah shrugged one shoulder. “It’s sort of the same thing, though, isn’t it?”
Anabel frowned at her. “No, it’s not. There’s late. And there’s not late.”
“There’s normal. Then there’s you.”
Delilah gathered her stock of cosmetics out of a cupboard. “I don’t know how you cope with yourself.”
“I could say the same to you,”
the blonde shot back.
Cain drew Wynter close and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. “I’ll come see you at some point today.”
Xavier held up a hand. “I’ll be standing guard over her the whole time.”
Cain gave a satisfied nod and then tapped her nose with his finger. “Be good.”
He gave her another quick kiss. “I’ll see you soon.”
Wynter watched him leave, taking a moment to admire all that latent strength and raw sexuality stalking through her home and out of the door.
“That ass . . .”
Hattie let out a dreamy sigh.
Wynter whirled on her. “Seriously?”
The old woman lifted her shoulder. “Can I help it if he has such a fabulous behind that there’s no ignoring it?”
“Just be glad she hasn’t fondled it,”
Delilah told Wynter. “If I didn’t find him so terrifying, I’d be jealous that you have him in your bed. Well, at least someone’s getting laid.”
Hattie frowned. “I get laid all the time.”
“No need to throw it in my face,”
said Delilah.
Popping a cork into a vial of potion, Anabel turned to the Latina. “You know what your problem is in this department?”
Delilah shrugged. “Enlighten me.”
“You’re too picky,”
said Anabel. “No guy quite meets your standards. And you do that typical cat thing where you let only ‘the chosen’ close. Everyone else? You look upon them with pure disdain most of the time.”
“It’s true, Del,”
said Wynter. “Although . . . I have seen you slide Dantalion the occasional look when you’re sure he won’t notice.”
Delilah snorted. “The man rarely notices anyone but the other Ancients. I wouldn’t get involved with him in any case. The Ancients make me too nervous. No offense, Wyn, but I still don’t understand how you can relax enough around one to have sexytimes with him.”
“They make it worth it.”
Or Cain did, anyhow.
Delilah smiled. “Hmm, I’ll bet.”
The workday went like any other. Wynter had gotten used to having Xavier with her, and it was actually nice to have his company throughout the day. They had a blast exchanging smack talk. The dude plain made her laugh. More, he made her forget just why he was there.
Cain came to see her at noon. He ate lunch with her and her coven before then heading off to attend to more business, promising he’d return when it was time for her to walk to his Keep.
Shortly before he was due to arrive, Wynter helped her coven count their earnings and note down whatever they’d received in trade. They preferred to keep track of everything. While the others were debating who’d get what from the selection of traded items, Wynter grabbed the trash bags and carried them out the back door and round to the side of the cottage.
She came to a sharp halt as two male fey abruptly appeared in front of her. Before she even had a moment to react, a wave of magick slammed into her, clogging her nostrils and pouring down her throat. It was thick. Sickly-sweet. Cloying, like too-strong perfume.
Her thoughts hazed as a fog built in her mind, insidiously slinking into every corner. A familiar otherworldly breeze washed over her skin, vibrating with urgency. Her monster pushed at her skin, wanting out. But Wynter . . . damn if she didn’t feel floaty right now. Even a little tipsy. But not in a good way. No, in a way that made her feel weak and weary.
And yet, she felt happy. A silly kind of happy. Like she was caught up in a warm, merry dream.
“It’s all right, it’s just Cain and Seth,”
said a male voice.
Her vision swam, blurred into a collage of smudged colors, and then sharpened once more. She double-blinked. Oh it wasn’t fey, she realized. It was just Cain and Seth.
She smiled up at them, rocking back on her heels. “Hey. Gotta say, I’m feeling kind of drunk right now. What is up with that?”
“Nothing is up, honey,”
Cain assured her, resting his hand on her shoulder.
She felt her nose wrinkle. “Honey?”
That was a new one. And it made her chortle to herself, though she didn’t really know why.
Wynter’s head sagged forward. Whoops. She frowned as she saw the bottom half of her body. What was with the dress? What had happened to her jeans? And why was the hair dangling around her face auburn?
Questions for the ages.
“The glamor spell won’t last long, so let’s not waste time getting to the surface,”
said Cain.
She looked up at him, ready to ask what was happening. But then her stomach did a nauseating flip. “I don’t feel so good.”
That breeze came again, slapping at her skin this time, demanding her attention. Jeez, she was kind of busy here. Freaking deities thought they were the only ones with lives.
“You’re just tired,”
Cain told her, his voice low and full of assurance. “Come on, let’s get you home and put you to bed.”
“Okay,”
she said softly, wishing her monster would stop freaking out over jack shit.
Cain curled his arm around her shoulders and blurred them across the bailey and into the Keep.
Wynter’s stomach lurched. Oh, fuck. Convinced she’d puke all over him if they didn’t stop, she shoved hard at Cain. They both stumbled to a stop in one of the Keep’s many hallways.
Wynter pressed a hand to her stomach. “I think I’m gonna hurl.”
“No, you won’t, you’re fine,”
said Seth, urging her forward. “We’ll just walk at a normal pace now.”
Cain frowned. “But—”
“If she spews up her guts, it’ll attract attention,”
Seth said quietly. “We don’t want that.”
Feeling her brow furrow, Wynter looked up at him. “Say what?”
Seth gave her a shaky smile. “Well, you don’t want people seeing you vomit, do you? It’s very unladylike.”
Okay, that would be embarrassing.
A horse whinnied somewhere close by. A horse? In the Keep?
She frowned . . . and suddenly her surroundings smeared and shifted as the walls peeled away. Outside. She was outside. And she was approaching one of the city’s towers.
She blinked. “Why are we . . .”
She trailed off as the hallway walls slammed back up as if they’d never been gone.
What the hell?
Wynter shook her head hard, unable to properly think. Process. Reason. It was like she had no grip on reality. Like the Keep wasn’t solid around her. It made no sense.
Cain stopped near the door to their chamber and briefly touched the wall . . . as if pressing a button or something. Seth began tapping one foot like crazy, repeatedly throwing looks over his shoulder. Why was the dude even here?
He’d better not be hoping for a threesome. The thought made her snicker.
Her surroundings briefly wavered, like the flicker of a faulty bulb, and she saw a flash of an elevator door. The image was there and gone lightning fast.
Wynter closed her eyes and pressed down on her eyelids. “Why are we waiting outside the chamber?”
No one answered. Her monster kept on pitching a fit, and the otherworldly breeze again whipped at her face. Ow. “I thought I was going to bed.”
“You are,”
said Cain. “See?”
She opened her eyes and watched the door to the chamber split into two and then each half slid to the side. Split. Into. Two. What the—
A blaring sound made her jump and hunch up her shoulders. An alarm was going off. And it was loud. Mega loud.
“Fuck,”
muttered Seth. “Let’s go.”
Cain roughly ushered her into their chamber. “Move.”
“Don’t be snippy with me,”
she snarked, frowning when he turned and started jabbing his thumb hard on the wall. “You’re being so weird right now.”
Everyone was being weird. Everything was weird. Including her.
She still felt giddy. But it was false. Like the emotion had been planted there. Beneath it, she was confused, uneasy, and frustrated.
The two halves of the door began to meet—again moving sideways—and Cain’s shoulders lowered in what appeared to be relief. He looked at her, his eyes dispassionate.
Dispassionate?
She tensed. Not even in the very beginning had he looked at her that way. He looked at most people that way, sure, but not her.
Something was so very wrong here.
His form shimmered. Flashed into something else for the merest moment. Into someone else. But then he was normal again. Only not. Because that detached look was still there.
Her uneasiness built, overriding the giddiness. Not Cain. No way.
Her surroundings flickered. Furnishings and walls shrank to nothing, revealing—
And then they were back.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. No, this wasn’t real. It wasn’t. But when she opened her eyes, nothing had changed.
Her monster shoved her hard, and a breeze swirled urgently around her. Her vision swam again, becoming a swirl of colors . . . and they reformed into a whole other scene. The chamber walls were gone. The Ancients were gone. She was inside the city elevator, and two male fey were staring down at her.
Her surroundings tried changing again. She gritted her teeth as she mentally clung to the reality in front of her. Because it was reality. And as that belief firmly cemented in her brain, her uneasiness faded under the weight of a rapidly growing ice-cold rage.
Black ribbons glided over her eyeballs, obscuring her vision.
Both males stiffened.
She punched the emergency button, bringing the elevator to a sharp halt, and felt a cruel smile curve her mouth. “Boys, this was such a bad idea.”
Her monster took over.
*
Azazel was on his feet as soon as he heard the alarm. Abandoning the mage who’d come to apply for residency, he stalked out of one of the manor’s many parlors. This particular distress signal didn’t warn of an upcoming invasion. It signaled a local emergency. And Azazel would bet it meant that Wynter was once again missing.
Fuck, Cain was going to lose his mind.
Azazel’s step faltered in the hallway as another sound reached him. A roar. A spinetingling, not-of-this-world roar. It was coming from somewhere beneath him.
He quickly tracked the sound, walking further down the hallway, finding himself approaching the elevator. A few men had already gathered outside it, since the new protocol was for the elevator to be guarded if the alarm went off.
Azazel took in each face. The men looked varying stages of disturbed. Who wouldn’t be? The roaring was still ongoing, interspersed with crunching sounds. A female cackle sounded, thick with an otherworldly power. Deity, he knew.
Azazel turned to one of the men. “Find Cain. Tell him we’ve located his consort. And be quick about it.”
The male nodded and then took off at a fast pace.
Licking his lips, one of the other men looked at Azazel. “What do we do?”
Azazel folded his arms. “We wait.”
Minutes went by before the roars and laughs stopped. Soon, the elevator whirred to life, moving upward.
The men shifted nervously, each holding orbs of magick.
Finally, the elevator smoothly came to a stop. A few seconds later, the shiny doors slid open. And there stood Wynter, a vision of blood and gore and battle-rage. Around her were crimson spatter, trails, and puddles. No bodies, though. Her monster had clearly devoured whoever had been stupid enough to tangle with her.
All dignity, she swiped aside her blood-stained bangs as she cleared her throat and stood back to give them room. “Going down?”
Azazel smiled. His friend’s consort was nuts. He liked “nuts”.
*
Stood in the middle of the street with Azazel while a livid Cain paced in front of the line of fey, Wynter slid her coven a quick look. They stood off to the side with a handful of aides—some in Cain’s service, some in Azazel’s—all seeming intent on remaining off her consort’s radar right now.
It had come as no surprise that Cain went postal on hearing of her attempted kidnapping. He was still in that state now. Well, it was his version of postal—he hadn’t lost his composure, but he vibrated with a cold, deadly rage that was all the more frightening because it was so unnaturally controlled. Such rage fairly illuminated his eyes, so it was truly understandable that none of the fey would meet his gaze.
He’d been intent on questioning every member of her would-be-kidnappers’ court to be sure they weren’t in on the dumb plot. Considering no one would be stupid enough to admit to any guilt, it might have seemed pointless . . . but Cain was exceptionally good at picking up on lies.
They’d all pled ignorance, swearing they would never think to harm his consort. Wynter believed that the majority of them were in fact innocent. But there were a few whose claims didn’t quite ring true for her. Cain must have had the same suspicions, because he called for the aforementioned fey to step forward.
The three males didn’t so much take a step as shuffle slightly forward, sluggish and hesitant. The fey closest to the trio edged away from them, keeping their heads down.
One of the guilty opened his mouth to speak.
“Not a word,”
ordered Cain, his voice the lash of a whip. “You lied to me. All three of you. You knew of the plot to kidnap my consort and deliver her to the Aeons.”
None denied it. Wise. There would have been no point.
“It matters not that you didn’t aid the two members of your court in trying to snatch her,”
said Cain. “You could have reported the plan to me. Or to Wynter. Or to Azazel, since you are after all in his service. You could have warned someone. You didn’t. You said nothing. You did nothing. And now, adding insult to injury, you dare lie to me to escape the punishment you deserve.”
The guilty fey practically curled in on themselves.
“It may interest you to know that, as part of your punishment, Azazel has invited me to partake in administering that punishment.”
Someone whimpered, and Wynter really couldn’t blame them. The Shelia incident had made it clear that the Ancients did not fuck around when it came to disciplinary action—particularly Cain. But Wynter felt no sympathy for the fey, because they’d known the risks when they’d held their tongue and they’d done it anyway.
His lips trembling, one of the guilty fey looked at Cain. “We’re—”
“Quiet,”
Cain bit out. “There’s not one thing you could say that would make me spare you or lessen the agony I intend to subject you to, so shut. The fuck. Up.”
He turned to Azazel. “I hope you won’t object to my wish not to kill them too quickly.”
“Oh no, that’s good with me.”
Azazel turned to his aides. “Take them to the dungeon.”
The aides were quick to obey, and they weren’t gentle about it.
Cain made a beeline for Wynter, his face cold and hard as granite. He swallowed up her personal space but didn’t touch her. “I might be a while.”
“Take all the time you need.”
She had no issues with what he was about to do. Especially when she knew he couldn’t afford to be lenient in such a situation.
Cain’s gaze sliced to her coven. “Do not leave her side.”
Xavier saluted him. “Oh, we don’t intend to.”
Cain gave Wynter one last look and then stalked off with Azazel.
Anabel blew out a breath. “Damn, Wyn, your man is scary.”
Delilah nodded. “Utterly terrifying.”
Not something Wynter could or would deny. She sighed, feeling all icky and tired of drowning in the smell of blood. “I need to go shower and stuff.”
As they began to walk to the cottage, Hattie patted her arm. “I suggest a bath. Some hot tea. Maybe even a cupcake or two.”
Sounded good. “So long as they’re not your ‘special cakes.’ I’m not feeling in the mood to get high.”
Hattie’s nose wrinkled. “Not a sentiment I’ll ever understand, dear, but all right.”
Back in the cottage, Wynter trumped up the stairs and went straight to her en-suite bathroom. As much as the idea of a hot bath held a lot of appeal, she didn’t want to soak in the blood and gunk that currently covered her. So after she’d peeled off her gross clothes and plucked any fleshy bits from her body that might clog the drain, she stepped into the shower stall and began to scrub herself clean.
Really, this happened far too often these days.
Stood under the hot spray as gore-stained soap bubbles slid down her body, Wynter tipped back her head and closed her eyes. Only then did she let herself feel the anger she’d boxed away in order to not fuel Cain’s; only then did she let it heat her blood, tighten her jaw, and clench her gut.
She wasn’t sure who she was most pissed at—those fucking fey for attempting to kidnap her, Adam for putting a damn bounty on her head, or herself for getting caught up in the snare so easily.
None too gently lathering her hair in shampoo, Wynter took in a long breath. Intellectually, she knew it was stupid to be mad at herself. After all, fey were experts at not only creating illusions but trapping people inside them. They simply made suggestive comments, and their victim’s imagination filled in the details.
A witch from her old coven had once told Wynter how she’d been snared by a fey illusion as a child. It had apparently gone on for days. Cilla hadn’t eaten or slept within that period, but she’d thought she had. If someone hadn’t come along and helped Cilla snap out of it, she would have died.
Really, Wynter should probably be appeased by the fact that she hadn’t been caught up in it for long. With a few slaps and shoves from Kali and her monster, she’d seen through the illusion and found her way back to reality. But stupid or not, it nonetheless bugged Wynter in a mega way that she’d played a part in her own snare.
The fey had introduced themselves as Cain and Seth, so she’d seen Cain and Seth.
The fey had told her they were heading to the Keep, so she’d seen the Keep.
Ugh.
Wynter rinsed off the shampoo and watched as pinkish foam slid down the drain. She had to give it to the two fey who came for her, they’d been ballsy as hell to risk Cain’s wrath after the fate Shelia met. Well, an offer of two million dollars could make people do stupid things, couldn’t it?
After another round of shampoo followed by conditioner, Wynter soaped her entire body one last time and—satisfied she was clean—switched off the spray. Once she’d wrapped a plush towel around her body and curled a smaller one around her rope of wet hair, she exited the bathroom . . . only to find a mug of steaming tea and three large cupcakes waiting on her nightstand.
The backs of her eyes stung. Those crazy bastards downstairs looked after her. They really did. And she adored them for it.
Between sips of tea, she made short work of the cupcakes. Only then did she dry herself off and pull on some clothes. She’d no sooner blow-dried her hair than Cain came stalking into the room. And if the menacing look he wore was anything to go by, the time he’d spent torturing the three fey had made him no less livid.
“Did they cry?”
she asked him, setting both her brush and hairdryer on the surface of her dresser. “Please tell me they cried.”
“Cried. Screamed. Begged. Mewled like fucking kittens.”
Cain rolled back his shoulders and cricked his neck. “I’m so pissed right now I’m tempted to eradicate every member of their court irrespective of those members’ innocence.”
Uh-oh. “Yeah, it’s best you don’t do that.”
His brow flicked up. “Why not?”
It was an honest question. And she didn’t think that telling him “Well, it’s wrong”
would really make much of an impact while he was in this mood.
“People more easily risk their own lives than they do those they care for,”
he pointed out as he crossed to her. “If it’s made clear that betraying me would lead to not only their own demise but that of their loved ones, just maybe they’ll fucking think twice about doing it. My monster agrees it would be a terrific idea.”
Well, of course the merciless shit did. “Not all the people in the courts and packs and covens actually care for each other, though. Some have only gathered together because there’s safety in numbers.”
Wynter curled her arms around his neck and melted into him, hoping to calm and soothe him, but it was truly like pressing her body against a brick wall. “Besides, people are thinking twice before trying to cash in on the bounty.”
He shot her a look of incredulity. “Today’s events would suggest differently.”
“Before that, it had been a while before anyone tried to kidnap me, though, hadn’t it? And it wasn’t until Adam upped the bounty that someone was tempted enough to take a chance. Considering the fey dramatically failed, I doubt anyone else will bother to try. But if you really want to be sure of that, torture your new fey prisoners in public the way you did Shelia.”
He grunted. “I just might do that.”
Cupping her hips, he dropped his forehead to hers. “Thank fuck you sensed that you were trapped in an illusion, though I have no idea how you did. Fey magick is very powerful. You shouldn’t have been able to see through it.”
“I had a little help from my monster and Kali.”
“Still, you technically shouldn’t have seen flickers of reality around you as soon as you did. That shouldn’t have happened for at least a few hours.”
Wynter raised and then dropped her shoulder, feeling her mouth curve. “What can I say? I’m awesome that way.”
She trailed her fingertips over his nape. “Neither of us have had dinner yet, and the cupcakes I ate didn’t fully hit the spot. Shall we go eat?”
He lifted his head. “I’d much rather slaughter the prisoners’ entire court.”
She could tell he genuinely meant it. Worse, he was sincerely considering it. “Hmm, how about you just fuck me instead?”
He gave her an imperious look. “Do you think you can distract me with sex?”
“What I think is that you’d find it a much more satisfying outlet than murdering innocent fey. Am I wrong?”
Please don’t let me be wrong.
The mouth he’d set into a harsh line very slowly began to curl. “No. No, you’re not whatsoever wrong.”
Thank God for that. “Then do me.”
His eyes flared. “It’ll be hard. Rough. You’ll feel how pissed I am in every thrust, and you’ll hurt for me. A lot.”
“Promises, promises.”
They were promises he lived up to.