Chapter 7
Mace woke up in agony. Half the reason was that his eardrums were pulsing to the tune of Ozzy Osbourne’s “Bark at the Moon.” But Blade’s stupid alarm did what it was supposed to do. It made you want to get out of bed, even if it was to beat the crap out of him so he’d turn it off.
For once, though, Mace didn’t want to get out of bed. The mattress was lumpy and uncomfortable as hell, but he’d rather suffer in the bunk than put weight on his left leg.
And because the fun just couldn’t stop there, his cock ached too. The bastard throbbed painfully against the fabric of his sleep shorts, pointing directly at Scotty as if she was true north and his dick was the needle of a compass.
It wasn’t often that he hated being a lust demon, but right now, he’d give anything to not have to deal with the life-or-death consequences of his sex drive.
Groaning, he fumbled through his pack for the injector that would suppress the desires and keep him from dying for a little while.
He and Blade had brought a three-day supply and a two-day emergency backup.
With any luck, they’d be out of here long before they had to reach for their reserves.
Things started getting dicey by the end of day three as the lack of real sex made them strung out, grumpy, and fighting to stay focused.
Then there were the health risks, which included atrophied organs, fever, heart failure, and death.
So, yeah. Best to avoid using the injections often.
With that happy thought, his fingers found an injector pen just as Scotty sat up on the futon, her sleep-mussed hair floating around her bare, slender shoulders.
He rarely saw her with her hair down. It brushed against her black tank top and mesmerized him, holding his gaze as he wondered what it would feel like to run his hands through the curls.
She stretched like a lean, graceful cat, the fine muscles in her arms and back flexing beneath smooth, freckled skin. Skin he’d tasted when he’d penetrated her throat with his fangs and swallowed her sweet, life-giving blood.
He’d fed from countless, nameless females, but what he’d done with Scotty had been more than feeding. It had been an experience. A strengthening of their connection. He hadn’t thought it possible to feel closer to her, but the sense of rightness left him reeling.
So did the guilt. He could tell Blade over and over that being with Scotty had only been about feeding, but eventually, he had to convince himself.
It’s natural to get turned on during feeding.
Scotty’s blood is only half human. She’s also a quarter angel and a quarter succubus, so, of course, his desire would be amplified. He’d basically been plugged into a supercharged battery.
There’s nothing to be ashamed of.
Remember the oath.
Fuck.
With a snarl, he jabbed the injector pen into his right thigh.
Mercifully, the lust flowing through his veins eased.
Finally, he could tear his gaze away from Scotty and the sexy curve of her neck as she absently traced the site of his bite with one finger.
Was she thinking about what they’d done?
Had she dreamed of it the way he had, turning the feeding into lovemaking on the forest floor?
“Get up, lazy asses,” that dickhead, Jon, barked like a drill sergeant.
He must have stripped off his T-shirt at some point in the night, because he was now parading around in front of Scotty in nothing but his sleep shorts.
When he crouched down in front of his bag to dig out some MREs, she stared at him so hard the guy had to feel her gaze like heated lasers on his skin.
“Sunset is in an hour.” Jon tossed the Meals Ready to Eat onto the old, rickety table. “We need to go over the map and our game plan.”
Mace really did not like that guy.
“Put on a fucking shirt,” Blade muttered as he shuffled his way to the bathroom.
Jon snorted and ripped into the plastic MRE bag with his teeth.
“I’m a big girl,” Scotty called after Blade. “I’ve seen bare chests before. Also, don’t hog the bathroom.”
“Don’t worry, Scott,” Mace said. “We all know hogging the bathroom is your thing.” He swung his feet off the bunk. The moment his left foot hit the floor, a thousand kilotons of pain dropped on him like a bomb.
“Sonofa—!”
Scotty was there in an instant. “What is it?”
“My leg,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
Scotty peeled the blanket away. “Oh, my gods.”
He told himself not to look. But he often gave himself advice he didn’t heed.
He looked.
Instant. Regret. And not a small amount of nausea.
His lower leg was a blackened, pulsing mass of flesh, like a charred hot dog on the verge of bursting. Sinister crimson streaks ran like fractured glass from his toes to his knee, and as he watched, they spread upward into the healthy flesh as if driven by hunger.
“Blade!” Scotty shouted. “Blade, get out here. Hurry!”
Blade nearly ripped the blanket doorway off its nails as he tore out of the bathroom, his jeans still unbuttoned. He was there in three strides, the cabin trembling with every heavy step on the scarred wooden floor.
“Bro,” he breathed. “Shit. Why didn’t you say something?”
“I was sleeping,” Mace ground out as a fresh wave of pain shot through him. “Musta been out of it.”
“I checked on him during my watch a couple of hours ago,” Scotty said. “He looked fine.”
Mace vaguely remembered both Blade and Scotty taking turns checking on him, but he hadn’t been in pain. Not like this. This had happened fast.
Blade wrapped his hand around Mace’s ankle, his touch light, as if he was afraid too much pressure would pop Mace’s leg like a water balloon.
His dermoire lit up, from the broken sword glyph beneath his right jaw, all the way to the swirls at the tips of his fingers.
Then the hot sting of Blade’s power stabbed into Mace’s muscles.
His head swam, and he no longer gave a shit about the symbols of their male ancestry.
“You can fix it, right?” Scotty gave Mace a comforting smile and a pat on the hand, like, “Of course, Blade can fix it.” He could fix anything. He was always patching them up.
Mostly, he patched up Mace, though. Scotty usually healed too fast to need his help.
“Sorry, man.” Blade heaved a heavy breath. “This is out of my league. You need to get to Underworld General.”
“Hell, no.” Mace struggled to conceal a particularly agonizing slice of pain, but he couldn’t hide the way he spoke through clenched teeth. “Try harder.”
Blade’s eyes narrowed, shadows flickering in their dark depths. “I did. I’m telling you, this is more than I can handle.” He turned to Scotty. “You’ll need to cast a gate.”
Closing her eyes, Scotty let out a deep breath. She hated opening gates. Not that she’d ever admit it. She denied it every time, but she had tells. “No problem.”
Mace hated making her do it. Hated watching her bleed. Hated that it turned him on, even as he despised himself. She clearly didn’t enjoy hurting herself to open a gate, and he was a jackass who had to control himself at the tantalizing aroma of her blood. And now that he’d tasted it…
He only wanted more of her.
And not just her blood.
“Whatever.” Mace breathed through a burning spike of pain that skittered upward, all the way to his hip. “Let’s just do it so I can get back here. Eidolon will have me patched up within the hour.”
He allowed Blade to help him to his feet and keep him standing upright as Scotty stepped into the center of the room.
“Someone toss me the knife under my pillow.”
“What for?”
Jon’s question was merely curious, but Mace, pissed off at the situation and struggling to control his pain, snapped, “Because she said so.”
Scotty gestured to Skoll, who was standing nearest the futon. “Because I need my blood to power the gate.”
“Can’t you summon a blade?” Skoll flung aside the pillow and found the dagger Scotty had slept with since her sixth birthday.
Blade had been at the birthday party when Ares gave her the dagger.
She’d been delighted, swearing she’d never part with it.
Her mother, Cara, had been less thrilled.
Ares probably didn’t get any that night.
“My summoned blade won’t cut my own flesh.” She made an impatient sound and thrust out her palm. “Hurry.”
Skoll handed her the dagger, hilt first, and she deftly flipped it into the air, caught it, and sliced open her palm in one smooth, practiced motion. Didn’t matter that she did that kind of thing all the time. Mace winced. He really did hate seeing her bleed, especially for him.
Except earlier, when she bled onto your tongue.
Right. Except that. That would provide him with fantasy material for a long time. Masumi could do the red-haired thing like she did for Blade, and—
Stop it! Scotty was off-limits, and there was no point in fantasizing about her. In fact, it would be stupid to fantasize about her. Especially now. He was probably dying, and all he could think about was getting Scotty on his lap again, her throat exposed, vulnerable.
Fucking stop!
Scotty’s blood dripped to the floorboards, forming a thick pool that glistened in the faint light from the propane lanterns. With a wave of her hand, the blood spiraled upward into a thin, vertical line about eight feet tall. It spread, becoming a four-foot-wide shimmering curtain.
Jon let out a low whistle of appreciation. “Awesome ability.”
“Sure,” Scotty said, as she reached for the roll of paper towels on the counter. “If you like pain.”
Jon looked over at her. “Depends on the pain,” he said slowly, and Mace felt the sudden urge to punch the suggestive smile right off his face. “It’s not all bad.”
And wouldn’t you know it, Scotty fell for that husky-voiced delivery and his smoldering, fuck-me eyes, giving him a flirty smile right back.
Mace muttered obscenities under his breath as he limped over to the newly formed Harrowgate. Blade had better keep an eye on this situation while Mace was getting patched up.