The Beckoning of Bravelicious Things (The Beckoning Series Book 3)

by Calinda B

  Something cool and smooth, like a lingam stone, runs along my core. I widen my stance, inviting entry, once more straining to keep my balance. I’m stroked and probed, driven mad, but not allowed to let go.

  Horrific sounds assault my ears, like I’ve been thrown into one of Daniel’s demon dens. Something snuffles my right ear. Sniff, sniff, sniff. A cold, wet nose explores my underarm, my ribs. I writhe away from it. The beast smells dank, fetid, like rotting garbage with an iron-infused tang. I twist and turn, terrified.

  Silky soft, downy fur runs along my back, caressing my skin, disappearing. A freezing, solid, smooth cube of ice takes its place. I wince, jerking as rivulets of water drip down my skin.

  Warm lips press into my back, slowly, deliberately, as if the mark of each kiss is worthy of contemplation and study. I melt into the sensations of loving.

  A cold blade of steel presses into my abdomen. I hiss, tense, afraid.

  I’m done with this stupid game. I’m growing fatigued, aroused beyond belief, wanting and stimulated to extremes. I don’t mean to, I try not to, but I start to whimper. The cloth around my eyes grows damp. A frustrated sound escapes through my muzzled mouth. I don’t want to play this way. I’m done. Tired. Over-stimulated. I want to be loved. I want to be soothed. I start to sob, the scarves soaking with tears and saliva. I want to be let down, right now. Let me go, Daniel, I plead. Stop this and let me down. Please, please, please, I implore him.

  The restraints snap and I collapse onto the bed, my chest wracking with sobs. I rip the restraints free from my face, scrambling to sitting, my eyes livid with anger, searching for Daniel. He’s sitting across the room from me, an unlit cigar in his fingers. His eyes hold mine as he flicks a match against a matchbox. He brings the match to his cigar and lights it, puffing on it.

  “I didn’t know you smoked,” I say, accusingly.

  “Rarely.” He shrugs. “Didn’t get to finish the last one. You put it out.”

  “What do you mean, I put it out?” I crawl to the edge of the bed, snatch a few tissues from the box and wipe my face and hair.

  “Just that. You thought I was going to burn you so you put it out.”

  My eyes grow flinty. “Weren’t you? Wasn’t that the point?”

  “I’d never harm you, Marissa. Never. Ever. Ever.” He places the cigar in an ashtray and stands, slowly striding to the bed.

  “Thanks for releasing the restraints,” I say simply.

  “I didn’t release them.” He sits next to me at the edge of the bed, stroking my hair away from my face.

  “Who did? Or should I say what did? One of your Maimers? A Shredder?” I shove away his hand.

  “There was no Maimer. No Shredder. No beast of any kind. Only me.”

  “Are you telling me that you have foul breath and you growl like a beast? And you have a cold, wet nose?” My voice sounds shrill.

  “Only in the morning, before coffee,” he says, chuckling. “But no, I’m not a beast unless you think I am. Your mind was playing tricks on you. And, I would never let you come to harm. I have wards around this room to prevent that kind of thing from happening.”

  “Well, then, what beast was in the room?”

  He taps the side of my head. “Your imagination,” he says.

  I shove his hand away. “Well, then, who released the restraints?” I thrust against his bare shoulder, furious.

  “You did.”

  “You could have sliced me!”

  “With what? This?” He leans down and picks up a huge, flat, sterling silver art piece he bought for me a couple of weeks ago. The edge is precise, rounded but not sharp.

  I squint, confused. “You had a knife to my face.”

  He shakes his head. “No, dulzura. I didn’t. Why would I terrorize you? No, love. You’re the one who thinks I’m evil. You think I’m crafted from my father’s mold. He’s an evil man. I am not. I’m enormously powerful. I deal with a world of darkness. But I would never hurt you.”

  I stare at him, bewildered, before pinching the bridge of my nose and squeezing my eyes shut. I’m feeling a little bit crazy right now.

  I know. But you’re not crazy. Only misguided. You’ve got to trust me. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Trust.

  My world feels as if it’s cracking apart. I thought I had this whole soul business betrayal figured out. I thought I was going on a mission to put it straight, to put me straight. I was dealt a bitter hand when I lost my parents and got forced to live with my aunt. Things were done to mess with my confidence. My mind’s been a bit clouded ever since. I don’t trust easily. I sometimes make dumb choices. My cheeks puff with air and I let out a slow breath. And now I’m learning to defend myself, use my abilities, and face the deadliest females alive? I don’t think so. I’m going to bail on this exercise. A cold, sharp laugh bursts from my throat. I lift my head to face my soul bound lover.

  “You had control the entire time,” Daniel says gently.

  “What are you saying? You told me I couldn’t release my own bindings.”

  “And since you believed me, thinking I have so much power, you couldn’t.”

  I glare at him, defiant, angry, mixed up. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re continually pissed at me about my soul binding you without your consent. I get it. I understand. It was a willful thing to do. I was afraid you would never consent.” He stands, walks to the side table, retrieves the box of tissues and hands it to me. “Here’s the thing you don’t get. As powerful as I am, as powerful as you were already when I met you, I could never have bound you unless some small part of you agreed to it.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I quickly respond. “You’re trying to trick me into thinking it’s all okay. Or maybe you just want to get out of going to find the three sisters.”

  “Nothing would please me more, love. But sadly, I fear the die is cast on that one. You know as well as I do that we all must go.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before—that I had made a choice?”

  He lifts a shoulder. “I tried. But whenever the topic is raised, you become indignant, angry, peeved, pissed, sullen…” He ticks the words off on his fingertips.

  I’m speechless. Can’t think of a thing to say. Daniel’s right. All this time, I’ve held a heavy grudge against him, feeling as if I’ve been subjected to his control against my will. “Couldn’t I at least have been conscious of the binding? Did I have to be ruled by my subconscious?” I cross my arms over my chest, hugging tightly. “It was still done without conscious intent on my part.”

  “It’s a soul binding, Marissa. One of the most binding of all spells. There had to have been a chink woven into the spell. The karmic consequences of doing such a thing could be dire.”

  “Well, why didn’t anyone ever tell me this shit before now?” I yell. “I never learned these kinds of things. I never even knew shit like this existed.” I stand and pace the room. Spying his smoldering cigar, I stalk over to it and pick it up, tapping the ash free, holding it between my thumb and forefinger. “These things are stinky,” I yell. “And they could give you cancer of the mouth!” I bring it to my lips and puff, slowly blowing the smoke out in a blue stream over my head. A sputter of coughs leaves my lungs.

  Daniel’s watching me, biting his lip, his eyes glittering with lust.

  “We’ll have to air out the entire room!”

  He gets up, saunters leisurely to where I stand, and then he comes behind me, one arm pulling me firmly against his searing hot, naked flesh. He plucks the cigar from my fingers, inhales, holds it to my lips so I can do the same.

  I shake my head. “I’m done.”

  He moves it to his own mouth, lightly draws smoke, sets it down in the ashtray and spins me around, exhaling his smoky breath into my mouth, kissing me with ardor.

  I push him away. “I can’t do this right now.”

  “Do what,” he says tenderly, pushing a wisp of hair out of my eyes. He searches my eyes, his gaze questioning, o
pen, curious. “Do what, cariño?”

  “Sex. Forget it,” I say, averting my eyes. “I’m hurt, I’m pissed, and I need to process what happened.”

  “I did it to show you I’m not in control of your life—you are.”

  “I know, but still…how the fuck am I going to learn by being terrorized? I didn’t ask for the lesson.” I make air quotes around the word ‘lesson.’

  He sighs. “All right, I get it. Another one of my impulsive moves. But I’m going to show you that I can be trusted. I’m going to prove that I’m a trustworthy man who deserves your love.” His expression is sincere and sorrowful.

  I know he means well. I know he loves me. But can I truly trust him, this man who walks with demons?

  “Can I hold you? I’d love nothing more than to cradle you in my arms all night. You’ll see. You’ll learn to trust me, corazón.”

  “Will I? Will I really, Daniel?” I lift my eyes to meet his piercing gaze. “I don’t want to learn to trust you. I want my heart to feel it, not my head.”

  He takes my hand and guides me to the bed. There, he lays me down, positioning his big warrior body next to me.

  I snuggle against him, surrounded by his intoxicating smell, his arms, his abdomen, his essence, cradled against his legs, letting thoughts of tonight whirl through my head like a sandstorm. I pull his arms close, holding them against my breasts. I wriggle my ass into his hips, getting as close as I possibly can.

  We’ll find a way, love, if it’s the last thing I do.

  All right, Daniel. I’ll at least commit to being open to the possibility—consciously commit. I agree to that much.

  He lets out a huge, deep breath as we sink, entwined in each other’s arms, into a restless, troubled sleep.

  Chapter 8

  I can’t put my finger on it, but Daniel and I definitely broke new ground last night. The twines of our soul bound connection seem to purr and trill with delight, spiraling, braiding, and twisting to form a new, even stronger bond. I feel guilty toward Rafe, who’s out facing God knows what while I forge new connections in his absence.

  We’re in the new dark blue Tesla electric convertible, Sober in the back seat, heading out to Tom’s house and my training grounds. One good thing about Daniel—he uses his…our…whatever…he uses his abundant wealth to support alternative technologies.

  “We’ve got just a few days of training left. I want to focus on your weaknesses,” Daniel says.

  “Like you?” I say. “And Rafe?”

  He clenches his jaw and stares coldly through the windshield. “If we’re your weaknesses, then yes. But I was thinking more of your sword techniques. You have so much magic inside you. But it’s still raw, uncontained power. What we’re trying to accomplish should have been honed over years, not weeks; the more practice you can get in, the better.”

  “I’m getting better,” I say defensively. “Even you think so.”

  “Yes, corazón, you are. But better isn’t good enough. You need to be your best.”

  “What about you? Don’t you need to be your best?”

  “Yes,” he says. “I do.” He taps the steering wheel thoughtfully and chews the inside of his cheek. “I want you to know something.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I understand your motives for falling in love with Rafe.”

  I blink a few times. “You do? I’m not sure I understand them, or that there were motives at all, per se.”

  “Even though he’s a giant dick, before you knew him, he was one of the few Numens I actually respected.”

  I incline my head and study him like mushrooms have sprouted from his head. “I never knew that.”

  “He kept to himself, I kept to myself…our paths just never crossed. Until I returned, that is, and you two had…” He turns his head to look at me with squinty eyes. “Hooked up.” A look of extreme displeasure appears on his face. “But, I had thrown myself into the darkness and was unavailable to you. As far as you’re concerned, it might have been another breach of trust. I thought I was doing what was best but it may have been unwise.” He nods like he’s just solved some big dilemma.

  I actually laugh. “Did you just admit you made a mistake?”

  He glowers. “You don’t know what it’s like to wield so much power. When I cast myself into the dark realm of demons, I did so for a reason.”

  “You told me, but you never told me details.”

  “I needed to be certain I could master my new power and fully contain the darkness.”

  “Why’s that?” I ask, frowning.

  “The evil on this planet stays contained because of me, cariño.”

  My frown deepens. “What do you mean?”

  “A true Night Numen holds darkness at bay.”

  “Still not following.”

  “You’ve been there. You’ve seen the manner of creatures that live in the dark. You’ve seen what they’re capable of.”

  A shiver escapes and shoots up my spine. “Enough to know that it frightens me, yes.”

  “Imagine all that darkness escaping.”

  “Escaping?” My voice sounds like a squeak.

  He looks grim as he speaks. “There’s always been a master over the darkness—a person who keeps the evil of the underworld contained. It’s a mastery handed down from generation to generation. My father became corrupt and lost his rights. When I inhaled El Demonio de la Muerte’s power, I became the most powerful Numen alive. I’m that master.”

  A heavy, sludgy stillness falls between us. I think I knew this, but until he said it, it was merely idle conjecture on my part. “That makes you sound really, really dangerous.”

  “I am, cariño. Like you, I’m still getting used to all this power. It’s heady and exhilarating. Rather addictive. And, yet it carries incredible responsibility. I can’t screw up, and the heavens know I’m capable of being willfully impulsive. You know that firsthand.”

  “We both seem to be,” I say, trying to share the load.

  “Which makes this whole journey all the more risky. You have a lightning quick temper. I burn with deep rage and a sense of injustice. And Rafe? He’s a train wreck. There are people on this Earth—some still living—who have harmed us and tried to thwart us. We can’t let them. Whether or not you choose me as your mate, my commitment to you is to protect you, for as long as I live. But I’m afraid, at times, I won’t be able to. And, if you choose another…well, what if I’m not around when you need me the most?”

  My mind launches into a full blown confusion attack. Why can’t I tell him he is my choice? I open my mouth to speak, but can’t coax the words out. There’s still something in the way, someone. Rafe. He helped me through an extremely dark patch and I feel loyal to him. Or, at least, that’s what I’m telling myself. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s me. “I’ll have to find the strength within,” I say, almost whispering.

  He nods, almost imperceptibly. “I’m going to show you I can be trusted to be a good guy,” he says. “One who’s worthy of your commitment.”

  “Like the Lone Ranger?” I say.

  “Don’t be silly. I can be trusted. I’ll show you.”

  “Show me how?”

  “On this journey. You’ll see. I figure I have to earn your love and respect at this point. And I intend to do just that.” He turns to me and smiles.

  I return the smile, not sure how to respond. “Thank you, Daniel. That means a lot to me.”

  He nods again, certain, no doubt, that the conversation was a good one.

  I’m left puzzled, though. Daniel’s never been one to be agreeable and “good,” as he put it. He does his own thing. That’s one of the things I love about him, as well as one of the things that terrifies me.

  In minutes we’ve pulled up to Tom’s ramshackle home. It’s a small house, plunked in the middle of a stand of trees like a home on a Monopoly board that someone placed haphazardly. The yard’s un-mowed, and the place is a bit run down—it’s perfect for the likes of
Tom.

  “Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip.”

  I hear the sorcerer’s cry from the field out back. “Oh, no. Do you think we have to train with his stupid golden eagle? That bird hates me.”

  “It did give you a nasty bite last time.”

  I rub the place on my arm where it took a chunk out. “I’ll say.”

  We exit the vehicle and Sober leaps from the back, then looks up at me as if to say, “hey, I’m going to check in with Buster,” and flutter-runs around the corner. Daniel and I follow, wandering into the field out back.

  “Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip,” Tom calls. He swings his lure ‘round and ‘round as Beelzebub, his huge golden eagle, swoops and dives, eager for his big, easy meal. Tom’s black Labrador, Buster, races in haphazard loops of excitement, Sober already by his side.

  “Hi, Tom,” I say.

  Tom and Daniel lift their chins at each other in greeting.

  “What’s on the training schedule for the day?” I ask, watching the great bird soar majestically through the air.

  “Wait and see,” Tom says.

  The eagle dives for the lure, misses, wheels around and dives again. When Beelzebub finally snags it, he drops to the ground and mantles his prey, spreading his wings to keep us away and let us know the kill is his. Buster runs over, tail wagging and tongue lolling. Sober follows but has no interest in the bird or its prey—he merely likes to follow Buster.

  “Get away from that,” Tom tells the dogs. “That ain’t yours. Go on! Get!”

  The two dogs trot toward the sorcerer and sit.

  “That’s better.” Tom steps up to the raptor, stoops, and makes cooing noises to entice the large winged creature onto his leather clad hand. He tucks a morsel of meat in the crease between his thumb and forefinger, and the bird proceeds to shred and tear his breakfast into bloody bits.

  “So, do we have to do raptor training?” I ask.

  “I don’t think so. Not today. I was just letting Beelzebub stretch his wings.”

  My shoulders relax. “Oh. What then?”