by A. K. Koonce
He branded me as much as he claimed me it seems.
I shouldn’t like it.
I shouldn’t.
But I do.
I strip quickly, my thighs sticky with the remnants of Malek and the pleasure we both experienced. It’s intimate in every way and I wonder if things changed for him as much as they did for me. If he’ll continue to push me away or if what happened between us will now bring us closer.
In every possible way.
Twenty-Two
Phoenix
Parent’s day. One of the lucky days a year that our parents get to visit.
Unless your parents are unknown. When you fuck a lot, you have a lot of kids you don’t have time to care about. You know, because you have so much fucking to do you just can’t be bothered with raising a kid.
I get it. My parents, whoever they were, had other shit to do.
It happens to a lot to demons. I’m stronger because of it.
My arms fold as I watch my fake girlfriend jump through hoops for the man who apparently raised her when her real parents checked out.
Her dark eyes lift to me and the smile on her lips almost slips away.
We’re safely back to pretending. I’m back to pretending I’ve completely gotten the image of Malek fucking her out of the darkest parts of my mind.
I tried to avoid her. I tried so fucking hard.
But it hurts. It physically fucking hurts in my chest where pure numbness used to reside.
Because of this Prodless woman.
And I still get these terrible fucking feelings in my stomach when she’s around. Like I want to dry heave and giggle endlessly all at the same time.
Butterflies. Saint says they’re butterflies.
The feck gave me a contagious case of the butterflies and now it’s like I’m addicted to her hate. Which is why I’m still pretending.
And so is she.
She leads her father from the chaos of the halls and into the quietness of our dorm room where I stand alone.
Lucky me.
“Dad, this is my... boyfriend.” She nearly gags just saying that last word, and I’d be a fucking liar if I didn’t admit how hard that gag sound just made my cock.
I lift my hand swiftly and even if I am an asshole, I do know how to be a respectful asshole. Especially to people who deserve it. And this guy, this guy took in an unknown Prod when no one else wanted her, he more than deserves my respect.
He doesn’t take my hand immediately. He also takes his time eyeing me slowly. The man’s blonde mustache shifts as he inhales deeply through his nose. “Demon born?” he asks with suspicion coating his words.
He finally takes my hand, giving it a hard squeeze that I think is meant to pain me.
I shake briefly, both of us eyeing one another in a strange way now.
“I’m a soulless, actually.” I leave out the incubus part because I’m sure the last thing dear old dad wants to know is that I want to fuck his daughter non stop until she’s a brainless puddle of sex on my mattress.
“Soulless, what does that mean exactly? How dangerous are you?” He’s nearly standing between me and Izzy now and I see where this is going.
“It means I was born without a soul. It happens occasionally to demons. It mostly just causes a divide between our actions and emotions. I’m not good at feeling a lot of normal things most people do.”
I’ve become good at reciting through that little list. I’ve said it in my head often enough. I should just walk around with an introduction sticker that tells everyone I’m a face value asshole and get it over with.
Because that’s what he wants to hear.
I fold my arms and I’m surprised when his little princess slides her small palm across the lowest part of my back. A tingle of unexplainable warmth sears over me everywhere her small body touches mine. That dry heave giggle threatens to crawl up my chest and throat again.
I both hate and love that she can do that to me.
Every. Single. Time.
Why?
Why the hell have I fucked a thousand women, and this one feck has the ability to turn me into a whipped demon waiting at her beck and call?
She leans into me, her perfect breasts pressing into my side before she presses a quick kiss to my tense jaw line.
My head tilts slowly to her, still not holding her, still confused as hell why she’s pretending so well for her father.
“He’s really sweet, Daddy.” Her small palm glides across my rigid arm and still I just stare at the confusing girl at my side.
She fucked my roommate yesterday.
She fucked Malek.
And now she’s here making my soul want to pound and my lungs want to ache for air.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
It’s like she and I live to torment each other.
And right now, she’s better at it than I am.
“Is he keeping you safe, Izara? These people, they’re dangerous. They’re not like the humans we grew up around. My magic can’t protect you here. I don’t practice anymore but I would. You know I would, to keep you safe.” His wide gaze swivels around to the open doorway of our dorm at all the creatures passing by.
The Prod down the hall, with antlers spouting right from his skull, strides past our room and her father visibly shivers.
He just wants to know Izzy is okay.
My palm pushes down the small of her back and she stiffens just slightly as I pull her fully up against me, my gaze searching the deep whiskey amber of her eyes.
“I won’t let anything happen to her, Mr. Castillo.”
“Thomson. Castillo is Izara’s family name,” he tells me. But when he looks back at me, all that judgement is gone. “Family is important. Her heritage—” he pauses abruptly before correcting himself, “—her Mexican heritage is important. Izara is important.”
Her family history is important but her supernatural history isn’t?
Mr. Thomson is a strange, strange man as far as Warlocks go.
“I’m glad she has you,” he finally says with a small smile forcing to his lips.
Izzy settles into my chest at the simple sound of her father’s approval and I don’t know why I’m fucking preening over his words too.
This boyfriend shit is not for me.
“I have to go. They told me five minutes and I’m running into minute seven as we speak, dear.” His slender frame towers over us and he gives her a loose side hug that she melts into.
“Bye, Daddy.”
“I’ll see you soon. You’ll be done with your two years in no time,” he whispers rather sadly. “But in the meantime…” He pulls away and shrugs a backpack from his shoulders, handing it to her by the strap. “I was able to bring you a few things I thought you might need.”
A squeal pierces past her lips as she aggressively yanks the zippers open one handed and rummages through the contents inside. She whips out shirts and jeans, panties, socks, and paint splattered brush after brush in all varying sizes.
“I didn’t have time to grab your paints. Sorry.”
The bag and contents fall to the floor with a quiet thought. “This is more than enough. Thanks Daddy.”
They fall into another loose embrace.
And still she holds on to me. Holding me to her as she clings to him.
She’s small. Weak.
A complete feck.
And she truly needs me.
When he slips out of our room with a screech of the hinges, we’re alone.
I shake my head at the weirdness that is her father and my lips part to tell her just that.
But then she’s arching against me, and her mouth is against mine, soft and hesitant.
And I crack under the light pressure of that sweet mouth of hers.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, but my tongue flicks her apology away like I never want to taste that word against her lips ever again.
The way my fingers dig into her hips makes her whimper but she only clings to me e
ven harder. Every brush of our lips, every roll of her tongue, every drag of her nails against my skin isn’t enough.
I slam her back against the wall so hard the door rattles at our side.
The heavy moan that hums against my lips from her needy mouth is too much for me to handle. It’s too much for something that isn’t real.
She makes me feel too much.
I pull back from her with a shaking breath pushing from my lungs.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers again.
I kiss those words away once more.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her firmly. “I’m sorry I acted like any of this is real.”
The delicate arch of her brows pulls together.
“Is it?” Her fingers push through my hair and those big eyes of hers devour all the things I haven’t even said yet.
“It’s not.” I say one thing but I can’t help but do another. My lips press over hers. “I don’t own you. Me and you, and the things we do together aren’t real, Izzy.”
The shit I feel inside for you, that consuming, terrifying feeling, that’s not real.
“Then why are we still kissing?” She nips at my bottom lip hard and I groan against her mouth.
“It’s called pretending, Iz.” My hips rock into hers and she lifts her leg against my hip until all I feel is her addicting warmth pressed right against my cock.
“Who are we pretending for?” she asks on a shaking breath.
I kiss her distracting question away once more with a slow flick of my tongue.
“Us. We’re pretending for me and for you and for anyone else who might want to watch.”
As much as she terrifies me, she captivates me too.
And I’d rather pretend for just a little while with this ridiculous, sexy, annoying, perfect woman, than feel nothing at all.
Twenty-Three
Syko
The incubus is in my spot. Not that it’s my spot, really. It’s Izzy’s bed. She’s allowed to cuddle up with filthy demons who will leave her sheets smelling like burnt bacon if that’s what she wants.
The demon’s bright eyes shift to me leaning against the wall, blatantly watching them but not having the control to look away.
He arches an eyebrow at me before dipping his head low and pressing slow, teasing kisses to her mouth. It’s almost enough to make me flop down on the other side of her just to see if he’d still have the balls to keep pushing me.
And to see how she’d respond, if I’m being honest.
The way she slides her leg over his hips and just slightly rocks her center against him makes me wonder if she’d even notice if there was a third fucking person on that tiny cot.
“Didn’t you hate him three days ago?” I grind out, my arms folding hard across my chest. I’m pretty sure that was them arguing loud and clear and now they’re dry humping in front of me.
Lovely.
She nods but her mouth never leaves his, his fucking hands push down low until he’s fully cupping her ass against him.
Why the fuck am I here?
“I—I” she smiles as he sucks her lower lip into his mouth and makes her hip buck harder against him. “I’m still mad at him.”
Now both of them are smiling at each other.
And I’m dying. As we speak I’m gouging my eyes out in the corner with one of the wooden crosses Saint has decorated the room with.
His mother was a devout nun. Or so he says.
I can’t even glance around the room because my gaze hasn’t left Izara in almost thirty minutes.
“Take a nap with me,” Phoenix whispers, his mouth trailing down her neck, her dark lashes fluttering as her fingers dig into his big neck.
A nap? Is that code for something? Is that a position? The Nap... what the fuck does that mean?
“I’m not fucking you, Phoenix. You and me, we’re not real.”
Yeah. I’m physically nodding along, an encouraging viewer that she doesn't even notice.
“That’s not what I asked,” he hums, running his nose slowly along the curve of her neck.
Shit. Even I can see that she’s not strong enough to withstand an incubus.
Probably has a magic cock or something. Made of hellfire and sinner’s lust.
Why. The fuck. Am I still here?
“Just take a nap with me,” he pleads, his fucking hellfire cock straining beneath his boxers as he subtly presses it against her stomach.
Jesus, he’s an inch easy from giving her bellybutton an orgasm.
Fuck off already.
“Syko, will you take a nap with me? You looked tired.” She twists away from him and the incubus’s mouth drops open with clear annoyance on the tip of his tongue but the smile I give her is pure happy vengeance.
Fucking soulless.
“I am so tired, Izzy.” I lay it on strong with the biggest black puppy dog eyes she’s probably ever seen.
Her brows pull together with blatant concern and when she holds her hand out to me I don’t waste a single second before dropping down on her other side and splaying my arms wide behind my head, making sure my elbows dig right into the side of demon fuck’s meaty neck.
“Aww this is nice,” she coos her body pressing along mine but her hands never really consoling me.
That’s okay. Phoenix’s death glare is consoling enough. Just knowing that I’m pissing all over the sex cacoon he was building is reward enough for me.
My palm slips beneath his big arms, wrapping around her hips and... Yep now my head’s on his shoulder, death glare in full effect.
The sex cacoon is nice. We should have done this years ago.
“You know, you’re not really my type,” Phoenix grinds out, his arms tensing above mine but never moving.
He refuses to move. I refuse to move. We’re both almost happy and almost miserable all at the same time.
“You’re not mine either,” I whisper and then to really fuck with him my hand slides to the lowest part of her back before adding, “I much prefer petite Prodless women with nice asses.”
He’s glaring so hard that vein at the side of his head is going to burst.
“If you two don’t stop, I’ll leave you to let you snuggle your frustrations out alone.”
I smirk at her and my heart flares with an unbearable warmth when she pushes her palm across my abs and pulls me impossibly closer into our sex cacoon.
My eyes close slowly and it really is the calmest I’ve felt in days. The calmest I’ve felt since everything happened.
It’s peaceful. So peaceful, I drift to sleep.
The strangest dream fills my restless thoughts. Phoenix strides from the shadows, walking from the darkness like he created it.
Weirdest of all, he’s completely fucking naked.
“You wanted in on the nap, right?” A reckless smile pulls his lips back from his straight white teeth.
And then I’m naked.
And the fucking incubus is looking at me with so much sadistic happiness it’s terrifying. In a flash he’s right in my face, black eyes big enough to consume all the color from the world within their pools, teeth sharp enough to devour every emotion in my soul.
His palm drops between us and a scream tears up my throat when his fingers wrap around my dick. I shove back from him but I can’t move from the tightness of the eerie darkness pressing in around us.
Pain strikes through every inch of my body starting with the slicing feeling his touch is stabbing into my shaft.
“Fuck with my nap time again and I’ll make an exception about you not being my type, Christian Cock Block.”
His hand jars back and I swear he takes something near and dear to my heart with him but just as he rears back, manic smile on place, I wake.
And fall right off the bed and onto the floor.
Harsh breaths push from my lungs as I look up at the nicotine stained ceiling. All I can do is lie there for several seconds, reliving the eerily realistic dream play-by-play.
Something moves abov
e me, and messy hair, bright eyes, and a taunting smile look down on me.
“How was your nap?” Phoenix whispers.
My jaw clenches.
Fucking incubus tried to rip my dream dick off.
What the fuck.
If only that was enough to stop me from crawling right back in bed with her, passing him a wink before I wrap both arms around her and pull her small body right up against me.
She gives a breathy sigh that fans across my neck, her chin nuzzling into the crook of my neck. It calms my drilling heartbeat. Even if Phoenix is still imagining my dickless nudity in his glaring green eyes.
She has no fucking idea what we all put up with just to be near her.
And she probably never will.
Because she’ll never see me the way she sees all of them. I’m the safe one. The good one. The friend.
That’s exactly why she cares about me.
And that’s all that matters.
For now.
Twenty-Four
Izara
Everything is settling now. Malek still holds a distance between us. He hasn’t mentioned claiming me or what happened that night. It’s like there’s something he can’t tell me.
And it’s straining between us.
Small touches pass here and there but he won’t so much as kiss me.
Something’s holding him back.
I just hope it’s not me. I hope he’s not afraid of all the answers I can’t give him. It’d be so much easier for him to settle down with another werewolf. Any other Prod really.
Yet, he’s with me day in and day out, smiling and helping and touching me but never really being with me.
Not the way I want.
And Phoenix...I just don’t even know. I don’t know what is going on in my love life.
That’s not even what it is. Something this messy can’t be called a love life.
The only good news is that finals aren’t as bad as the teachers made them out to be. I can say with honesty and a small bit of pride that I’m not the worst student at the academy. We’ve lost so many failing Prods like Kayos, that the stress of being taken for any little thing drills into me with every exam I take.