Chapter 11 Secrets and Lies #3
Onyx wraps his cloak around my shoulders, tucking it under my chin. “You’re our salvation,” he says, his voice raw. “Not our enemy.”
Sable snorts. “If we wanted to kill you, we’d have done it before you learned to use magic.” He nudges my foot with his, a clumsy attempt at comfort.
Bran kneels in front of me, taking both my hands in his. “We want you free and loved,” he says. “That’s all.”
I close my eyes, squeezing the feather. “I don’t know if I know how to be loved.”
Grim’s hand covers mine, huge and callused, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You already are,” he says. “Even if you don’t believe it yet.”
Shade wipes the tears from my cheeks, his rough thumb dragging across my skin. “You gave us hope when we had none.”
Rune tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his hands trembling. “You saw us as men, not monsters.”
I shake my head, the world tilting. “I wished for you to be human,” I whisper, the memory a bitter ghost. “I wished it every day for so long.”
“We know. The first day we learned to change between forms, you screamed your wish to the stars.” Sable grins. “They answered.”
My mouth goes dry. “You mean–?”
“Your magic,” Bran says by way of explanation. “When you made your wish, you gave us back our bodies, even if only for a while. That day was the first time since he cursed us that we were able to walk or speak or touch one another with hands.”
I press my forehead to his knuckles, fighting the urge to cry again. They give me so much credit, but I don’t deserve it. My father cursed them because of me. He cast them out into a lifetime of pain.
I saw Talon change, saw the way it brutalized his body. If that was because of my wish, there was no kindness in it, only pain.
“I don’t deserve any of you.”
The brothers exchange a look, a question I don’t understand.
Shade leans in, his mouth at my ear. “Let us show you how wrong you are,” he says. “Let us prove it.”
I let go of everything then. The pain, the guilt, the ancient fear crawling under my skin. It doesn’t matter how much I hold onto it, it won’t change what I am or who they are or undo the past. Pain has never been able to do that.
There’s nothing else to hold onto, nothing else that makes any sense, so I cling with both hands to the only constant—my love for these men. If I’m strong enough, brave enough, and willing to fight hard enough, perhaps it’ll be enough to change everything.
I nod, once.
It’s all they need.
Shade lifts me into his lap, cradling me like I’m made of spun sugar and sorrow. His lips are soft on my temple, then my jaw, then lower. He kisses away every dried tear, every touch slow and deliberate, until I’m not sure where the ache ends and the pleasure begins.
Bran kneels behind me, his hands sliding under my shirt, splaying wide against my ribs. He pulls me back against his chest, his chin tucked over my shoulder, his breath steady.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs, a mantra just for me.
Onyx handles me like I’m priceless. Each time his fingers graze my bare skin, I shiver, the sensation new and dizzying.
Sable and Rune move together, a matched set, their hands clever and greedy.
Sable’s mouth finds my knee, then the inside of my thigh, nipping gently as he works his way up.
Rune takes my other leg, his tongue drawing runes I can’t see but feel all the same, shapes that spark heat and color under my skin.
Grim and Talon hang back, their eyes locked on mine. They watch, waiting for permission. I give it with a nod, and Grim moves first, laying his palm against my chest, just above my heart. He doesn’t speak, but his thumb strokes a slow, steady rhythm, grounding me in my own body.
Talon drops to his knees, sliding in behind Grim. He runs both hands up my calves, then higher, his grip both gentle and impossible to escape. When his mouth finally finds the soft underside of my knee, I gasp, the sound raw and honest.
Shade and Bran take turns kissing me—lips, cheeks, eyelids, throat—until my head is spinning. Bran’s hands, always so careful, slip under my shirt, unbuttoning it with excruciating slowness. He peels it off, baring my chest to the air.
The chill of the air, the press of bodies, and magic hit me at once. I moan, arching into them.
Shade’s tongue is rough, but his mouth is patient in a new way, worshipping every patch of skin he finds. He sucks a bruise onto my collarbone, then soothes it with a kiss.
Bran’s mouth follows, never letting me go cold.
Sable is relentless, dragging his lips up the inside of my thigh until he’s breathing against my core. He doesn’t dive in. Instead, he circles, teasing, letting the anticipation build until I’m writhing.
Rune slides a hand up my stomach, tracing my ribs, my breast, the hollow of my throat. He draws a symbol over my heart, and the magic there lights up, tingling under the surface.
Onyx moves behind me, one arm bracing my back, the other threading through my hair. He tilts my head, exposing my neck, and bites down, just enough to remind me that he could break me if he wanted.
I want him to.
Grim’s lips find my nipple. He licks, then sucks, then bites, every motion deliberate, controlled. He groans as he does it, as if the taste of my skin is better than blood.
Talon’s fingers slide between my legs, stroking slowly, almost shyly. He looks up, his eyes so green they glow. “This okay?”
I nod, and he smiles—a real, beautiful smile. He presses two fingers inside me, slow and gentle, filling me inch by inch. Sable leans in, licking where Talon’s fingers disappear, the sensation so intense that I nearly pass out.
They work me in shifts, each man taking a turn, each hand and mouth a new kind of pleasure. Shade’s kisses, Bran’s hands, Sable’s tongue, Rune’s runes, Onyx’s arms, Grim’s mouth, Talon’s fingers. I lose myself in it, every sensation a mosaic of love and lust and forgiveness.
When Sable finally pushes his cock inside me, I cry out, the stretch delicious. He holds still, eyes locked on mine, letting me adjust. Then he fucks me slow, every thrust a promise.
Grim kneels behind Sable, jerking himself in time with the motion. He strokes my hair, my face, my throat, never letting me forget he’s there.
Bran and Shade take my mouth in turns, kissing me deep, tongues tangling. Onyx and Rune hold my hands, grounding me, their own cocks slick and throbbing.
Talon stays at my feet, sucking my toes, biting my ankle, working his way up as Sable fucks me harder.
When I come, it’s like the world explodes—a supernova behind my eyelids, every nerve ending alight. I scream, and the brothers echo it, their voices overlapping and their bodies shaking.
Sable pulls out, shooting hot across my stomach, then collapses beside me. Grim takes his place, sliding in easily, the feel of him different but no less perfect. He fucks me deep, his hand tight on my jaw, forcing me to look at him as I come again and again.
Shade is next, making me beg before he finally takes me. His control is absolute, but when he loses it, it’s like being consumed by a storm. He comes inside me, filling me until I feel it dripping down my thighs.
I don’t know how I make it through the next hour, or the hour after that.
The world is a kaleidoscope of sensation, of ache, of need so sharp it slices me into ribbons and stitches me back together with every new touch.
I’m wrecked and rebuilt by the hands of all seven, by their mouths, their cocks, their attention, their worship.
When they finish breaking and rebuilding me, they don’t scatter. They curl around me, arms and legs and wings—yes, wings, feathering us in darkness.
Bran strokes my face, kissing my eyelids. “You’re the most perfect thing in this world,” he says, his voice trembling.
Onyx lays his head against my hip, purring like a cat.
Rune draws more symbols on my arms, and I swear I can feel them healing old scars.
Sable teases my toes with his wing, nipping gently with his beak, his eyes brighter than I’ve ever seen them.
Talon curls behind me, his hands wrapped around my waist, chest to my back, his heartbeat steady.
Grim and Shade sandwich me in on the other side of him, each claiming a leg, a piece of my soul.
We lie there, a tangle of feather and flesh and sweat and tears, until the world slows, the air grows soft, and I believe, for the first time, that I could be loved.
I sleep, dreaming not of blood or pain or memory, but of seven ravens, wings spread, hearts open, circling in the sky above me. And in the dream, I’m not a monster. I’m not my father’s daughter or his creation. I’m just a girl, and I’m theirs.