Creed

by Marie Johnston

A shadowed figure turned in only to get tangled in the curtain of vines she’d grown for privacy.

  “What the—” A twine wrapped around Creed’s throat.

  She jumped up. With a flick of her finger, the twine untangled, leaving behind an angry red welt.

  “Sorry. I’ve been going straight for decapitation with unannounced visitors.” She rushed over and helped him through. “Wait. No. To the left. Wait, wait.” She untwisted strands of roots and pulled Creed past the curtain.

  His hair was mussed, his blue eyes wild, but when his gaze landed on her he mellowed.

  “Hey,” he said.

  Oh, that voice. “Hey,” she replied.

  His warm gaze left hers to ponder her home.

  Did he like it? Was he impressed? “I’ve been decorating. It’s so cool not to kill stuff, you know. I can grow things and they listen to me. I’ve decided blue is my favorite color, but it was a little overwhelming, so I wove in purple. Then a touch of pink. I thought I hated pink, but turns out that if I’m not forced to choose it, it’s not bad.” She clamped her mouth shut. Nervous rambling. Would she ever outgrow it?

  “It’s nice.” His gaze returned to her, licking up and down the length of her body.

  Instantly, desire pooled between her legs. Her bond sighed, the restless feeling morphed to sexual need.

  “Why are you here?”

  When he opened his mouth to answer, she couldn’t wait. Grabbing the fabric of his shirt, she dragged him closer and raised on her toes to smash her lips against his.

  He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her, and swiveled both of them until her back hit the petal-covered wall. She was surrounded by his scent and the blooms she loved the most.

  Since he had a firm hold of her, she tunneled her hands between them. Scrunching his shirt up, she splayed her fingers over his rock-hard chest.

  Divine. There was no heat like his. His hands were all over her. She couldn’t tell where they stopped, it was like he had to feel all of her. They devoured each other, their tongues tasting, licking, stroking. A steady thrum centered in her core.

  Would it be too forward of her if she—

  Nope. He beat her to it. Freeing himself with one snap of fly. He dipped briefly to free himself, but he didn’t place his shaft at her entrance. He stroked her instead. She moaned into him. Too long. Barely a week and it was too long without his touch.

  He might frustrate her, hurt her feelings, but her damn body craved him with a fire she couldn’t control and didn’t really want to. Too much control. All the time. Losing her restraint with Creed felt natural, a necessary release, a gift just for her.

  He found her clit, his thumb circling it easily. She was wet for him, so ready. Rocking her hips, she coaxed more out of him.

  Another moan escaped when he inserted one long finger into her.

  Her claws dug into his shoulders, her legs tightened around him. This was going to be the fastest, hardest climax in her history.

  Another slide of his thumb, a crook of his finger.

  She would’ve yelled his name, but her mouth was plastered against his. Her muffled scream bounced off her chamber walls, dulled from her floral wall covering.

  Before she came down from her peak, he removed his hand and thrust inside of her.

  Yes! Her orgasm kept going, spurred along by his frantic pumps.

  She bounced against him. The rough fabric of his shirt grazed her sensitive nipples. His hard length hit all the right spots as her walls rippled over him.

  Tearing her lips off him, she had to scream out. “Yes!” echoed through her cavern, down the corridor. The entire underworld probably heard her get thoroughly pleasured.

  Then his lips were at her neck, his fangs grazing her tender skin.

  “Do it,” she hissed.

  He struck. Orgasm number two hit before one was complete.

  How was this possible? Her eyes might’ve rolled back in her head, her arms might’ve went limp. She was powerless against him, at his mercy, and he played her like a master.

  The ecstasy. Now she knew the definition. Her head lolled to the side as he took pulls of her blood. She was nourishing her male.

  Slowly, she drifted back down from her climax. His hips had ceased pumping. They clung to each other, still connected. He withdrew his fangs, the hot lick of his tongue telling that after two body-shattering orgasms, he could stroke a third out of her with no issues.

  He twined his hands around her waist and murmured in her ear, “Do you need to feed?”

  Her stomach rumbled. Perhaps the restlessness had just been hunger. Her fruitarian ways weren’t sufficient.

  “I’m so hungry.”

  A gleam of approval and want lit his eyes. She didn’t care if they didn’t talk the entire time he was here. She needed this, needed him. If they started talking, it’d just ruin everything.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Creed arched over Melody. He’d stripped himself of clothing, spread her out, and taken her again as soon as he could. The pounding rhythm he kept drove her wild. She fought off her orgasm and he understood the goal to stretch out the pleasure, those two seconds before climax when one didn’t think it could get any better and didn’t want it to end.

  He was doing the same. As soon as her walls clamped in orgasm around him, he was done. Until then, he looked his fill. Her blood coursed through his veins. Sweet, powerful. He hadn’t realized how undernourished he’d been in the days they’d been separated.

  He thrust into her wet heat again and again. Make it last.

  Every one of those days had been monotonous work and fitful sleep. His only thoughts were What now? and What is Melody doing? Is she okay? Have there been any attempts on her life? One day the anxiety had gotten to him and he’d paced his room, talking himself down from flashing here.

  He was here, buried to the hilt in her and all was well—for the next three seconds. That was as long as he could make it before he came.

  “Creed.” Pant. “Creed.” Pant. Gasp. “Creeeeed…”

  He hit the third count. Her cries, the squeeze of her channel along his cock—too much.

  His hips bucked as he spilled his release inside of her. Her heels dug into his buttocks. Their shouts of pleasure mingled together.

  How long the climax stretched, he didn’t know. She went limp and he collapsed on top of her.

  Once he’d recovered enough to move, he withdrew, missing the heat of her body surrounding him. Rolling to his side, he tucked her in against him.

  The trickle of water reached his ears. He frowned and looked for the source. “When’d you get a waterfall?”

  It was more of a water drip, but it rained from the roof, draining into the hole in the floor that passed for underworld bathrooms.

  “It formed when I was messing with roots.” Her voice was full of pride. “It doesn’t always flow. Just enough to freshen the place and give me a shower occasionally. Want an apple?”

  “I already ate,” he growled, nipping her shoulder.

  Her squirms and giggles were going to harden his shaft again.

  “How’d you get an apple down here?”

  “I grow them.”

  She twirled a finger above their heads. Off the tip of a vine, an apple formed. Large and red and ready to pick.

  Holy. Shit.

  She plucked it and took a bite. Chewing, she handed it to him.

  He tentatively bit into the flesh. Juice dribbled down his cheek, sweet flavor exploded in his mouth.

  Holy. Shit.

  “You can grow food?” he asked around his mouthful.

  “Some, which is plenty for me. The demons around here don’t have a taste for much other than bloody flesh. Did you know they have candy demons? They taste sweet and are a main food source down here. I’m sticking to my apples unless another rage takes over.”

  He formed his report to Demetrius. How’s she doing? She’s fucking thriving. She’s making the underworld her bitch. It’s like the underworld
wants to please her. Anyone else would’ve died after what happened, but Melody bagged her buck and mounted it on her wall.

  He set the apple aside, his appetite gone.

  She trailed her fingers up and down his arm. “Why are you here?”

  He had no problem answering honestly, but with partial details. “To check on you.”

  “Because you wanted to?”

  His heart wrenched at the hopefulness in her voice. “I wanted to, yes. But Demetrius asked. Otherwise, I didn’t think I should come.”

  She pushed away from him and sat up. Her breasts were in his face, concentration was hard, but he’d upset her.

  “You aren’t here of your own free will?”

  He sat up across from her. “Of course. I’ve been worried about you.”

  “But you didn’t come.”

  “Neither did you.” Maybe that was a little childish. But he’d only checked her apartment every night to see if she’d been back.

  “I’m not welcome there. You’ve been treated better here.”

  Except for Malachim wanting to wear him like a sock puppet. He was smart enough not to mention that, he didn’t want to fight.

  “I saw my parents.”

  Concern infused her expression. “How’d it go?”

  “They admitted to hunting Ophelia, but I strongly suspect their claim that she’s a druggie is a lie. I know it’s a lie. And Mother admitted to exposing Mary Margaret to influenza to sicken her.” He fell quiet. After all these years, he could still picture Mary Margaret’s slight body slowly and painfully losing life.

  “Oh, Creed, I’m so sorry.” She embraced him, and he sunk into her comfort. They laid back down together.

  “I missed you.” He held her close. “After last time, when you were so ferocious, so cocky, just as fearsome as the others, I thought I’d lost you.” He let it all spill out. “That’s why I didn’t come. I was afraid you were completely gone, that only Meladonna remained. But you were here, nurturing the place like you did the boys. When you started rambling, I almost collapsed in relief.”

  She tensed under his hands. “Why?”

  “Because that’s you.”

  “But not the other things?”

  How’d he answer? His sweet Melody ripping apart some of the baddest demons ever? Was that her?

  She shoved away from him and rose again. “I’m not your virtuous Mary Margaret.”

  Back to the space between them. He sat up for a second time. Would he get to lie with her again?

  “I know you’re not her.” What was she getting at?

  She tilted her head. “Do you? You didn’t give me a chance in the first place because of the pain of watching her die. She was the pure light that showed you your wicked ways. I was the light that died in front of you. I’m your Mary Margaret all over again, except I didn’t die. I changed, and you can’t handle it. You want that unblemished damsel, the sweet girl who looks to you for saving so you can finally get it right. I’m not your second chance, Creed. I’m Melody, aka Meladonna, one of the thirteen lining the Circle.” She stood and walked to the entrance. “I don’t need to be saved. I need allies. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some personal assistants to interview. You know the way out.”

  He watched her go. Whatever he’d expected when he got here, this was more like it. The gift of being with her was too good to be true. He could stay. Watch her dominate the underworld, but he wasn’t looking for a second chance. Meladonna with her servants and her threats and the violence… He just wanted his Melody back. And somehow that had insulted her, and she was kicking him out.

  With a sigh, he pushed off the bed and gathered his clothing and weapons. He was dressed in minutes but didn’t leave right away. Her home was covered in flowers of natural and unnatural colors for blossoms, but all lovely. The fragrance of her cave unlike any place he’d been before. Spas would scramble to attain this level of a pampering environment.

  Melody’s voice shattered his reverie. “Kneel!”

  He looked toward the entrance. She must be conducting her interviews down the hall in another cavern. Smart not to do it here.

  She issued the order with utter confidence. The comply-or-die meaning behind the word was implicitly understood by her tone.

  She was right. She was Meladonna.

  With a resigned sigh, he flashed back to the compound.

  The chilly weather and dreary sky fit his mood. He marched into the front entrance of the compound and stopped short. Demetrius had an arm propped against a wall, his hand on his hip. He was scowling at the floor as Zoey stood across from him.

  They both sensed him at the same time. Zoey stopped talking and twisted around.

  “Have you seen Ophelia?” She inhaled. “Never mind. You smell like you fucked a bouquet of roses.” Her mouth turned down, her features disapproving. “Find the solace you were looking for?”

  He gave a start. She thought he’d been out having sex with someone other than his mate? “I just came from Melody’s lair, fuck you very much.”

  Her brows lifted. “Oh. My bad.” She looked him over. “Didn’t go well.”

  “You could say that. What’s wrong? Ophelia’s missing?”

  A muscle jumped in Demetrius’s jaw. “I think she’s gone after your parents. Revenge. I received this.” He held up his phone.

  Creed read the message. I gotta make this right without going wrong with you. I quit.

  “She can’t quit.” None of them quit. They’d been together too long. The thought was inconceivable.

  But that was her. Taking care of everyone else at great cost to herself.

  Ophelia planned to kill his parents. If he went after her, he might have to hurt his parents to help her. Could he do that?

  Creed sighed and ran through a mental checklist of his weapons. “Who’s going with me?”

  ***

  The hammock swung gently in the frigid breeze. Ophelia couldn’t feel her fingers, and her toes had numbed long ago. It didn’t matter the season, this was one of her favorite spots.

  She propped one boot on top of the other. No one knew about this place, not even Nadair had been told.

  The ache in her chest bloomed. Talk about a dysfunctional relationship. But he’d given his life for her. How messed up was that? She’d like to think that beyond all the cheating, all the lies, that he’d really and truly loved her. The more likely scenario was that he’d allowed the beheading because he knew it’d be the ultimate mind-fuck for her.

  Mind-fucking her had been his favorite activity, narrowly surpassing actually fucking her. Too bad the third activity he favored was fucking other people.

  She pursed her lips and inspected her fingers. They’d gone pale. She should probably get inside and warm up. But then she’d have to face her team and their speculation. They wanted to ask her a million questions but because of her lack of answers since they’d met, they’d quit asking.

  If there was one thing she excelled at, it was keeping her distance from others. The lack of a phone helped, but she should get back.

  She swung her legs down and winced when her feet touched the ground, blood rushing back to warm her toes, making nerves tingle. With the cloud cover, there was little moonlight, the only sound the wind through the branches. Her friends would be surprised that her favorite spot was a shack in the middle of nowhere.

  Standing up, she swung her arms up in a stretch. Shook her limbs until all feeling returned. She probably looked silly, and after having to keep the tough girl facade for so long, she relished the moment. It was hers alone. For a prime female, she didn’t have much.

  She didn’t spare a backward glance at the rundown lodge that sat at the edge of a frozen lake. If she did, she’d stay. Flashing back to the compound, she schooled her features to their standard I give zero fucks look and went inside.

  Demetrius’s office was her first target. She’d been undercover long enough that she needed his direction on what to do next. She met him on the stairs
. His eyes widened and he immediately gave her a once-over. Since he was bonded and stupidly in love, it wasn’t to check her out.

  Something was wrong.

  “Where’d you go?” He narrowed his eyes and inspected her clothing. “Did you kill them?”

  “Kill who?” Was he smelling her?

  “No ash, no blood. Where have you been?”

  “Places.” He looked at her like he didn’t understand. “Who do you think I killed?” Her body count was fairly low lately. Being in Nadair’s snare, telling herself that it was for her job to spy on the primes, she’d kept her weapons sheathed to avoid suspicion from other primes.

  Demetrius shook his head and dug out his phone.

  She read the screen. Oh shit. “D, I didn’t text that. I left my phone at Nadair’s when I fled.” She hadn’t thought to look for it because the head space she’d been in hadn’t allowed it.

  “Fuck.” Demetrius spun, punching in numbers. “It’s a trap.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Melody propped her chin in her hand. Creed was gone. The lack of his presence was an empty hole within her. And the restlessness was back. She’d gone from wanting to kill him, to wanting to see if weeklong sex was possible, to just plain missing him. Each emotion was overblown and staggering, but she almost preferred the rage over this. It was blinding, all consuming…and not nearly as painful.

  “Mistress?”

  She jerked her attention back to the present. A second-tier prospective assistant kneeled before her. The female was as tall as Creed, with obsidian black hair and skin almost as dark, but even darker swirls cascaded through her skin.

  “One more time, from the top.” There. That’d hide that she wasn’t listening.

  “From the top of what?” The second-tier’s husky voice struggled to work around the shanks coming out of her mouth. They were an iridescent midnight blue.

  She snapped her fingers. The small displays of impatience aided in her role of superior. She utilized them as much as possible. A lot of minor displays of power, a few medium displays, and a reined fit of rage did a lot for her image. “Uh, from the beginning. Hello?”