Brexley
THREE MONTHS LATER
“I was not hugging it.”
A tiny voice dragged me from sleep, aches twining through my muscles the moment my brain registered consciousness, reminding me why I was so sore.
Chirp!
“Was not! Buuutttt . . . if I was . . . it’s not my fault. It’s warm and big, like a monster-size body pillow.”
Chirp! Chirp!
“Don’t play innocent. You were snuggling it too. I saw you!”
Chirpchirpchirp!
My lashes fluttered open with a groan. Looking around the room, my mind took a moment to register where I was.
Light glowed brightly through the window, highlighting the furniture in the large bedroom.
The rococo furnishings and luxury fabrics screamed wealth, excess, and extravagance.
A symbol of the past, of the huge divide between Leopold and Savage Lands.
I hated everything about it, reminding me too much of the life I used to live, but I had been too busy to worry about changing it.
It was just a room we laid our heads in, taking advantage of the king-size bed.
Through the window, my gaze caught the top of the dome sparkling in the early spring light.
Why did I pick this flat? I couldn’t live in the building I had spent my youth in, too many memories, but I needed to be close.
“Master Fishy! You’re awake!” Opie threw up his arms, drawing my attention to him standing on my leg. “We were getting so bored.”
Chirp! Bitzy frowned, flipping me off.
“Good morning to you too.” I rubbed my eyes, burning from lack of sleep and the colors attacking my eyeballs.
I had given Opie free rein to use whatever fabric or items he wanted in the abandoned flat, which now, as I looked back, might have been a mistake.
“You like?” His smile engulfed his face, and he twirled around.
Tacky gold tassels from the pillows in the living room were wrapped around his bun, sprouting up like the top of a pineapple.
Busy Baroque damask wallpaper was layered in thick strips into a full skirt.
He wrapped gold leaf paper like a tube top and wore a bright yellow velvet cape, crystals from a chandelier hanging off it, making him glint and sparkle.
His lips and eyes were coated in red lipstick he probably found in the bathroom drawer, left by the previous owners.
Bitzy wore a gold tassel dress and wallpaper folded like wings on her back, her cheeks painted red.
“It’s . . . so much . . . beauty.” I sat up, pulling the sheet up to cover me.
“Right?” He tried to twirl again, but the stiff wallpaper and heavy velvet made his moves awkward. “It’s a little hard to move in, but you must suffer to achieve true art, right?”
“Right.” I grinned down at Opie, my heart filling with love. I thought back to the day they walked into my cell. Against all odds, against my own racism toward fae and sub-fae, they wiggled into my life and became part of my family. I couldn’t imagine one moment without them.
“If I find one paper cut on my dick from wallpaper . . .” Warwick muttered, curving my head to the man next to me, my heart tripping on itself.
The Man.
The Wolf.
The Legend.
I was still in awe this man was mine. When our paths crossed in Halálház, I had no idea he would be my anchor.
Literally and figuratively. The love I felt for him grew with each passing day, tightening our already close bond.
We had been through so much—the loss, the heartbreak, the devastation.
We slipped into the darkness and crawled out, bloody, wounded, and broken.
We refused to give up. We held on to each other and survived.
“Wh-why would you have a paper cut there?” Opie straightened the sheet, his nervous cleaning tic kicking in.
Warwick lifted his arm high enough to glare down at Opie, who was fussing with the bedding more.
“I mean, unless you were wrapping the big bad wolfy up for posterity reasons, I have no clue what you are referring to.”
Chirp! Chirp!
“Stop saying that! I was not snuggling it!” Opie put his hands on his hips. “That is a total misunderstanding!”
Warwick snorted, shifting on the bed, the blanket barely covering his ripped, tattooed body, the nail and bite marks from last night peppering his skin. We got really rough last night, destroying the desk and coffee table before moving in here.
Over three months after the war, I still held so much excess grief, guilt, and pain.
Every death I could never mourn or recognize because we had no time came rushing to the surface every time I closed my eyes.
Haunting me. The only way I could sleep was if Warwick made me pass out, which the man took on like it was his only job.
He wanted to numb my sorrow, but I knew that would only prolong it.
Instead, we shared it through our link and through our bodies.
My magic was returning stronger every day, our link deeper.
It had taken weeks after that night for my magic to start coming back.
I had used so much, tipped the balance so far off, my body had suffered for it.
To feel it again made me feel whole but also scared.
That meant the nectar was coming back too.
“Princess . . .” The feel of his real hands running up and down my ribs as his shadow drew his tongue up my spine forced a gasp up my throat. “Pets need to get off the bed now.” His invisible mouth covered my breast, flicking and sucking.
“Pets? Did you call us pets?” Opie screeched out. “How dare you call us that, you chubby meat stick!”
Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp! Bitzy’s finger flew up, circling the air like a helicopter.
“I can fuck your pussy with my tongue right here . . . them here or not.” I reveled in the feel of him doing just that, my thighs parting, my back arching as the real man smirked at me from only a foot away.
“Warwick,” I gritted through my teeth.
He cocked an eyebrow, his shade licking me deeper.
“Fuck,” I hissed, sweat sliding down my back. “Okay, I’m sure you guys want to go visit Kitty’s or . . .” A groan slipped through, my breath speeding up as Warwick nipped my clit, taking me deeper.
“Or go visit Ash. He’ll have lots of mushrooms,” I croaked, my hips starting to buck.
Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! Bitzy fingers whipped around in excitement.
“Mushroom man isn’t such a fun guy anymore.” Opie tried to laugh, but it came out flat. A sadness came over him, like he saw what the rest of us did. “Get it? Fun-guy?” He waited for a response, and when none came, he batted at me. “Fine. We’re going. Have a good day, Fishy.”
Chirp!
“Yes, the big bad wolfy is about to gobble up fish for breakfast.”
In a blink, they disappeared.
“About time.” Warwick tossed me back on the pillows, climbing over me, widening my legs for him to settle between, his erection parting my folds.
There was no hesitation. He thrust in with a grunt, opening my mouth in a silent scream.
He slammed in again, his shade cupping my breast as he held onto the headboard, his mood suddenly dark, his hips slamming against mine as he roughly fucked me.
All I could do was hold on, overwhelmed by the pleasure and pain.
I knew what triggered him. Not that it took much.
Ash was a sore subject for him. For all of us.
None of us expected him to take Kek’s and Lukas’s deaths well.
Hell, I didn’t either, but the even-tempered, good-natured tree fairy no longer existed.
My best friend, my rock, had become volatile, mean, and short-tempered.
I knew he was suffering, as many of us were, and I tried to be there for him, but Ash wasn’t even willing to hear one word about them.
To even discuss what happened, acting like they never existed, as he grew darker and darker.
It bothered Warwick seeing Ash a drunk, high, angry mess right now.
Getting in fights at brothels and bars. Getting kicked out of places, his mood almost cruel to those who loved him.
Warwick and Kitty both tried, and Ash basically told them to fuck off, which was not like him. We all felt helpless.
With Warwick, helplessness turned to anger. Frustration. Violence.
“This pussy is mine, princess.” He grabbed my chin, the other hand still on the headboard as he went in harder, cracking the wood, his intensity ripping all logic from my mind, moans heaving from my lungs as my orgasm came barreling for me.
He grunted, feeling me tighten around him.
“No.” He pulled out, flipping me around, smashing me up against the broken headboard, rubbing my pussy and breasts against it before he plunged in. My fingers scratched at the wood as he took out all his own heartache and grief on me, and I only asked for more.
There was no line for us, no safe word. We were probably the only people who could handle each other. We took, we punished, we gave, we marked. Our bodies and our souls.
“Warwick!” I bellowed as my body shuddered and convulsed with my orgasm, my mind flashing to moments of us, fucking, fighting, life, death. We were all of it—everything.
“Brex-ley.” He growled in my ear as his cum filled me, pushing even deeper into me. The way he said my name, using it as a punishment and worship, shattered another climax through me.
Slowly coming back, our lungs heaved together.
“Bazdmeg.” A bubbled laugh hiccupped from my throat.
“That was just the start, Kovacs.” His hand brushed away my hair, kissing the curve of my neck.
Right then, a timid knock sounded at the door.
“Brexley?” A woman’s voice called me with more taps on the door, clearly waiting until we were finished. “Kedvesem?” My dear.
“Yes, Maja?” The woman who was practically a grandmother to me had pretty much followed Warwick and me to this huge penthouse apartment, doing everything she did for me over at HDF.
I had told her she could go anywhere, be with her children and grandchildren, but she batted me away, telling me, “I don’t know anything else. I am proud of my job, of what I do. I like it. And you will need me.” She wagged her finger at me. “I know because I saw what a mess you made growing up.”