That mark, thought Charlie. What did it even mean? Why did he want it removed? Why did he need her permission? Why didn’t he just cut it out of her?
And if she gave her permission… Is that what he would do?
She didn’t know why, but for some reason, she would have given anything to have the man who gave her that mark in the first place standing there beside her in that room. Instinctively, she sensed that he would have protected her. She knew, as she knew that the sun would rise in the East, that Malcolm Cole would rip her hands free from her bindings and take her into his strong arms.
And then he would kill Gabriel Phelan.
She wanted that last thing right now more than anything else in the world. She had never hated anyone before. Not like this. She really wanted to see Phelan dead.
It was this sudden, visceral fury, this fuming and heated loathing that fueled her next defiance. “Fuck off, David.” She hissed the words through gritted teeth and they sounded like literary venom.
She expected him to laugh at her. To tsk her and taunt her and perhaps even to thank her for giving him more of a reason to torture her.
But already, he was surprising her. Already, he was filling her world with unexpected confusion. Because he didn’t laugh. Instead, he sighed. “Very well,” he said softly, and she could have sworn that his tone was disappointed. Annoyed, even. “We’ll do this my way.”
She couldn’t see what he did next, but he must have given his men some sort of signal. Because one of them stepped forward – the one who had disrobed her. He closed the distance between them and Charlie gazed up into amber eyes that tore at her heart. They reminded her so much of Jessie’s. It was wrong that they were in this other man’s face – this man who was most likely about to cause her inordinate amounts of pain.
And not the good kind.
“I’ll make you a deal, Charlie.” Gabriel’s voice again. Charlie’s frazzled attention was instantly torn between the man before her and the man at her back.
“If you can refrain from making any sound, the leather of this lash will never touch your flesh.” He paused, allowing his cruel words to sink in. “However, breathe so much as a sigh and you’ll be punished.”
The man in front of her slowly raised his right hand and Charlie stiffened. She held her breath, stifling her gasp and swallowing her miserable moan as he very gently brushed the backs of his fingers against her collarbone. White-hot pain leapt to life on her forearm and raced quickly to her shoulder. Charlie shut her eyes tight against the sudden kiss of fire. She’d been expecting the pain. I can do this, she thought. Please… Let me be strong enough to do this…
“And remember, Charlie. Werewolves have very good hearing,” Gabriel added. His tone had lowered, the auditory companion to the dark look she’d seen in his hungry gaze. “I can hear you praying right now.”
The man’s hand dropped to the curve of her breast and the pain from her arm and shoulder rushed across her chest, digging deeper, becoming more sharp. The man laughed softly, a low, mocking sound, and Charlie opened her eyes.
Her teeth were clenched so tight, she feared they might crack. More tears gathered in her eyes, but she held them there, allowing her vision to blur. She didn’t want to look upon his face as he tortured her.
And then he leaned over and Charlie threw her head back in silent agony as the man’s teeth clamped down on her nipple, nearly drawing blood. At the same time, his hand continued to trail down her body until they were parting the curls between her legs.
Charlie pulled so hard against her restraints that they began to dig into her flesh. Stars swam in the darkness behind her eyelids. The pain was stealing her breath; her lungs almost refused to expand. Her legs began to tremble and she bit her lower lip so hard that it began to bleed.
And then his free hand suddenly grasped her other nipple and twisted it viciously. Charlie was utterly helpless to stop the cry that ripped itself from her throat.
The first kiss of Gabriel’s whip against her back cracked through her consciousness and drove her entire being into sharp focus. The pain in her body centralized and pooled around her heated, marked skin. The tears were squeezed free of her ice-blue eyes and her entire body rocked forward, arched against the agony. Her scream echoed off of the stone walls. The flames danced in the sconces.
“Ask me to remove Cole’s mark, sweetheart.” Gabriel’s voice slid toward her, iron and steel wrapped in velvet and silk. It caressed the heated flesh that he’d just damaged and played havoc with her senses. He seemed closer to her now. His voice was louder. It was almost as if he were inside her head.
Charlie let her head fall on her arm and hung loosely in her leather restraints. But when she said nothing, the man in front of her picked up where he’d left off.
She choked down the sob that rose in her throat as his hands settled on her hips and his lips lowered to her throat. His nearness instantly filled her senses. She felt his hot breath on her neck and could smell the heat of him even as her cursed pain was back, once more rushing through the channels it had carved so ruthlessly over the past several hours.
When the werewolf whispered in her ear, she knew he was speaking through fangs.
“I can smell your wetness, whore,” he told her. “I think you like it when it hurts.”
Charlie bit her lip again and more tears streaked her cheeks. His grip on her body tightened, as if he were trying his best to force the smallest sound from between her lips. He was a ruthless asshole and the worst part about his harsh accusation was that he was partly right.
Charlie had always liked it a little rough. She needed to give up control. It seemed to be the only way she could relax enough to enjoy the sensations that a man created in her.
But she had only ever had one sexual partner and she’d trusted him implicitly. He never truly hurt her. He always seemed to know what she wanted, what she needed.
There was a huge difference between the kind of dominance and sweet sexual torture that Jessie Graves had always given to her when they were both willing – and what Phelan was doing to her now. Phelan’s torture was sharp and focused and determined and there was no facet of it at all that was meant for her own satisfaction.
The fact that Gabriel and his goons were somehow able to elicit even the tiniest bit of sexually charged reaction out of her with their vile torture was beyond horrible to Charlie. She didn’t understand it. She couldn’t comprehend what was happening to her. She was like a dog in heat and it had all started with Malcolm Cole’s fucking mark. It was doing something to her that wouldn’t normally happen.
The man holding her laughed again and then his teeth grazed her shoulder as his hands slid behind her to trail to the curve of her ass.
It was too much. He was too close. She could feel his enormous erection pressed against her pelvis. Her wrists were now bleeding and the pain the mark was causing was dragging her into some sort of nauseating abyss.
When the werewolf slowly slid one of his hands between her legs from behind, Charlie gasped and automatically bucked away from his touch.
In the next heartbeat, he was stepping away from her.
And Gabriel’s whip kissed her flesh once more.
She screamed, again arching away from the pain, her head spinning with too many harsh, unforgiving sensations. Her vision began to tunnel inward and she heard herself crying, as if from a distance.
She didn’t care that her legs had given out or that she could feel a rivulet of her own blood make it all the way to her bicep from her wrist. Her body suddenly felt slightly numb – far away. A blessed gift. There was no greater pleasure than the cessation of pain.
And then she heard him again, this time close enough that she knew he was standing beside her. Were those his fingers beneath her chin? She couldn’t tell. Her eyes wouldn’t open. The pain in her back and arm was muted, dulled by a gradual slip-slide into unconsciousness.
“Are you still with me, sweetheart?” His voice gently embraced her, c
oating her frayed nerves like some kind of deceptive salve.
She didn’t answer, but she couldn’t slip away either. He coaxed her back with his power, held her there, inexorably in his grasp. “Give me what I want, Charlie.” He was whispering to her now, his tone soothing and calm. “It isn’t so hard. Just say ‘yes’.”
Charlie frowned. He was right. It didn’t have to be this hard. What was the mark to her anyway? All it had given her so far was pain. Would it be so bad if David… if Gabriel took it off of her?
Yes.
Oh, Christ, she thought. Just let me sleep. Just let me die.
And then Gabriel was kissing her and she was rearing against him as he pulled her body up against his, crushing her to him with one strong arm around her waist.
Charlie felt his magic whisper through her, like a bag of snakes emptied into her soul. The numbness slipped away and the pain returned. The blackness in her vision receded as she was brutally dragged back into his endless, nightmarish hell.
After he had succeeded in subjugating her mouth, his tongue forcing itself between her teeth and exploring her sweet taste as he swallowed her moans of pain, he pulled away from her and stepped back.
Instantly, the throbbing ache from the two abrasions on her back had her full attention. She hissed against the pain, gritting her teeth and narrowing her impossibly blue eyes at Gabriel Phelan.
“You are stunning when you’re in pain, Charlie.” He regarded her, his own dark blue eyes glowing eerily, his fangs fully pronounced.
She didn’t reply. But she did manage to look away.
“There is no escape from me, Charlie. Not in sleep. Not in death. And I promise you, I’m only getting started.” He moved around her to take up his position at her back once more.
“I’ll give you one last chance, Charlie.”
“Go to hell, David.” Charlie knew it was the single most stupid thing she’d ever said in her life. It might be the last thing she ever said. But she didn’t care. Foolishly, naively, idiotically, she just didn’t care.
“It’s Gabriel, sweetheart.”
She heard the whip before she felt it. But when she did feel it, she realized at once that he’d been holding back before. The pain she’d felt with the first two lashes had been nothing compared to this.
When she screamed, it was a harsh, guttural cry that burned her throat and trailed off into a hoarse wail. He gave her no time to recover. The fourth lash came fast and furious and even as the agony was enough to shove her mercifully into oblivion, it was also hard and fast enough to keep her grounded, right where she was, in the middle of Satan’s playroom.
She tried, then. She honestly did. She tried to tell him that she wanted the mark gone. She tried to make those words come out. But they couldn’t seem to fight their way past her screams.
The whip’s leather marked her back once more and Charlie wasn’t sure whether it was number five or six. She wanted to retch, but there was nothing in her stomach to throw up.
Her world had gone red. There were no smells, no sounds, no sights but the blood colored haze behind her blurred, meaningless vision. All that really existed was the pain. On her back, in her arms, in her head and in her soul.
* * * *
Johnny Campbell looked as insane as he ever had. His blonde-gray hair flew around his weathered face in wisps that reminded Caige of cotton candy. His sparkling blue eyes glittered with the kind of intelligence that most people considered scary. And, as always, he wore a cheap, fleece sweat suit – this time an olive green set – despite the warm climate.
On his feet were combat boots.
Lucas and the werewolves around him watched in silence as those combat boots touched down and Campbell shut down his bike. When he dismounted, he walked toward Lucas with a very familiar and tell-tale limp and Caige smiled.
“Well, son of a bitch,” Campbell greeted, flashing a grin full of surprisingly white teeth.
Caige nodded in return, and held out his hand. “Scrubs, you look like shit, as usual,” he said, and then nodded toward Campbell’s bike. “Nice ride, though. What happened to Delilah?” Delilah was the name of his other bike and one he had most likely crashed. It was something Scrubs did quite often.
“She took a soil sample, my friend.” Scrubs shrugged, smiling still. “You look good, though, Ares.” Scrubs looked his old friend over, using the nickname that the gang had given Lucas long ago. It fit. He did look a little like a god of war. “Fucked anyone I know lately?”
Caige chuckled, but then grew serious. “No time for catch-up, Scrubs. We have a situation here.”
“Yeah, so you said.” Scrubs looked from Lucas to Cole, who had been watching the exchange in stoic silence, his glowing verdant gaze hidden behind the mirrored shields of his sunglasses. “I brought everything I need. Just tell me where,” he said, having gone all business as well. “And tell me when. And then stand back.”
Caige nodded and was about to fill Scrubs in when every werewolf on the sidewalk suddenly turned toward the sound of someone running. The step was light and very quick. They all knew instantly who it would be, even before she had finished approaching them. Lily Kane ran straight toward Cole, who seemed as if he wanted to back up, strangely daunted by her quickly forthcoming figure.
“Cole!” she called out as she neared him.
James Valentine stepped forward, grasping her by her upper arms and spinning her around. “Lily, what the hell are you-”
“The spell is down!” she told him breathlessly. “The territory spell!” She swallowed and pulled out of his grip, turning to Malcolm again, who had by now come forward and pulled off his shades, revealing a green gaze so intense that the men around him had to stifle the urge to flash into wolf form.
Johnny Campbell’s eyes widened and he rocked back on the heels of his combat boots. But, wisely, he said nothing.
Cole’s expression was at once intensely focused on Lily. “What did you say?”
“I said the territory spell is down, Cole,” Lily told him, as her breathing settled into a more normal pattern. “It’s The Council! They’re involved now and they have a mage-”
“The Council?” James asked, his silver eyes flashing. “How do you know this?”
“It doesn’t matter how she knows,” Malcolm replied swiftly. He slipped the shades back on and turned away from them. The sidewalk seemed to magically clear before him as he broke into a swift run toward the distant, gleaming tower of The August hotel.
His pack stared after him in shock. And then, all at once they seemed to come to their senses and take chase.
* * * *
This fuzzy existence that she’d found herself floating in, this other plane between torment and anguish, was so encompassing that it took Charlie a few seconds to realize that the beating had ceased. When she did, she tried to speak once more, but her throat was swollen, and at first no sound would come out.
He was behind her then, his fist in her hair, yanking her head back as he hissed in her ear. “Say it!” he demanded, and she could feel his angry power wash over her like a blood red tide. He wrapped his other arm around her waist, drawing her beaten back against his shirt-covered chest. She could feel the coil of his whip against her abdomen and wondered distractedly if it had her blood on it.
“Say ‘yes,’ Charlie,” he hissed in her ear, jerking her head once to emphasize his words. “Say it now!”
His last order was a feral growl. Charlie’s heart felt as if it would rip out of her chest, it was beating so hard. She felt as if she’d been run over by a semi. Twice.
But she felt proud, too. He’d done his best – so far. And he’d failed to get what he wanted out of her. There was some consolation in that, however miniscule it was. So Charlie continued to deny him. She said nothing.
Gabriel’s grip on her tightened and then there was a strange flare in the room, a quick burst of light like the flash of a camera. Then another one. Gabriel cocked his head to one side, his attention suddenly ri
pped from the woman in his arms and focused elsewhere.
Charlie stilled. She could feel it too. Something different. Not quite a sound. Not even a smell. It was a vibration. There was another flash and Charlie tried to see what was happening, but Gabriel’s hand was still fisted in her hair, holding her head firmly in place.
“The spell has fallen,” came a deep voice from somewhere to her right.
Gabriel growled. “Who?”
There was a pause, as if the man he was speaking to was trying to figure exactly that out. And then, in a voice that clearly relayed trepidation and surprise, the man said, “The Council. It must be.”
Gabriel seemed to consider this for a moment. Then he was swearing vehemently and Charlie grimaced as he shoved away from her, causing her to rock forward in her leather restraints. In the next instant, he was reaching up and slicing his hands across the leather straps that held her in place. They came away easily, ripped completely in half. Charlie fell to her knees.
“Warlock!” Phelan roared as he lifted Charlie by her arm and dragged her toward the other side of the room and the couches. “Get us out of here now!”
Charlie managed to steal a quick look around as Gabriel pulled her across the room. With something nearing hysterical shock, she saw that there were several large wolves in the dungeon with them. At the same time, a few of Phelan’s men were missing.
Werewolves…. The thought floated through her mind.
Phelan dragged her before two other men, both with dark hair and both radiating a strange kind of aura. The younger of the two, a man with short black hair and indigo colored eyes, nodded to Phelan and came forward. Charlie instantly reeled back, trying to get away from him. Something about him felt very wrong. He looked like he was all of twenty years old and yet he absolutely, unequivocally terrified Charlie. She didn’t want him anywhere near her.
The Strip Page 14