Unchained Beauty (Deadly Beauties Live On Book 5)

by C. M. Owens

ELLA

  A stupid smile is on my face when Slade kisses my shoulder from behind me, and I finish typing out yet another text to Chaz. Everyone is relocating for the night, and we’re setting a few magical bombs in the homes where Hannah will hopefully still attack.

  I say we but I mean they. Because I haven’t moved out of Slade’s bed, and I won’t until this moment is shattered. It’s always shattered, so I’m waiting on the inevitable.

  “I really should find my journal,” he grumbles, dragging his lips over my shoulder again until he’s kissing the bottom of my jaw.

  I’m not really sure how long we’ve been in his cabin. The one time I raised the window, I heard the sounds of the camp all celebrating the day’s victory the same way.

  “Why do you need your journal?”

  He kisses the top of my head instead of answering me, and I turn in his arms, soaking in the moment while it lasts. I’m always waiting on him to push me away, but the fear is slowly passing the longer he lies here with me.

  I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him still for this long, other than that time I spent all night healing him.

  When our lips connect, he gives me a kiss that makes me wonder if it’s even the same man. It’s almost a reverent, worshipful kiss.

  He breaks the kiss when someone knocks on the door, then opens it a crack. “What?” he asks.

  “Just checking in to make sure you’re okay, since you hadn’t checked in on the group message,” Kya says quietly.

  “I’m good. You?”

  “All good. Chaz is staying here with me tonight, since the Lokie warned Ella,” she tells him, and I close my eyes as Slade stiffens next to me. “Some of the others may also crash here, since Hannah hasn’t been able to locate us.”

  Slade is glaring at me. I can feel it without having to see it.

  “That’s fine,” he says, his calm and cool tone complete bullshit, because I can feel the anger radiating off him.

  Damn. Well, the sweet moment was fun while it lasted. No take-backs.

  She shuts the door back, and I open my eyes to indeed find Slade glaring at me.

  “To be fair, this was just getting good. You were going to tell me about all the ways you imagined fucking me,” I remind him, causing his lips to twitch, even as he fights to restrain the rare grin that wants to emerge.

  “Talk,” he commands, propping up on his arm beside me.

  “Fine. The torture Lokie warned me that Hannah was growing her armies—”

  “I’m kidding,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been reading all your texts over your shoulder all night.”

  I relax beside him, and he arches an eyebrow at me.

  “What? I didn’t want this to end because of a new piece of information that really doesn’t actually help us find Hannah.”

  “Even if we found Hannah, I wouldn’t be able to kill her tonight. I can’t kill her until the stars are in line for the portal. There has to be a cosmic burst.”

  “Cosmic burst?” I ask, confused. “We’ve killed spirits before. Ghosts too. All without a cosmic burst.”

  He nods absently, sitting up to grab the bottle of water from the bedside table, then moves back into position behind me.

  “You’ve killed them and sent them to another plane. Or you had a cosmic burst you weren’t aware of when you killed them, something like the gates of purgatory being opened,” he points out. “I’m talking about obliterating a demon while it’s in transition on this surface. It’s something entirely different and never before truly accomplished. But if sent to hell or another plane, she’d claw her way back again.”

  “You’re worried she’d come back and restart the rings,” I say softly, running a hand over his chest like I’m trying to soothe him. “She’ll never take you or touch you again, if that’s something you’re worried about. We’re not going to lose.”

  He laughs. Actually laughs.

  “I wasn’t joking,” I decide to point out, looking up into his eyes that are even laughing at me.

  “Hannah was mild compared to her predecessors,” he says through his chuckles. “I’m not worried about her torture. I know she’ll never take me again,” he goes on.

  My eyes stay fixed on his, and he continues to stare down at me.

  “Because you still plan to die?”

  He looks away and clears his throat, tugging me toward him as he heaves out a breath. My cheek goes to his chest as he wraps his arm around me.

  “I’ll let Alton die,” he states quietly, and my eyes slowly close as a tear leaks out.

  I’m almost scared to believe him, because now that he’s said it so easily, it doesn’t seem real.

  “I really do need to find my journal,” he says as he stands, clearing his throat again like he has emotion he’s covering.

  My heart thumps faster as I watch him walk to the table, and he tosses books around until he finds the journal he’s apparently looking for. It looks identical to all the ledgers.

  “Will those weird vampire zombie things be an issue again? We’re just getting rid of that infestation,” I say as he reads his journal with a blank expression.

  “They’ll be an issue again,” he says quietly. “Everything will be an issue again.”

  He slowly lowers his eyelids as he closes his journal, and he exhales harshly while scrubbing a hand over his face.

  “Okay, if we’re not going to talk about that, then how about talking about the thousand and one ways you thought we’d end up having sex together.”

  He glances over, giving me a small smirk as he moves in closer to me, opening his journal. I’m terrified of what I might see on those pages.

  Fortunately, it’s a language I don’t know.

  He lies flat on his back beside me, one arm coming out to pillow my head.

  “The first time I envisioned it, it was about as hard and volatile as what just happened. That’s what happens when you’re suppressing the urge to fantasize and finally give up.”

  “Why were you suppressing the urge to fantasize?” I ask, smiling for no reason.

  “Mostly because I was actually raised a gentleman who respected the female intended for him,” he says, his voice dropping an octave and taking this way more seriously than expected.

  His accent is a little thicker, richer. I can’t really place the unique sound of it. It’s not so much of a where-is-he-from question as it is a when-is-he-from question.

  It’s like the Tudor debacle that took me a while to understand.

  But I find it odd that he opens that journal and his entire voice almost changes.

  “You were too much of a gentleman to fantasize about the things you’d do to your mate, yet you’ve felt me up just to be a dick before.”

  I feel his smile against the side of my head. “I was a completely different man then,” he goes on, his voice not hitting the sad note I anticipate.

  “I didn’t remain a gentleman for all that long,” he adds, and I snort back a laugh, feeling his smile against my head again.

  Idly, my hand moves over some of the scars and slave markings on one of his arms—a full sleeve of tattoos. Then my hand runs back over to his chest, absorbing this one moment of semi-normalcy—considering we’re very lethal immortals amidst a war.

  “I wondered for so long what language you spoke. It took some time, but I figured it out. I learned English just to try and figure out what your lips were saying when they were moving,” he goes on, and my chest vibrates with what is almost described as a purr.

  When I feel yet another smile from him, I’m almost worried he’s setting me up for one really cruel insult or something, because this is really out of character.

  “I listened to the subtle differences and changes in the language all throughout the years. I tried to keep up with it, since half of what I thought you were saying didn’t make a damn bit of bloody sense, due to the ever-changing vernacular and dialect,” he says, sounding a little irritated.

  I find myself grinning agai
nst his chest.

  His arm fastens tighter around me, dragging me up a little bit so that my forehead touches his cheek. I’m practically lying on one half of his body now, skin pressed all along skin in such a natural, easy way.

  It was never like this with the dead ex. That’s my only point of reference, so even being with Slade after he went into a homicidal rage is a step in the right direction.

  He continues reading like these are the words on the page. His head dips to mine as I stare at the words I don’t understand. I also mildly wonder what is going on with the dose of sweet he’s giving me. Again.

  Because I’m paranoid like that.

  “Dice helped my ever-changing vernacular,” I tell him.

  “Never saw him very much in the images of you. Usually it was blurred around the edges. Sometimes it was crystal clear. It seemed the more furious I got, the better the imaging,” he tells me.

  He kisses the top of my head, and I grin.

  “Now tell me you didn’t kill him because of what he did to me, and I’ll believe you,” I say softly.

  He snorts derisively. “Of course I killed him for what he did.” When I smile, he adds, “I also killed him for touching you at all.”

  There are some things that shouldn’t sound romantic. Really, there are. Just none come to mind right now.

  “I watched you struggle with your nature. You lived with monsters who’d learned to cage themselves, and there’d never be a cage for you. You’d go crazy that way,” he goes on almost thoughtfully. “We’re all monsters. Even humans. Just some of us are better at it than others, because we know when a monster is needed.”

  “When there’s a worse monster to fight,” I say, and he nods slowly.

  “I killed a man today who my father thought to be a friend. I spent a lifetime thinking I knew exactly how we ended up in those rings, yet I never once suspected John,” he says quietly, leaving the journal open beside us.

  “You don’t have to explain it to me. I was there. I helped,” I tell him, my eyes still on his journal.

  I remember thinking I wouldn’t want to read a journal by a man who spent the vast majority of his life plotting gruesome revenge. Now, seeing him touch the pages like they’re precious and feeling soothed by them, I realize I don’t actually know how he thinks.

  I suppose it’s the only earthly possession he truly has after being alive for so long, and even though I wish I knew what was in it, it feels like the worst invasion of privacy to ask.

  “I’m not apologizing or explaining, simply stating a fact,” he says softly, kissing the top of my head, almost as though he’s thinking things over. “It makes me wonder if I’m really succeeding.”

  “Succeeding at what?” I ask, lifting my head as he does, letting our eyes meet.

  He blinks for a second, then stares at me in a way he’s never done before, almost as though he doesn’t want to stop looking.

  “Getting closer to killing Hannah,” he says before kissing my forehead so sweetly.

  “Okay, so I’m getting worried. You’re being incredibly nice. Just how much of my blood did you drink earlier?”

  His lips tug into a grin at one corner of his mouth, transforming his entire face.

  “I’ll make sure to do something to piss you off before we get out of bed, Princess,” he says, kissing me again before I can think about the way he said the word Princess.

  He’s always used it as more of an insult or unimportant name, never an endearment. Still doesn’t feel quite like an endearment, but not exactly an insult either.

  The clap of the journal shutting slightly startles me, as I feel him leaning over me, sliding between my legs as he puts the journal on the table.

  I pull back, glancing at the journal then at him, as he stares down at me.

  “You never told me but one way you imagined having me,” I tell him. “And it was anticlimactic, because you basically said exactly what we did.”

  His smile is so quick that I almost miss it before his lips go to my neck, teasing me when he sucks skin into his mouth and lets his fangs graze the flesh without puncturing it.

  My hands smooth up his back, and I spread my legs wider, giving him more room to kiss his way down my chest. “I’ll spend the next twenty-four hours showing you,” he murmurs against my skin.

  “Twenty-four solid hours?” I ask, my eyes fluttering shut when he starts teasing my nipple with his mouth in so many different ways.

  My hands move to his hair and my fingers twist in the soft strands, as my hips arch, pressing up into him, desperate for friction.

  “Twenty-four solid hours. We have time,” he says, dragging his lips down farther. “We have time,” he says again before he comes up, his lips fusing to mine before starting the teasing process all over again.

  His mouth touches every part on the front of my body, except for one, over the next hour, dragging out the torture until I’m writhing beneath him, practically on the verge of begging.

  “Please,” I finally whisper, feeling his groan against my inner thigh as his hands start sliding up my outer thighs, gripping firmly and pulling them wider.

  His mouth moves next, his tongue ghosting over that sensitive bundle of nerves just barely, and I practically convulse without even having an orgasm. I feel the bastard’s smile, proud of himself, before I’m suddenly uncaring how arrogant he is.

  My back arches when he stops teasing, the bed rips under my grip, and my breathing grows erratic and loud inside the otherwise quiet room. Then he growls, and I’m tipped over the edge from the simple vibrations.

  My hips buck back, everything feeling overly sensitive as I start trying to pull him up, desperate to have him inside of me.

  He doesn’t make me wait quite as long for that, since he’s lifting my leg and thrusting into me at the same time his mouth comes down and bites into my shoulder. The delicious lick of just the right fire slithers through my veins, heightening all my senses, and then that erotic crackle starts at my core and explodes outward as the next orgasm crashes through me.

  Someone starts banging on the door, but we both ignore it as his hips work at just the right speed, dragging me closer to a third time.

  The second he releases my shoulder with his mouth, the banging intensifies.

  “Go the fuck away!” he shouts, but they can’t hear us. There’s a soundproofing spell, and no windows or doors are cracked.

  We can only hear the knocking and not anything being said from the other side.

  To keep him from dealing with the relentless door banger, I bite into his shoulder, using my own venom, and a sexy growl rumbles in his chest as his rhythm starts growing more aggressive.

  You’d think without their being a headboard, a person could enjoy really hot sex without that annoying banging sound, but someone won’t give up.

  Cursing, I shove Slade off me, and he groans when I hurry to the door, opening it a crack to look out, leaving my back to Slade.

  “Damn it, Dice, what?” I snap.

  “I’m going to kill that motherfucking, pointless incubus,” Slade says, sounding just like his normal self now.

  Dice gives me a pointed look. “He can’t really kill me if he’s with you, can he?”

  Something topples over, and I hear Slade curse as I grin, then wipe the grin away, because I’m also pissed right now.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  The son of a bitch holds up a finger so he can answer a text. I’m literally going to kill him.

  Slade moves in behind me, and focusing becomes hard when he starts kissing his way down my spine. Dice can only see my head, so he has no idea where Slade is right now, and it’s awkward, because I can’t have sex in front of Dice.

  “You really need to go,” I say when Dice just continues to text something on his phone.

  I slam the door, just as Slade spins me and pushes me belly-down on the table. Papers full of complicated equations scatter to the ground when he thrusts into me from behind.
r />   A breath leaves me in a rush, and his hand roughly slides into my hair, pulling my head back so he can bite into my neck again.

  We both ignore the banging on the door when it starts again, because we have twenty-two more hours.

  Chapter 24

  SLADE

  There’s always a moment of regret after you’ve spent a night touching the wrong person. There’s always a bitter taste in your mouth when you know you were with someone you were never meant to have. Someone you never even really wanted.

  It’s not like that when the only thing you do want is draped across you, infuriating you with how truly perfect she is, no matter how many variables change.

  Shutting my eyes, I close the journal, putting it back on the dresser as I hold her to me while she sleeps, and I try not to think. About anything.

  I should have spent more time reading my journal, remembering the plan, but most of it is still possible. The important parts. The part where I stop Hannah.

  Ella makes a sound of contentment, her head edging up on my chest, and my arms tighten around her waist as she starts to wake up.

  “How long have I been out?” she asks sleepily.

  “Not too long,” I murmur against her head.

  “You didn’t sleep any?” she asks, her lips moving in soft, kissing patterns up to my neck as my lips twitch.

  “I spent centuries closing my eyes so I could see you,” I remind her, sliding my hand down the smooth, light skin of her back until I reach the curve of her ass. “No reason to close my eyes at the moment.”

  Her lips find mine, as though she has to kiss me right now, and I almost forget what is planned for today. Breaking the kiss takes more strength than I care to admit, especially when she grins and tries to kiss me again.

  I flip us in a blur of motion, coming down on top of her in a way that has her smile only growing as she lifts her arms like she’s willing to let me do anything with her body.

  So fucking perfect.

  It’s so much better than I imagined it. Everything about her is better than I could have imagined.

  I give in, kissing her again, but manage to pull myself away before things escalate.