Chapter 23
MALRIK
Within seconds, the vampires were dead. Nothing more than torn limbs scattered across the floor like confetti, their heads cracked open, eyeballs torn out, and their hearts.
The fool who dared threaten my little witch lost his jaw for speaking to her like that.
The floor was a canvas of red, rain washing over it like an artist adding highlights to a masterpiece only I could appreciate.
Lightning cracked above violently, illuminating the chaos with cinematic perfection.
It wasn’t enough.
I wanted to resurrect them. Slowly. Painstakingly. Just so I could do it all over again, one scream at a time, one shattered bone at a time. Make them feel it. Make them understand, in every nerve and scream, exactly what happens when you dare threaten what’s mine.
My knuckles were raw and covered in blood. My breathing is erratic. My heart was frozen. Until I looked up.
There she stood.
Drenched in the rain, silver hair sticking to her skin, wearing some other bastard’s clothes. My lips curled into something between a snarl and a grin. My eyes dragged over her, and I was suddenly hungry for something else.
I’d spill oceans of blood for her. Tear kingdoms apart, watch empires burn, crush anyone who dared so much as glance at her the wrong way.
I would be her monster.
There’s no way I am ever leaving her again. I won’t survive it—I know I won’t. She’s the only goddamn light I’ve got in this black pit I live in.
To everyone else, I’m the monster they scream about in their nightmares. But my little witch… she looks at me like I’m the cure to every damn horror that’s ever haunted her. And fuck, maybe I am. She makes me feel like I’m worth her, like I could be enough.
I don’t give a fuck about anybody else.
Her lips curl into that breathtaking, dangerous smile that makes my knees go weak, and her fingers grip the dagger, thrumming with dark magic that knows exactly what she is… and what she could be.
And then she’s running.
In a blur, she’s in my arms, leaping up and crashing her mouth against mine like she’s been starving for me.
I feel the same; she’s been on my mind every second of every day. My cock has constantly been hard, which is a bit of a problem when killing morons.
I grip her tighter, pressing my body against hers, teeth clashing as sparks of magic crackle between us.
My tongue finds hers, claiming her with a hunger that has no limits.
I want every piece of her—every thought, every inch, every heartbeat.
I want to break her, ruin her, to consume her entirely—and then put her back together again.
She’s mine.
Her dagger slips from her fingers, clattering to the ground, forgotten—because now her hands are in my hair, tugging hard, and fuck, I groan into her mouth. The pain, the possession—it only makes me want her more.
Just as my teeth sink into her plump bottom lip, a promise to do wicked things to her, she pulls back. A bead of blood wells up, red and perfect, and I can’t look away. My tongue aches to taste it, to taste her.
I want to mark her.
Taste her.
Fuck her.
“I missed you,” she says quietly, smiling like she hasn’t just torn a hole in my damn chest with three little words.
I grin back. “Did you now?” I murmur, letting my grip on her just go enough for her perfect little body to slide slowly, tortuously down mine. Every curve, every inch of her pressed against me like she had always belonged there.
But then my fingers find the hem of her hoodie. It’s not hers. I know her Cherry and vanilla scent, and this fabric reeks of somebody else.
I twist it between my fingers and look down at her, my gaze steady and calm. “Cute hoodie.”
Her eyes flash with guilt.
But she shouldn’t feel guilty.
At first, I wondered if she would have moved on and forgotten about me. I know who the others are to her, how she feels about them. It clawed at me every single night the whole month I was away from her. It drove me insane.
Well, more insane than I already am.
But then I saw her again and she ran to me. The way she kissed me was like her life depended on it. And those three words—I missed you—they snapped something back into place.
It confirmed that she is still mine and she always will be.
I suppose I can share.
She licks her lips, but no words come out.
So, I grab her chin and tilt her face up to mine. “Listen to me, little witch.”
The rain beats down, soaking us both to the bone. There’s blood in the mud surrounding us, creatures in the forest, but none of that matters.
Not the storm.
Not the shadows.
Not even the damn overgrown lizard.
All I see is her. And right now, I want her—so fucking badly I can barely breathe.
My cock also might combust if it isn’t in her sweet pussy sometime soon.
“Don’t you ever feel guilty for what you want.
If they’re who you want, who you need, take them.
Fuck it all. But only if you still want me to—because I’m far too fucking selfish to walk away now.
” I grip her waist, yanking her tight against me like I need her to think straight.
“And before you even think about asking if I want someone else…” I lean in, my mouth dragging up the side of her neck, tongue flicking over that racing pulse that’s practically screaming for me.
“There’s no one else. No one. It’s you, little witch. Only ever you.”
My teeth graze her skin as I growl, “You’re mine.”
“And Ronan’s.”
I thought he would be the first to fall for our silver-haired beauty.
I pull back just enough to look her in the eyes. “Did he fuck you?”
She blinks, just once—but that’s enough. That tiny little hitch in her breath, that flicker of hesitation.
He so took our girls' virginity.
Lucky fucker.
I slip my hand under the hoodie—his hoodie, because of course it is—my fingers gliding over her cold, rain-damp skin until I find what I’m looking for. I tug at her nipple, hard, and the sound she makes goes straight to my cock.
Ronan might have had all of her first, but I have a little present for her, so she knows I will always belong to her.
“Are you mad?” she whispers, breath trembling, a soft moan escaping her lips.
Mad at her? Never. Annoyed that she would even wonder? Absolutely. We’d gone over this before, but clearly, she needed a more… convincing demonstration.
“On your knees.”
Her silver eyes flicked to the mangled bodies behind me, blood still dripping from my hands.
“Why?”
I pressed my thumb into her mouth, forcing her tongue down, my other hand gripping her throat with a possessive crush. “Because I need to feel you choking on my cock before I bury myself inside you, surrounded by the blood of your enemies. Now kneel.”
She doesn’t fight it. My little witch just smirks, that wicked glint in her eye that tells me she’s every bit as fucked up as I am, and she doesn’t need to hide that part of herself.
She drops to her knees, the sound of her hitting the blood-soaked floor before me.
Her head tilts up, and I’m lost for words at how beautiful and pure she looks kneeling before me.
But I know the truth. There’s nothing pure about her when it comes to this. Not with the way she looks at me.
She doesn’t need to hide the darkest part of her—not from me. I crave it. It’s the part that mirrors my own madness, the part that tells me she was made for a monster like me.
It’s insane, maybe it's reckless, but I’m starting to think I might actually love her.
My dead, twisted heart is hers. Every shattered fragment belongs to her, and that means anyone who dares touch her, looks at her wrong, or even breathes near her—especially the ones who want her dead—lands straight on my personal beheading list.
I lean in, close enough to see her pretty freckles, my fingers curling around the hem of that goddamn hoodie.
“We’ve got a lot to catch up on, little witch. But first, I’ve got some serious making up to do.” I rip it with little effort and patience because my need for her is greater than anything.
The sound of tearing fabric fills the space, her pink lips part, chest rising rapidly as I let the ruined hoodie fall to the floor. Her tits are as perfect as I remember, and I can’t wait to sink my teeth into them.
“I knew you had a problem with that hoodie,” she laughs softly, and I want to make her laugh more.
Or scream my name.
Either one is good with me.
I smirk, but there’s no humour—just pure hunger for her.
“My problem was that it was hiding you. This perfect fucking body I haven’t touched in a month.
” My hand tangles in her hair, pulling her head back so she’s forced to look me in the eye.
“Do you have any idea what it did to me? Not knowing if you were alive, if someone dared hurt you. I killed a lot of people to get back to you.”
I kill a lot of people anyway, but that’s unimportant.
“I thought you weren’t coming back.”
Silly, stubborn girl.
I grip her hair tighter, the last thread of restraint in me stretched so thin it's begging to snap. “Nothing could ever keep me from you. Not distance, not death… not even the devil himself.” Then I crush my mouth to hers.
She moans into the kiss, and I drink it in like a man starved. My tongue sweeps into her mouth, claiming what’s mine, and something ignites in my chest—hot, raw, and violent in its need. I pull her closer, the kiss is messy, frantic and desperate.
It’s like I have been buried alive, and she’s the very air I’ve clawed my way back for.
Rain slides down her skin, tracing the scars I know too well—each one a story I want etched into memory, burned in my mind.
I lean back, breath ragged, and start undoing my pants, eyes never leaving hers.
No barriers, no hiding… no underwear cause commando is the only way to go.
My cock throbs, hard and insistent, aching for her.