by A. K. Koonce
Until he says it without pause.
“Get on all fours,” he whispers.
A shiver trembles through me at the sound of his command. And I obey. I turn from him slowly, and it surprises me when I come face to face with Saint.
A smirk carves his sharp features as he watches me with a gleam of light in his eyes. He keeps all of his attention intently focused on me, like I’m the most intriguing thing he’s ever seen.
I kneel before him. The cold cement bites into my knees. And then my palms.
I don’t feel like this is a game right now. I don’t feel exposed to any of them.
I feel… strumming anticipation, like it’s more than my body will ever be able to handle.
Part of me waits for Saint to guide the tip of his cock to my lips, and another part of me waits for what I can’t see from behind. Neither happens though.
Saint never lowers to me. And my body just feels cold waiting between the two men.
When I look up, Saint’s long tattooed fingers are lowering the zipper on his khakis. His shirt has long been discarded, and the etched lines of his chest lead my gaze down the hard expanse of his body. The jutting shaft that springs from his pants slides along his palm as he watches me with that gleaming look in his eyes.
Then warm fingers dig into my hips. I shift impatiently against that touch.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
The slide of his tip against my sex is slow and teasing. I feel his breath along my spine as he leans into me, hovering his body against mine, almost touching but not quite.
And then he slams in.
My back arches, and he only pulls out to dive in deeper. He rocks back and forth, hitting the same spot over and over again as his hands drift higher and he palms my ass. His big hand covers my flesh there before he blazes a trail higher. His fingers are gentle against my skin. It’s the lightest, most innocent touch along my spine before his hand fists my long dark hair. And then he twists hard.
Just like that, he lifts me against his chest. We kneel together, gasping and groaning and fucking like I’ll never have enough of him.
From behind, his big hand brushes over my ribs as his nails dig into my skin, and I feel his thrusts turn jerking.
“Fuck, Izara,” he whispers unevenly against my neck, and I feel him clinging on to draw out the feel of our bodies joining just like this.
Just when I think he’ll come, another body brushes against my nipples. My lashes open with a flutter, and I meet watchful blue eyes.
“Lie back, Izzy,” Saint whispers, his hands sliding over Syko’s.
I try to make sense of his request, but he doesn’t wait. He leans into me and guides me and Syko down. Behind me, Syko lies back, his thickness still filling me. His chest heaves as he looks up at the dark night sky, and I swear he’s just as anxious as I am at the moment.
As for myself, I wait for Saint. With sparking anticipation, I wait for him.
His gaze shifts over my features. His head dips low, and he kisses me softly, sweetly. His hand moves down my back, and he guides me just slightly further back, his body covering mine.
Before sliding ever so slowly in.
My lips part without a sound. Syko groans and slams his hands around my hips hard. Saint’s muscles tense beneath my touch as I grasp his shoulders and cling to him like he’ll take care of me completely.
Always.
The two of them hold me between them, angling me just right as Saint fucks us with slow, even strokes that make me weak in their arms. He takes his time, watching me with hooded eyes, and he seems lost in the lust he gives. We never kiss. We simply share desperate sounds between us. Whimpers and growls. Gasps and curses.
Beautiful fucking desire explodes between the three of us, and I feel like I’ll be lost in the flames of our passion.
My head falls back as the pounding, demanding pulses of my orgasm consume me. Syko’s right there behind me. He wraps an arm around me and lets me give in to the wrecking bliss. His muscles tense around my frame and he shifts hard, thrusting with driven intent just before stilling entirely with a stifled groan.
And only then does Saint lose control. His hips pound into mine, bringing that spark of energy in my core higher and higher all over again.
His fingers sink into my ass hard as he holds me in place with bruising force. I feel his cock slick within me just before it throbs deep inside me. His body halts, his chest heaving so hard I swear his heart must be alive within him for once.
He tips his chin up, and the way he presses his lips to mine just reminds me of all the sentimental things he said tonight.
To all of us.
He kisses me like he loves me. He kisses me like he’s saying just that with a single brush of our lips.
I exhale the exhaustion clinging to my body, and it’s still there when my gaze lands on the man sitting patiently by the door. His back is straight against the wall, but not in a stiff way. Not at all like the angry werewolf who once said he never wanted to see someone else fuck his girlfriend.
“What are you doing?” I ask Malek quietly.
He lifts his large hand to me. “Just watching, mi corazón.” He arches a dark brow at me, and no matter how tired I am, I’d never not go to him.
In a few stumbling steps, I walk to him. I settle over his hips, and he holds me delicately as I straddle him. We watch each other for a few passing seconds.
“I thought you didn’t ever want to see me with other men,” I say softly.
His warm palm pushes through my messy dark hair, and he shakes his head at me.
“I don’t want to watch the other men.” A small smile pulls at his lips. “But I love watching you. I fucking love how sexy you look with your body submitting to its primal needs.” Big hands push firmly over my breasts, his palms covering me fully. “You’re my mate. You’re mine, just like you’re theirs. Just in a different way. You own my heart.”
I own his heart.
More romantic words have never been spoken in the perfect kissing accent of Malek Ramirez. When I kiss him, I do the opposite of sweet romance: I shove his jeans down just far enough for his cock to brush against my thighs.
His smile grows. He’s always been so dominating when we’re like this. I kind of like taking his control for just a little while.
“Take your shirt off,” I command.
Maybe I like it more than I realized.
His hands lift above his head, and he tugs the material away until smooth skin meets mine. I feel utterly in control of us as I kiss him, flicking his tongue with mine just how I like. I’m in control as I drag my nails down his chest until he groans against me. I’m in control—
His hands grip my ass, and he lifts and lowers me in one fast move.
A moan tears from my lips as he fills me completely. His hips rock against me, rolling just right, like he doesn’t need me to move an inch to please us both.
But I do. After my mind clears from its pleasure-induced fog, I meet him thrust for thrust. Our hips meld together. It’s a push and pull of our bodies, and each time I pull back, I slide down harder just to be nearer to him.
It’s not enough.
The faster and the harder we use one another, it’s not enough. I lean into him just slightly, his shaft grinding against the most sensitive parts of me as he keeps his slamming pace.
Faster and faster and faster.
Until it shatters between us, bursting with heavenly stars flooding my vision. I look up to the dark skies above. Monsters no longer glide there. It’s only the glinting stars of perfection that reflect within my eyes even when I close them.
Pleasure as well as power flood me all at once.
And maybe it’s just the orgasm talking, or maybe… just maybe there’s a different meaning to Azazel’s words.
It suddenly all makes sense.
Fifteen
Saint
“I need to go,” she’d said as I’d protested. “I thi
nk—I think I know what Azazel meant about both sides. I need to go to the Forest of Woe.”
I still have no fucking idea what all of that means, but Phoenix went with her, so… she’s safe. At least she’s safe.
“Let’s get physical, bitches.” I know my voice is a bit too high-pitched, but that’s only because my whole body is fucking thrumming from the revitalizing moment we just shared earlier.
Energy slams through me, and I’m not afraid of what’s to come.
We stand in the middle of it now. Standing on the entrance grounds of the academy by the angel statue, we scope out the biggest threat that might come our way.
So far, nothing. But… we know it’s just a matter of time. Flames of blue and red flicker along the tree line, and it seems all the action is over there at the moment.
“We’re going to go down the highway to hell, kick some demon asses, and take some names.” I shake my fingers and loosen the tense muscles in my body by bouncing on the balls of my feet.
Syko just passes me a blank stare. It’s kinder than the eye roll Malek keeps giving me.
We’re all dressed and ready to go. Ready for Azazel’s signal and for life or death.
Hopefully life.
Probably death.
If we die, at least it’ll be together, though, so that’s a bit of consolation.
“It’s getting hot in here…”
“Can you just not?” Syko’s body is shaking with as much anxiety as mine. I can see the haunted look in his eyes, and he’s constantly rolling his shoulders as if testing the lighter weight there without his wings.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, my gaze snapping across the length of the hellish horizon. We aren’t on the rooftop any longer; instead we are setting a perimeter around the angel statue. The three of us, anyway. We’ve set ourselves here as a distraction and as protection for this statue while Izzy and Phoenix head into the Forest of Woe.
I’m still not sure I fucking understand why, or even what the Forest of Woe is. I also can’t believe I finally got the courage to admit my feelings to them only to have them walk away from me moments later.
It’s like a rift has opened up in my soul and only they can mend it with their presence. I’m trying not to be so dramatic about it, but I can’t fucking help it. I lost Izara once, and I refuse to do it again.
Soon, we will venture into the fray of the battle.
Just as soon as Azazel gives the signal.
Already I can see a dark wave of demons coming toward us.
“I’m burnin’ up.” I have this hysterical urge to laugh at my own fucking joke. If Izara were here, she’d love a good JoBros reference.
Instead, I’m only thanked with glares.
“I don’t understand what you are talking about.” Malek has his arms crossed against his chest. He’s gauging the threat of demons and Prods alike. Some of the more violent Prods felt that the death of Headmaster Willms gave them the okay to go around murdering and unleashing their violent selves.
No one has gotten close to us yet.
“He’s throwing together song titles,” Syko explains, cracking his neck from side to side. You’d think we were getting ready to run fucking laps in the gym. I wonder if this is what Shade prepared us for with all those grueling hours in gym class.
Fucker.
“Ah.”
We all lapse into silence as the wave gets closer and closer.
The truth is, we have no idea if Azazel did what he set out to do, if that fuckery that’s coming toward us is a hoard of lesser demons or greater ones. We have no idea what the signal will be, or when it will come.
All we can do is be prepared for the worst while hoping for the best.
“We’re all in this together.”
Syko blinks at me and sighs with obvious annoyance. “Really? High School Musical?”
I nudge him with my elbow. “That movie is a classic. Remember Troy? He made me wish I gave a fuck at all about sports.”
His eyes roll straight to the back of his head; it looks like he’s going to have a seizure.
“Can you two focus?” Malek snarls. His whole body is vibrating, and hair is sprouting all over his skin. In the next moment, he drops to the ground, and the change ripples through his body in a forceful shove. A big wolf stands in his place, clawing viciously at the ground.
“They’re close.” Syko’s body tenses, and he stalks forward.
It’s time.
Playtime is over.
We spread out as the wave comes closer… closer…
My fangs gleam in my mouth, sharp and hungry for death.
The dark shadow of demons is a rush of snarls and hisses. It kindles fear deep inside me, but I can’t let that overpower me. Where the fuck is Azazel?
As if my question brings him forth, a tornado of gold dust sweeps across the field before us, twirling around some of the approaching demons. It lifts them up with its ravaging force, sucking them inside in an instant and spitting bones back out the next.
The crackling laughter of pixies echoes within the storm.
No wonder Izara dislikes them so much.
A shadow passes overhead, and I take my eyes off the approaching battle for a mere instant to see Azazel swooping down above them. An explosion follows in his wake. Debris and body parts fly through the air, followed by the shrieks and cries of dying demons.
That’s the signal.
With a snarl, Malek launches himself into the fray with vigor and vengeance. Azazel flies overhead, wreaking destruction and death wherever he goes. Syko stares at the angel’s wings for a single instant with desperate longing in his expression.
If I had a beating heart, it’d break for him.
“Hey.” I want to reach out and hold him, but there are more urgent things right now. We had our chance at love.
Now it’s our chance to kick some ass.
“You can do this.” I flash him a smile full of fang.
He doesn’t look convinced, but he does look determined. Before I can tell him that his wings don’t define him, he hurtles himself into the fray, his nephilim blood gifting him with more power than I ever thought possible as he takes down demon after demon after demon with nothing more than unyielding strength.
Smiling, I rush into the crush of the bodies after him and tear into our enemies.
Sixteen
Syko
Fighting without the benefit of my wings is the most challenging thing I’ve ever had to endure. Creatures swarm me from every angle, snarling and clashing with their vicious claws. I take a few blows; my skin splits open, and I’m nearly knocked over from the force of the blows, but my magic comes through.
Magical faerie dust sweeps through my blind spots, sucking up demons into a glittering vortex and spitting out their remains. Pixies cackle and blink in and out of sight right before my eyes, so it’s hard to even imagine them there at all.
I lose sight of Malek and Saint in the fray, but I hear the snarls and howls of the wolf tearing through enemies who reply with bloody screams. Azazel fights above us, and while his magic is strong, I’m easily tired and realize just how outnumbered we truly are. It’s a miracle we’ve survived this long in the fighting.
My back hurts, and I feel a violent pang between my shoulder blades, like I can sense the missing part of me. I’ve tried again and again to bring my magic forth, to summon wings in a way that has always come so naturally to me.
There’s nothing.
I don’t have time to despair.
A demon lunges for me on all six of its spindly limbs. I try to dodge, but its teeth rip into me, snagging against my shirt and ripping the material from my body. I lose my footing and skid along the ground, landing painfully against my back. The breath is knocked from my lungs, and the demon looms over me.
I’m so fucked.
The words barely cross my mind before a zapping light hits it square in the center of its chest and sends it flying back into an exploding tuft of bright pink confe
tti. All the demons near me suffer the same fate.
I push to my feet and turn to find Professor Henn wielding her wand with viciousness. I have to admit, she looks impeccable in her pink suit and moussed hair. Did she actually take the time to do her fucking makeup before rushing out into battle?
The fuck?
“Syko, sweetie, are you alright? Are the demons being mean to you?”
The demons are tearing through the fucking school and killing everyone in it, but thanks for asking, Professor.
“Don’t worry, we’ve come to help now,” she says.
“We?”
Sparks fly in a sudden explosion. Demons shriek and scramble away from the magic as suddenly, professor after professor jumps into the chaos to protect the statue. Professor Ravenstorm gallops and lunges into the skies with Azazel, his booming laughter echoing across the field. From the blackened clouds, electricity sizzles and zaps until gargoyles begin falling from the sky, one by fucking one.
“The school is ours to protect now, isn’t that right?” Professor Henn throws the words over her shoulder.
I can’t even believe what I’m seeing.
Prods of all years stalk up behind her with violence and anticipation thrumming through their bodies.
“You—you’re helping too?” I can’t help the disbelief in my tone.
“Professor Henn asked us to.” The face of a shifter Prod flushes. “We like her. She’s nice. Makes us cookies and shit.”
Cookies. Yeah… Don’t eat those… my mind rambles but there’s no time to discuss it.
“Aw, sweeties. You’re so kind. Now let’s go protect our school. Be careful!” And then they’re all charging forward with snarls and magic and the sparks flying from the tip of her wand.
Even Kayos pauses her flickering anger, her face smeared with ash as she watches the professor with wide eyes. Then she channels her violence and pushes it right into a group of demons on her right. She does it with ease. She thrashes that streaming energy to the right, the left, and the center.
She hits her targets with perfect control.
Control like I’d always hoped she’d have. Maybe she didn’t need to hide her powers. Maybe she needed to practice them without remorse.