by Liza James
My heart pounds, a distinct draw in my blood suddenly sparking alive again. But there’s no way…it’s impossible.
“It’s a good thing you’ve got that fight you’ve just shown me, Kitten.”
Her body rolls against mine, and fuck, I smell the fear in her blood. The arousal on her skin. I can hear the hummingbird beat of her heart as it pounds under those brittle, fragile bones. Mortal.
She’ll die in a few decades; old age and a weary body will claim her if something else doesn’t do it earlier—like the Bite.
Or me.
I lean forward, dragging my nose up the narrow column of her soft neck. Her sweet skin practically sings, and I fight the urge to drop my fangs and sink them inside her.
Her breath hitches in her throat, and I hear the way her heart skips a sudden beat and shifts into an irregular pattern. “Jesus, a fucking heart murmur? Really?” My fingers slide over her jaw while I twist her head back to look at me. I don’t pay attention to the way her gaze lingers on my lips. Instead, I examine the marks on her jawline and chin, the bruising already flowering her left cheek and running under her eye. Her pathetic step-brother left a few solid marks on her skin and strangely, I already want to kill him for it.
For no other reason than the simple fact that she will soon belong to us. The Four Queens. As one of Lilith’s brides, she’ll be untouchable by both the supernatural and mortal realms.
“How did you know I have a heart murmur?” she asks, her silky sweet voice offering me the tiniest Southern twang.
It’s sexy. I won’t lie, and has me aching to get her into my quarters so I can begin her training sessions immediately.
“I can hear it,” I reply, my voice is quiet and dismissive while I turn her around to face me. She takes the opportunity to attempt pulling out of my hold and I shove her back against the wall just as quickly. My forearm comes to rest against her throat and I shift it up in order to force her head steady and her gaze into my own. “You’re pathetic. Do you know that?” I ask, tilting my head to the side while my voice drops a bit lower.
Her eyes narrow on me, and I feel her body tense as it presses against my own. Her tits heave with each breath, and I can feel her energy shift incrementally in several different directions while I hold her here.
Her mind is running with countless thoughts. I can tell. I can’t read her head like Aggie can, but I’m incredibly perceptive and I can tell when someone is both angry and turned on.
That’s my entire job, honestly. Break these girls down into submissives while training them to take the Bite in success. I read body cues, I listen to breathing patterns, and I taste certain emotions and anticipations in their blood. My skill set is reliant memories as well, seeing as water contains memory, and water makes up ninety-two percent of blood.
It’s amazing what blood will tell you. Far more than a simple thought could. She could tell me she isn’t enjoying this all she wants, that she seeks out independence and power rather than shallow validation from strangers and strippers. But that simply isn’t true. Instead, I can feel the honesty behind those lies, taste them on her skin and hear the unspoken words while I savor her blood.
The incessant need she has to feel accepted. The mediocre love she welcomes in her own desperate cry for affection. It’s all there, in every cell her blood and sweat has to offer me. Her emotions, her memories…not her words. That’s where I find her truth.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? Coming to my home like this? Saying those things to me? Fuck you.” Suddenly, her eyes take a darker turn, her voice turning thick with anger and frustration. Her body remains tense, and it’s because I’m already so accustomed to situations like this I can see how much of a facade her words are.
She does this often. It looks comfortable, familiar on her tone and spoken on those heavy lips.
My eyes catch the movement, focusing on the way her tongue slips out and coats her plump bottom lip while she speaks. For a moment, I forget that she’s angry, completely space that she’s attempting some sort of verbal fight against me right now. Because fuck, those lips working over-time have me doing a double take.
Eyes shift back up, and then down. Back up a second time, until I finally lift my thumb and press it down on the center of that bottom lip.
That stops her talking and her head reels back while she attempts dropping her gaze and watching the movement. She’s quiet though, and distracted. So, I use the brief interlude to regain my own focus and keep her pinned to the wall. Reaching behind myself, I slip my hand into my back pocket, quickly tugging a black cloth bag free and hiding it at my back.
I lean forward, intentionally dragging my thumb down while I pull on her lip. She gasps, and the sweet sound is a flash of electricity in my blood while I watch her.
Cautiously, something shifts inside of me. An incredibly small gesture, one that’s weak and nearly escapes without notice. It’s a single flare of something unrecognizable, but gone just as quickly when I refocus my attention.
That was strange.
My lips near hers and I’m aching to brush against them, take the smallest claim of tasting her skin already. But I can’t. Lilith will want the first taste before I take over, confirming their compatibility in ways she’ll never understand just yet. Skilla, I mean, and it’s understandable. It’s always a chore, having to explain our race to the humans who are afraid of anything even remotely different than they are.
They choose to stay ignorant, refusing to grow in the wake of staying naive and comfortable. I can’t comprehend it. But you can’t force growth onto anyone. You can’t force evolution. You simply adapt, defend and protect yourself and others against the darkness humanity can hold.
As I feel her breath on my lips, I shift incrementally closer. Letting my free hand lift up from her waist and drag my knuckles across her cheek. I slip one finger through a fallen lock of her hair, wrapping it around until I can tuck it back behind her ear.
Sweet, stupid, little girl. She’ll be easy to break; she’s practically there already. But keeping her alive and strong enough for Lilith will be the true challenge.
I let her stay distracted, it’s exactly what I need, and while she watches my movement and her gaze falls to my nearing lips, I lift the bag and yank it down over her head and cinch it around her throat.
She thrashes immediately, throwing her hands out and letting her nails scrape into my skin. It’s absolutely useless however, and I’m quick to pin her hands at her sides and press my bared teeth against her right ear while I move us to her window. “Stay quiet, don’t cry, and do as I fucking say. This will be so much worse for you if you decide to break my simple rules. Do you understand?” I await her response, halting our movements until I’ve got her surrender.
“Fuck. Off,” she finally snaps back, throwing her head forward and smashing it across my own.
Fuck. But it’s not me who’s bleeding. I can smell the fresh cut the instant she retracts and stumbles in pain. She attempts to lift her hands and rubs her own forehead, but I don’t release her. She can deal with the consequences of her own actions.
It’s her blood that’s really getting to me though. I’m hungry, even after feeding at the mansion before coming here. I wouldn’t have thought so prior to scenting her blood, but hell, now? My stomach twists in pains of starvation and I’m slightly confused at the effect she’s having on me. I don’t find attachment in anyone. Even their blood doesn’t draw much more than sweet satisfaction of hunger and thirst from me.
That’s it.
So, why is my hand twitching to pull off the bag and examine the injury myself, and then slip my tongue along her blood and savor it completely.
A quiet, peculiar pull inside me begs to be closer to her. It’s one I can’t let myself focus on or try to decipher—no. I refuse to give this strange need any more attention.
“Lilith needs you,” I reply instead, refusing to take a single second to check on her and her well-being. I’m offering useless in
formation to her now though. She has no idea the importance she holds.
Absolutely not.
“I don’t give a fuck who needs me. How about what I need? Huh? Are you going to answer my questions?” She begins rambling, and I easily ignore her rant while I lift her by the waist and throw her over my fucking shoulder like a child. She cries out at the sudden movement, her fingers clinging to my crop top at my back while her legs dangle in front of my face. “Naamie!” she shouts, her tone frantic and unsure while she scrambles to get down.
“Don’t call me that.” I reply, climbing out of the window myself while locking my hold around Skilla’s waist.
“Then what do I call you?” she asks, and I can tell she’s forcing steady breaths in and out of her lungs while I begin crouching down and mentally calculating my descent. She’s flooded with emotions right now, and irritated at my lack of flexibility in this conversation. I’m surprised at the way she blocks it out though. It’s almost as if there’s a storm growing inside of her, but it’s stifled and numbed by the walls she’s effectively surrounded it with. As if I can feel her, wild and chaotic and free, but quickly tamped out by whatever experiences have imprisoned her.
“Well for starters, only my sisters call me Naamie.” I look down, estimating a nearly forty-five foot fall. “You can call me Alca.” As soon as I offer her the title, I jump. We fall through the air, my frame keeping us stable while we land on the ground below and I drop with ease. Skilla is terrified, and I can still feel her fingers biting into my skin after clinging to me.
I drop her on the ground, twisting her in my hold but leaving the bag over her face so she can’t see where we are going. “What the fuck is happening? Where are you taking me?” She stutters, her words coming out in choppy bits while panic begins working through her body. Her head is whipping back and forth, as if she can see through the dark covering over her eyes.
Placing my hand on the back of her neck, I step up against her back, using my knee to kick her legs forward and force her to walk. “All of your questions will be answered shortly.” I reply simply, moving us out toward the empty field that resides across the street from the house she lives in. It looks like a plot of land for upcoming home builds, but nothing has started in it yet, and it’ll give us enough room to shift into the Underworld.
“Or you could answer me now,” she bites back, suddenly halting her steps while we stand in the center of the road. I’m anything but patient, so I offer her a solid kick in the back of her legs to push her forward. But she doesn’t respond, and instead turns around with flying fists as she manages to strike my face.
I launch forward immediately, anger and frustration rolling through my blood. Damn, I underestimated this girl’s fucking fight, “Who the fuck do you think you are? As if you have any say, any ability to escape, to hurt me, to what…? Kill me?” I scoff, wrapping my fingers tightly around her throat without taking off the blindfold. I stalk her backwards, and with every large step I take, she stumbles in response. She’s completely reliant on my ability to keep her safe right now. She doesn’t know where we’re going, doesn’t know if there’s something she could run into, and has zero understanding of whether she will survive this.
“Yeah—yes. If I had to, I could.” Her voice is hesitant, and I can tell she doesn’t believe the words she’s speaking. It’s evident in her stuttered verbiage and quiet voice.
I laugh, throwing my head back while I finally bring us to the center of the field. I stop our movements and she yanks away, trying to rip her arms free of my hold when I drag her back against my chest. We’re heaving together, heated breaths warring between us on stifled grunts and groans of irritation and strain.
“You think you can hurt me? In the fucking slightest?” I whisper quietly, finally forcing her slender frame still while I press my fingers tightly into her upper arms. I hold her against me, my knee nestled tightly between her thighs while I dip my lips close to her ear. “Have you ever done that before? Hurt someone, I mean.” One of my hands relaxes as I lift my fingers and begin sliding them across her skin. Over her shoulder, up the side of her neck, back down along her collarbone.
She doesn’t answer me.
“I didn’t think so, sweet kitty.” I drag my lips over her ear, enunciating each word while my fingers move across her skin with a fragile touch. Playing with my projects is my favorite pastime. “You’re weak. Even the fight you’re putting up now is nothing compared to my other girls.”
I push her deeper into the field ahead of us, she sloppily crunches through the overgrown grass and dust under her bare feet. She’ll bleed, and I hear her cry out when she steps on a sharp rock as we move. So, I push her again, and she falls back on her ass before I’m grabbing her by her throat and yanking her up again. “Move.”
“Other girls?” she asks, and for the first time, I hear genuine terror in her voice. Hell, even while her brother was breaking through that fucking door, she didn’t sound this afraid.
“Other girls. Plenty of them. Used for short periods of time before they’re worthless.” I tilt my head as I speak, and observe every heated breath, every movement of her hands, her shifting shoulders, all of it. Fear continues building in her stomach, and I glance behind her before realizing we’re almost to the center of the field.
“Used for what?” she asks frantically, her voice raising an octave while her hands splay out at her sides as if she’s feeling for something around her.
“Food.”
Easy. Straight to the point. Honest.
She halts mid-step, frozen in place as soon as I speak the word. “Wha—”
Frustration snaps inside of me at her inability to listen. I launch forward and wrap my fingers through her hair, yanking her toward me and shifting her around while I push her forward. I keep her head pinned back against my chest, and I can tell her lips have fallen open on a whimper while I shove her forward. I can hear the heavy breaths while she struggles to breathe against the fabric.
I drop down to her ear again, grinding out the truth I’m sure she’s both desperate and terrified to hear. “You heard me. The girls are food, shredded apart and devoured until there’s nothing left. Skin and bones, empty lungs of consumed hopes and dreams. They are nothing. Always were, always will be.” I laugh in a low tone against her ear. “And you’re one of the lucky chosen.”
She bucks forward, attempting to rip out of my hold and escape. My fingers remain on her, my tight hold cinching down even harder with every failed attempt she makes. “Get the fuck off of me,” she stammers, clear panic in her voice and evident on her slick skin. “Let me go!” She screams this time and kicks her leg back while surprisingly making contact with my knee. It catches me off guard, and my hold on her falters for a brief second. But it’s enough for her to pull free, and suddenly she’s on the ground on her hand and knees rushing away from me.
I dive toward her, and my hand flies to the back of her head as I shove it into the dirt. I rip off the bag, a fiery anger burning along my skin at the fact that she fucking hit me. I’ll make her pay for this, and the sudden spark of temptation lights along my skin at the ways I can make her bleed.
Leaning over her, I bring my eyes directly into her line of sight. Her mouth is bloody, her lips split, and dirt cakes her skin while she breathes into the ground. She’s struggling, but I straddle her ass and force her face against the gritty rocks and sticks below us.
“You, Skilla, are nothing.” I spit the words against her skin, marring those flushed cheeks and exhausted eyes. “Do you understand me?”
She simply watches me in the ragged silence of her wheezing breaths and quickly diminishing strength. She doesn’t respond and she’ll soon learn that isn’t the correct reaction to this.
“I said, do you understand?” I repeat myself, but I’ll only do it once. She’ll learn this rather fast as well.
Again, nothing.
I roughly shift my leg forward and up between her thighs. My fingers tighten in the coils o
f her hair as I rip her head back and force my fingers into her mouth. Pushing her jaw down, I slide them back until she gags and coughs while I pull out. “Do you fucking understand me?” I say again, gripping her jaw tightly while I inch my face closer to hers.
She nods immediately, tears slipping free of her eyes and spilling down her cheeks.
“Tell me what you are,” I demand, pushing her to repeat my words while I watch her unravel.
“No,” she says immediately, and while I can see the fight in her eyes, I know it’s fading as well.
This will be easy.
My fingers slide around her throat while I shift behind her, pulling her against my chest while I speak in a whisper. “Tell me no again, and I promise you will pay for this once we get to the Underworld.”
She pauses before responding, I’m sure both wanting to refuse and processing the term I referenced regarding home. She doesn’t even know what we are, let alone where we come from.
“No,” she finally bites out, and truthfully, it sends an electric current whipping through my blood in excitement. I’m both livid and thrilled by the fight she’s giving me. She’ll be quick to break, but at least I’ll have a little fun before she does.
I laugh, slowly and quietly before releasing her throat and placing my hand on the ground beside her face. “Salman.” Whispering the word for home in our celestial language, Enochian, I focus completely on where we are going. I can feel the magic pulling inside of me, gathering and building into a spark that will light our departure from this world and into the next.
There’s another entrance into the Underworld, through a forest far off from here, but Lucifer has it designed in ways that would drive men mad if they attempt entry. It keeps our world safe, and thankfully we have our own methods of leaving and entering when necessary.