Chapter 3 The Plot
THREE
THE PLOT
I keep the distance between us even as my bare feet meet the sharp points of nature. Leaves and twigs scatter beneath my steps, and I know he knows I’m here. He’s just too annoyingly cocky to glance back at the woman following him desperately into the shadows.
On the surface, it doesn’t seem like a brilliant idea. And if he were a stronger, larger, possibly more intimidating male, I might think twice about it.
But I know I’m more capable than the arrogant fur-hole ahead of me.
I’m not the least bit worried. Not at all.
Until the dark trees around us fall away, and two other men stand in a clearing beneath the full light of my Goddess Moon.
Fuck…
I pause there at the lining of the trees. A hundred yards separate me from my pack. No one knows I’m here.
And now I am outnumbered.
But I am fierce … Though she be but little … fuck. What am I doing?
My spine straightens. When all three of them look up at me, that familiar look of surprised awe touches their brows. It’s a look I normally roll my eyes at, but right now I’m more concerned about whether they think they just hit the homicide jackpot.
I take a single step back, and at the same time, one of them takes a slow cautious step forward. “We don’t want to hurt you,” he says in a voice of sensual serenity. The sound of it is like a warm breeze caressing my skin.
“I mean, we can’t guarantee she won’t be, either,” The Hell Cunt who brought me here scoffs with a deadly smile nicking his lips.
“Roman,” the larger man in the middle warns, speaking for the first time.
His pure black hair is pulled back, and the length of it is tethered tightly against the back of his head, but several braids are strung throughout it. It’s the one thing I notice. The other man also has a thick braid tying his hair back to a bun at the back of his head.
All except for Hell C—Roman. His is shaved close.
No pretty updos for him, it seems.
The three of them don’t wear a stitch of clothing, and every line of their hard bodies is painted in the moonlight.
I assess the level of threat their strength implies… Sure, I also assess other uses for their toned, perfect bodies, but the girth and length of certain parts of them go nearly unnoticed.
…Nearly.
“My mate will come looking for me,” I tell them calmly with a casual tilt of my chin. “He’s the jealous type. Very hostile. And when he shifts, I can’t stop the violence of his beast.”
Lies. Lies. Lies.
If Mika were the jealous type, he wouldn’t mate with the one woman every male in this pack leers at from afar.
“Mate?” Roman whispers, looking to the guy who seems very much in charge of the burly band of idiots.
“She has no mate.” The caressingly peaceful voice of the appraising shifter is the calmer man of the three and he dares to take another slow step closer.
“Her words were spoken too quickly. She’s afraid of us.
You don’t have to be afraid of us,” he reassures once more, and my ovaries would honestly believe any sweet fucking word he said as long as he keeps talking like he’s a breath away from an orgasm. His tone is too poetic. Too calming.
It’s too sweet right now when my mind is racing between trusting him and killing him. He’s a watchful man. Except he doesn’t actually watch me. He assesses the air around where I stand, and he has yet to meet my peering eyes.
It’s…odd…very—
“Are you blind?” I blurt suddenly as the interest in me becomes too much.
“I am.” As he confirms it, a shy smile presses to his full lips, and I don’t know why the simple fact makes me trust him even more.
He can’t see me. He has no idea if I’m the most beautiful woman in the world or an ass goblin looking for a new hole to crawl into. It’s exhilarating.
“She’s not nearly as pretty as the Night Witch babbled,” Hell Cunt narrates for his blind friend.
And though I appreciate that the blind man can’t judge me on my appearance, I’m fucking outraged that this asshole continuously ignores the fact that he’d give his right nut for the chance to inhale my breath during flu season.
There he goes again, wrecking my humbleness.
I release a very quiet, very composed sigh as I meet this gaze.
He fucking smiles.
My middle finger twitches.
While I glare so hard my eyes hurt, the largest of the three men stomps forward. His weight breaks the sticks and twigs beneath his bare feet with so much force it seems impossible he’s just simply walking instead of violently battling nature itself.
When he’s close enough, his big hand comes out and snatches up my jaw. My nails embed into his wrist in the span of a sharp inhale within my throat, and we hold each other in a way that might seem intimate to the naked eye.
Except my jaw hurts, and his flesh beneath my nails is bleeding down his forearm.
Very, very intimate.
He has eyes so pale they’re more white than green.
But those bursts of lime are there in his hard gaze as he appraises every little curve of my face.
It’s like he’s trying to understand me, trying to read me.
I feel the press of his attention. It heats my cheeks, but I refuse to do anything more than glare up at the savage man.
“She’ll do,” he grunts before flinging my face away and stalking back the way he came.
“What the fuck is with you cock knots?” The words spew out before I can stop them.
“Cock … knots?” The gentler man repeats with a curl of his lips like he can physically taste those words and they do not appear to taste good.
How do they not get it?
No!
No, I won’t do. I’m not a pig being prepared for the slaughter. I am the most beautifully blessed woman in all the land, and I deserve more communication than manhandling gropes and Neanderthal grunts.
My arm flies out, and the feel of soft, long locks are twisted through my fingers before he even makes it two steps. His balance wavers, but instead of falling, he simply follows the motion of my hand, arching his back severely until he’s looking up at me from an upside-down angle.
He’s flexible. Very flexible.
“I’m going to ask you very, very calmly to release my hair.” The shadowy scruff along his jaw shifts as though his teeth are grinding with every word he says.
“Never touch a High Hell’s braids,” someone says in a hushed warning.
I disregard both of their comments. “Tell me what you three want from me.” The tension in my arm is taut. I’m ready.
He’s ready.
And yet, neither of us move from our strange positions.
“Rome didn’t tell you?” he barks, keeping his posture in a nearly perfect backbend while losing the composure in his growling tone. “Rome!”
“It didn’t come up,” the asshole with the cruel smirk says.
The kinder man at his side peers over at Rome with disappointment and annoyance in his gaze. It seems in this moment, we all think little Romey is a cock dangler.
The large man settled against my palm closes his eyes as a long and tired sigh slips from his full lips. A thin scar kisses his mouth along his lower lip, fading into the shining black hair of his beard. Bronze skin is smooth and flawless against hard features.
He’s brutally handsome. So distractingly so, that my fingers loosen their hold, and before I can stop myself, I stroke my palm through his soft hair.
Every strand slides through my long fingers like the finest satin.
Green eyes open so fast that I flinch. Not from fear though. From being caught acting so outrageously stupid.
What is wrong with me?
And why is his hair so well-conditioned? He isn’t a wolf at all but a prized show dog fresh from the groomer.
He blinks away the confusion in his gaze, and now that I’m all but stroking his mane instead of threatening his life, he gradually corrects his stance. He takes his time turning toward me, and I can see the uncomfortable look still lingering in his eyes.
Thankfully he seems to ignore the mishap.
Thank the Goddess.
“My name’s Zilo. That’s Roman.” He points to my dearest fuck-hole friend, and Romey doesn’t so much as nod my way.
“And the one who actually knows how to talk to women is Avian.” Avian’s gaze stares straight ahead, but an alluring mixture of a smile like kindness and sex pulls at his lips as he waves softly.
I don’t tell them my name. They already know it. Instead, I cling harder to the aggression in my gaze as my arms fold over my chest and I stare up at the enormous man.
Goddess, he’s like a small mountain.
“What is it you want from me, Zilo?” I can’t help the way my tongue accentuates his name.
It isn’t sexy. Why am I making it sexy?
“We’re warriors of hell.”
Interesting. The High Hell are warriors. Impressive.
“Annnd,” I drawl as if none of this is the most enthralling thing to ever happen in my meager little life. Yesterday I was baking cakes with the other women. Today, I’m holding an impromptu meeting with warriors of hell.
“Our ruler is Ravar, Prince of Hell.”
Goddess, it’s like I’ve stepped foot into a novel. Too bad this asshole has the poorest pacing I’ve ever heard.
Get. To. The. Plot. For Goddess sake, Zilo. You’re as pretty as you are dull.
“We…we wish to get rid of the Prince of Hell, Prince Ravar.”
My eyes widen, and I can’t contain the anxious, excited thrumming inside me.
Treason, you say? This is far more fascinating than baking cakes.
“You want me to help you overthrow your ruler?” My brows arch, but they cut even higher when Romeo speaks up.
“Kill. Actually. We want to kill the fucker.”
“That’s treason. If you could please watch your tongue.” Avian swipes his blind attention toward the man at his side, but Rome appears unthreatened by the warning as he gives a long and slow eye roll.
“We don’t want you to lift a finger against anyone. We simply want…” Zilo’s deep voice drowns off slightly before picking back up. “We need an insider. A beautiful distracting insider.”
The plot thickens.
“And why do you think the Prince of Hell would have any interest in me?”
“Because it’s the ten-thousandth year of his reign. Every one thousand years, he seeks out a new bride to bless him with her attention.”
“Wait just one fucking minute. You want me to marry the Prince of Hell?” My tone balances shakily on a shriek.
“No, just seduce him. Marriage isn’t necessary yet.”
“Yet?” There it is. There’s the shriek.
A tumbling laugh skims from Rome’s lips, and my glare slides to him.
I’m stunned how fast the look shuts him up.
Maybe he does have a few ounces of intelligence rattling around in that obnoxiously pretty head of his.
There’s a tense seriousness on each of their faces. No. Not seriousness. Desperation. I guarantee they’d never admit it, but they’re desperate. They want change for some reason.
And they want me specifically to be on their side.
“You’re an outsider,” Avian explains. “You have no loyalty to the kingdom of hell unlike the women in our realm. We want your loyalty.”
They’re smart. They’ve thought this through.
“Doesn’t hurt that she’s fucking beautiful.” Rome surprises me with that comment, and though it’s spoken like a harsh insult it warms me in a way.
I knew it. I knew he thought I was pretty.
The pretentious, lying fucker.
“So…I put my life in literal hellacious danger to traitorously feed you the son of Satan’s secrets…and you give me…” A dramatic pause lingers for so long the three idiots finally pick up on my lingering pause.
“Oh, uh, I don’t know. A way out of your shitty life? How about that?” Rome spits those words at me, and Avian turns on him. In under half a second, his fist is thrust into Rome’s gut, and the Hell Cunt doubles over with a satisfying grunt.
“She’s a lady. Speak to her as such,” Avian growls, his arm still flexed hard. Meanwhile, my panties have never been wetter. He’s adorably sweet and protectively aggressive? Is there anything more a high-class lady such as myself could ever ask for?
“My life isn’t shitty.” My chin lifts high with all the pride a shifter like myself will always hold. And maybe a little higher because that’s just how much confidence I’ve been raised to carry.
“It ain’t pretty though, is it, beautiful?” Roman’s words are like a stab to the chest, and the pain that I feel there is all-consuming.
Because he’s right.
I don’t want the path I’m following.
I’ve known these guys for all of ten minutes, and the challenge they’re offering me is exactly what my father trained me for. I’m meant for battle and adventure. Danger and mystery.
I just want—I want more.
My arms lower casually to my sides. I relax my shoulders, my spine and my neck. They watch me in apprehensive silence. They know too much about me. They’ve done their homework and they seem to know what I’m capable of and what I want and don’t want in life.
They know I don’t want what I have. Why does it sting to realize they seem to know that more than I do.
I… I want a life they’re trying to give me.
A slow sigh crawls up my throat and it feels like a weight is pulled right off of me with the simple exhale and acceptance of it all.
I should be saddened by my choice.
Instead, a small, secret, unspeakable part of me is…thrilled.
“Lead the way, boys,” I whisper with the smallest smile touching my lips.
All three of them look as stunned as I feel in this moment.
Zilo lifts his big hand and gestures to the vagueness of the dark night set out ahead of us.
And then I follow the three beautiful strangers into the unknown.
The real mystery is: will they still want me when they know all of my secrets?