Chapter 36 Ezra #3
Vesna’s only response is a wet, gurgling whimper. Her head lolls to the side, limp and useless, just like the rest of her.
“In the future, Vesna, you will treat my queen with the utmost respect, or I will kill you myself.”
I shove her to the floor and pull out a handkerchief, cleaning the blood from my hands as a growl hums in my throat.
A few shadows linger over her body, reluctant to leave their fun. One slithers across my knuckles, absorbing the last bit of blood in a final claim of victory, before retreating.
I tower over Vesna, her back pressed to the wall, clutching what’s left of her arm, wailing.
Me and my entourage of overworked shadow metaphors are utterly unimpressed.
They settle lazily around me, at peace with what we’ve done.
It’s all for show, anyway. Her body’s mostly dead. The violence hasn’t even reached her pain receptors yet.
I exhale through my teeth and yank the door open.
Christ. Sally Hardesty survived the Sawyer family and didn’t scream this much.
Shifting into my Umbraeth, I get the hell out while she howls inside her cheap house. I’m not in the mood to deal with any draghs trying to play hero.
And Vesna’s not stupid. She won’t risk Renato finding out about her little plan.
When I’ve traveled some distance, I shift back into my L?kkda and continue on foot. Strolling through the suburbs of Chicago, I think about how, even a month ago, I might have let her try.
Let her crawl into my lap and bat her lashes, while I pretended that half-dead cunt was worth my time.
I was unattached. Selfish. And my sadistic side would’ve shown Vesna what violent sex really looks like.
What? I told you—I’m a monster.
I wouldn’t have brutally fucked her out of malice, but out of boredom—though with Vesna, the hurt would’ve been the fun part. Fucking something vile used to feel easier than facing the emptiness.
But now there’s Aurora, who moves through this world with sharp grace and a kindness that cuts far deeper than cruelty.
She’s not meant for a monster like me.
But it’s too late.
She belongs to me now, and I won’t let anyone or anything come between us. I’m wrapped so tight around the little goddess’s finger, it’s fucking terrifying. The things I would do for her if she asked border on apocalyptic.
While I dream about the little queen, our thread tugs angrily, making my breath hitch.
I pull my phone from my pocket and turn it on, not even sure what I’m hoping for.
The first message is a sharp scolding from Thane for leaving without notice. The shadows twitch at that, clearly enjoying the drama.
The other message is a picture from Aurora.
When I open it, I’m greeted by a lush wildflower arrangement sitting on my bathroom counter.
They’re lovely, and I’m surprised at the way my silly human heart flutters. She not only did something to make my home hers, but she also didn’t hesitate to share it with me.
My shadows press into my chest, drawn to the warmth there.
I send her a reply, hoping she’s free. When she doesn’t answer right away, I sigh and slip back into my Umbraeth.
Putain de suceurs d’ames. I hate vampires.
I’m only in this mess because I made the mistake of doing the right thing—saving that little huskmaw brat.
Still … I suppose it was worth it. Rhoan’s a good kid. He turned out better than I had any right to expect.
Aurora should meet him.
I’ve kept him alive this long. I fed him, protected him, taught him how not to die.
That seems like something worth showing off.
It’s been ages since I’ve seen the little skin-flayer. I’m long overdue for a visit.
A few hours later, I stop to rest and decide to turn my phone back on.
Aurora still hasn’t texted.
Am I worried? Perhaps.
But it’s been less than twenty-four hours, and she’s been through Purgatory. I hope she’s resting and not expending all her energy pretending to be fine just to keep everyone else comfortable.
Though, knowing her, she’s almost certainly out with Eve and Thane.
Just as I go to turn the phone off, it dings—Aurora. My heart stops when I read her message about the forgotten security system.
Shit! How could I have been so daft?
I send a message back apologizing for the oversight and promise her it will never happen again.
A groan rumbles deep in my chest when she almost immediately texts back.
She can still smell me on the sheets?
Fuck.
My shadows tighten possessively around my stomach.
I shiver, remembering how the little goddess took my cock down her bruised throat and the way she looked at me from her knees.
Christ, what I wouldn’t give to be buried deep inside her right now.
I ache for her. I crave her.
But I won’t touch her without her consent.
Jameson fucked her up physically and mentally. I refuse to add to that trauma, although I’m not above begging.
On my knees, if I must.
When we finish texting, I’m painfully hard.
Christ. Pathetic.
I find a quiet spot in the woods and get myself off like it’ll be enough.
Except with her, it never is. It never will be.
Three centuries of self-control, and now here I am, deep in the Pennsylvania wilderness, fist around my cock like a goddamn animal.
My shadows freeze. For a moment, they’re confused.
Then they tighten around my thighs and stomach.
One of the dramatic ones lashes out, snapping against a tree in sheer frustration, vibrating with the need to do something.
I raise a brow as the shadow recoils.
“Please. You’ve seen worse,” I growl in the darkness.
I could shift into my Umbraeth, which might relieve the pressure, but there’s no guarantee I’d shift back without a painful erection.
Besides, jerking off to thoughts of Aurora is far more satisfying.
I roughly stroke my cock, imagining all the ways I’ll make her mine.
How I’ll claim her with my mouth. My hands. My cock.
How I’ll leave no doubt that she belongs to me.
I ache for the sweet. But the darkness? I fucking need it.
Everything about Aurora calls to me in a way I can’t explain or even begin to understand.
It doesn’t take long before I come, her name on my lips.
My shadows wrap around me protectively, pulling tight.
Even now, I feel her.
That damned thread pulls—hard.
The farther I go, the emptier my chest feels.
But before I can return to her, I have to deal with my rabid sister and Renato’s broken toy.
Then I go home.
To her.
To the one who kisses my bloodstained cheek, slips a daisy behind my ear, and smiles like crowning the monster in flowers was always part of her plan.
And if the world wants to stop me?
Let it fucking try.