24. Willow
Chapter 24
Willow
W hen I throw one woman into the crowd, the raised grass-covered dais becomes a battlefield. Heightened emotions flick from lust to anger as others join in.
I go for the brunette first. She’s fae. Magic makes her the most dangerous. She barely has a moment to breathe before I push my thumbs into her eye sockets. Her scream is lost to me. The roar of blood in my ears drowns out all sound. There is nothing but my fury and something else . . . something darker and horrid.
Someone behind me rips my hair. I twist, moving with predatory focus, pounding my fist into her throat to incapacitate her airways, then into her face for no other reason than I want to destroy every inch of it for daring to touch what is mine, for adding to the never-ending cycle of Styx’s shame, for giving him what I can’t.
Not just the sexual attention but the sustenance.
“He’s mine, bitch.” I pound and pound my fist into her face. He’s my mate .
Envy.
Tears burn my eyes. I hesitate, my fist hovering in the air, my lungs heaving as I straddle the groaning half-naked woman while a brawl rages around me.
Envy.
That’s the name of the darker, insidious feeling clawing my heart. I hate that my mates have to feed like this. I hate that it has to be with other females and never me. I want to be the only one who ever touches them this way.
I want to protect them from all the shame, the disgust, the self-loathing. Titania has made them fit in here, but the moment anyone discovers their true nature, they’ll be hunted and feared.
Someone bowls into me, knocking me off the limp, bloody woman. I bounce to my feet and round on a man, an unhinged light in his eyes as he drinks my bloody fist in—my upper lip curls. My fist pulls back, but someone catches it and flattens themselves against my back.
“Now, don’t be greedy, fangs,” Styx purrs into my ear. “Save some fun for me.”
I twist, and our gazes lock. Amusement and something deeper, darker flickers in his eyes. Something I’ve wanted to see pointed in my direction. Something I need as much as I need air. Then he is gone, prowling around me and joining the fight.
The unhinged man was prepared to take me on. Fear shoots into his eyes at the terrifyingly beautiful Radiant, slightly more unhinged than him. There’s no stopping Styx. He is a brutal force of efficiency, taking down my attacker. Fast, violent, repetitive strikes eliminate the threat. It’s over too fast. Styx pouts and then grins when more attack. He takes down man after man joining the fight. Any strike is captured, reversed, or broken. Bones snap—cartilage crunches. Screams curdle.
Deadly poetry in motion.
My lips curve almost as broadly as his, and when his next opponent stumbles into me, I trip him up. That’s when Bodin and Legion appear, dark scowls on their faces as they try to form a ring of protection around me. Like knights bowing before a queen, they close ranks. But it’s not the fight, not my behavior, that bothers them. It’s Cait shrieking about this not being the right place for fisticuffs. She and her security staff charge toward us.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Get her out of here,” Legion orders Styx, shoving me into him.
We collide, fall, and clash in a tangle of limbs against three other brawlers, crashing to the dais. Shadow surrounds us, and then suddenly, the grass beneath me is replaced by soft, crunching snow. We emerge from shadows inside the courtyard of Shadowfall Keep so fast my head swims.
I land roughly. The ice cools my senses. Blood on my hands. The daunting realization of what I did hits me with guilt.
Strong hands jerk me to my feet. I stare into Styx’s wild eyes and can only apologize again.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You’re sorry ?” He blinks, confused.
I can’t look him in the eyes.
He growls and advances on me. Anger emanates from him in waves. I back up until I hit the trellis against the castle’s facade. Rose petals fall on me. His hand—bloody hand—grips a slat beside my head. Short conical spikes distend from each blue, gore-covered knuckle. The rest of him is still flesh-toned, normal. But that one glimpse, that dangerous difference, makes him a killing machine. And I encouraged it.
His biceps flex, a reminder of the strength and skill I just witnessed. He dispatched man after man without breaking a sweat. And now, he’s crowding me, hard muscles still twitching with adrenaline.
“You’re sorry?” he snarls in my face. “But I thought this is what you wanted.”
“To hurt people?” I gape, frowning. “I couldn’t help myself, I couldn’t?—”
“What’s the matter?” He guides my palm to the hard bulge in his breeches. “You don’t like this?”
His hips flex, punctuating his question. Heat pools between my legs, awakening every desire Bodin claimed.
Great, black, tattered wings erupt from his back and spread so wide they block out the moonlight. His skin darkens to a bluish hue. More spikes appear over his brows, shoulders, and collarbone. And those horns—long, twisted, and sharp. He gnashes his fangs in my face. “You don’t like what you see?”
I don’t flinch. I hold his gaze steady with mine. His broad chest heaves with ragged breath, still with one arm gripping the trellis, waiting for my response. I suddenly realize what this is all about. When I called them monsters, Fox felt ashamed. He tried to hide his tail, horns, and wings. He thought I was afraid of him. Styx’s otherness is so more pronounced. Of course, he’d feel the sting of my hastily thrown words.
I open my mouth, but Styx bellows furiously and shakes the trellis, showering more petals.
Now I flinch. He overheard my thoughts. “I don’t think you’re a monster.”
“You think I care what you said?” A cruel smile twists his lips. “That I care what I look like?”
“Fox did.”
“I am nothing like Fox,” he growls, eyes flashing. He presses his finger between my eyes. “Get that through your head.”
My jaw drops. I don’t know what to say. There’s so much anger in him. So much pain. If it’s not from that, then what’s it from?
“I’m your mate, Styx,” I state. “You can’t scare me away.”
Something in him changes. He softens just enough to melt against me, trapping me against the trellis again. The hard length of his erection digs into my hip. He wants me so badly, but like Legion, something holds him back. Unlike his First, Styx lets his emotions out to play. He idly toys with my hair around my ear, anger still simmering in his dark gaze. I let him catch his breath, let him trail his finger along my jawline. But when his eyes lock with mine, he’s nowhere near calm—just contained.
He nuzzles my cheek with his nose, dipping his chin, scraping my skin with the spikes over his brows. I gasp. But it’s from surprise, not pain. He wields himself with finesse, dancing on the knife’s edge of rough. I hold my breath as the sharp scrape moves back up.
“Let’s get this straight, fangs.” His voice is intimate and deep as his lips move against my cheek. “We might both have horns and a tail, but I know how to use mine.”
Something lashes about my ankles, tugging me off balance—his tail. I want to see, but he crowds me with his wings, arms, and body, being my world.
“He’s the cute one.” He drags his tongue up the side of my face. “I’m the bad one.”
“Still not scared,” I breathe, less sure than last time.
“You should be.”