Blood Drenched Conquest (Ryze Book 3)

by N. Isabelle Blanco

  That much clearer.

  Fuck. That blush spreading all over her pale skin.

  “Sol. I’m not going to be able to stop myself.” I dig my fingers into the wood beneath her, cock-twitching between her thighs.

  Is she wearing anything under that shirt?

  She arches under me, just like last time, sinking her nails into my back. She’s as strong as I am in our dreams. Either that, or I’m weaker. Less powerful.

  The bite of her nails sends white-hot shivers down my spine. I arch, head falling back—

  This female’s wet, succulent mouth lands on my neck, teeth nipping at me. “Take me back to the bed. Let me ride you this time.” Mewling, she sucks her way up my neck to suck my left lobe into her mouth, tongue flicking my piercing. “I’m dying to bounce on your cock.”

  Game over. On every fucking level that counts.

  I flash us across the room yet again, landing on her bed with her thighs spread on either side of me. Don’t know how it happens, but my cock is out and sliding inside her the very next moment.

  “Fuck, Sol!”

  Soleria jerks on me, trembling from head-to-toe. “Holy . . . fuck, you feel so good.” Her hips rotate in small circles, nails digging into my pecs through my shirt.

  I dematerialize it and raise my knees to push her down to me. Catching her against me, I lunge for her neck. “Fuck, Sol.” The taste of her . . . I suck her harder, snarling. “It’s happening.” She cries out on my next upward thrust. “As soon as you’re immortal, I’m taking this pussy so hard.”

  I don’t give a fuck about anything anymore. This female has to be mine. Even if just for a short while, I need to make Soleria my lover.

  “Oh God.” Frantic, she grinds down on me, forcing me deep. “Yes.”

  “Imagine it, baby,” I groan, licking my way across her jaw. “Me giving it to you with all my strength, making you drench my cock.”

  Soleria jerks her neck away from my mouth. Just as I’m growling at the loss of her skin, she lays her forehead on mine, parted lips mere centimeters away. “I’m going to come. You’re going to make me come so hard all over this perfect cock.” Her eyes meet mine, that same panicked awe I’m experiencing shining in them.

  I snarl up at her again, lost to the howling inside me, the mental-tease of the orgasm gearing to snap free. The closer I get to it, the more I realize just how unreal this is. The hunger is sparking my waking awareness, reminding me the real-deal is one floor away from me right now, probably playing with her cunt as I fuck my fist in my sleep.

  Clutching her luscious, bouncing ass, I wrench her down onto me. “Mine, Sol. Fucking mine.”

  “Ian!” She screams as the first waves of her orgasm hit her.

  Eyes rolling back, I shout up towards the ceiling—

  Those same eyes slam open in the real world, right as my cock gives that first kick in my fist.

  I try to hold it back, try to stop it—

  A loud thump comes from upstairs, almost like the sound of a body landing on the floor.

  My jaw unhinges, voice breaking on a roar. My dick twitches in my grip, hot cum sliding down onto my fist.

  A crash follows, then the unmistakable sound of small feet pounding down the stairs.

  How the fuck I manage to will a precise Gnetica around me in time is beyond me, but suddenly she’s at the entryway, all flushed skin, dilated eyes, and the sultry scent of her arousal on full blast.

  Is she fucking crazy? She needs to get away from me. Now.

  “Are you okay?” she pants, clearly trying to pretend her racing breaths are due to the her dash down here.

  “I’m fine, Sol. Go back upstairs,” I say, grateful my voice sounds flat and that she can’t see the mad creature I’ve become thanks to the Gnetica.

  If she so much as gives me one horny reaction, one peek of that sexy hunger . . .

  I’m going to kill this human when I throw myself at her with the full force of my lust.

  “Sol . . .” I repeat. “Go back upstairs. Now.”

  Some ancient wiring must finally kick in, a warning that makes her realize it’s in her best interest to obey. Nodding, her hair a hot mess that partially obscures her face, she pulls an about-face and goes running up the stairs without another word.

  Ripping my eyes away from the sight of her thighs as she ascends is damn near impossible. I feel my lips curl back in yet another growl, the change coming over my eyes just like they did in our dream.

  I want my teeth marks on one of those thighs.

  More than that, I want them in my hands as I split them wide open for my thrusts.

  The sound of Soleria’s door closing reaches me. Despite the carpeted-floor, I pick up on the light padding of her feet as she rushes back into her bed.

  The slight snap and whoosh that follows can only mean one thing—she yanked her covers up and over herself. Is probably curled under those covers at this very moment, fighting her body’s frantic urge to finish what we started.

  It’s pathetic how a small part of me is begging her to come down here. To take the choice from me.

  For what? So I can kill her?

  Get a fucking grip, bro. She isn’t letting it collapse her, why are you? Maybe because I’m the gods damned Hyren in this equation. The fidiot playing a dangerous game, denying my chemically-starved bioform the sustenance it needs to keep its shit together.

  At my core, I’m a beast. Nothing more. Controlled by a base, ancient programming that can turn on me with the slightest provocation.

  And there is no provocation like a lack of sex for one of my kind. That crap’s a guaranteed, one-way ticket to pandemonium. Want to see a werewolf lose his ever-loving mind? Lock him up and deny him any form of sexual gratification with another being. Give it anywhere between two weeks and three months, depending on the individual, and bam.

  Instant, rabid killer.

  At least, that’s what’s been documented in the archives when it comes to regular werewolves. Me? I’m a fucking god. And none of my kind has ever gone rabid. Yeah, three of us—the most powerful of us—have been playing fucking Russian Roulette with their own bioforms, but somehow those fuckers have managed to succeed at each roll. Somehow, they’ve managed to go millennia without snapping.

  We can only guess at the apocalyptic consequences of it happening.

  So it’s a good thing Soleria didn’t pick up on my silent plea. A good thing she ran and didn’t come down. It’s also a good thing she never pushed for answers in regards to the first dream.

  Clearly, this dream won’t be up for discussion, either.

  I wish it mattered. I wish it made a difference. Wish it would alter the decision blaring through every cell in my body.

  Prying my hand away from my erection, I stare up at the ceiling, abs twitching as I fight myself.

  That female, who recently began embracing the idea of becoming immortal with every fiber of her being, will one day be able to take me.

  She’ll be able to handle me.

  Even though she’s not the one . . . even though she’s my friend and I really shouldn’t go there with her . . . I know nothing’s going to stop me.

  As soon as that female’s strong enough, she’s going to have me.

  Every desperate, aching inch of me.

  Chapter 13

  - Earth. Williamsburg, Brooklyn, NY (USA)

  LIZZISI, GODDESS OF LIGHT

  T he mission: collect intel and report back to Nylicia.

  The ultimate goal should the opportunity present itself? Extraction and safe delivery.

  In other words? The usual in my typical line-of-work. Par for the course when your body just happens to be encoded with an acquisitive and obsessive nature.

  As well as a bloodthirsty, violent one.

  And then, Nylicia said the magic word: Pashupatastra.

  The most destructive weapon to have ever been created on the physical plane. A weapon not seen in ten-thousand-years. A weapon we’d all thought was lost
when the doors between this realm and that of the Hindu gods were destroyed.

  Considering the fact that the very same genetic code that gives me all my aforementioned talents also makes me a nearly extinct species, that one word was it all it took for me to agree to everything and anything.

  Without bothering to read the fineprint.

  As for my oh-so-dark twin? All it took was one word to hook her as well. Brahmastra. Also on the list of “Destructive Shit That Probably Should’ve Never Been Created”.

  Two weapons that no being in their right mind would use without good reason. A really good reason.

  For two Skadyz like my sister and I—two of only five left in all of existence—it’s also the megalithic insurance policy our non-existent race needs. Extinction warrants utter annihilation in the immortal world. If one more of us is killed off, we reserve the right to commit our own genocides.

  Like ginormous, multi-dimensional, neon “Do Not Fuck With Us” signs. That’s what those weapons are.

  So technically, I can be forgiven for the greed blinding me, right?

  Then why do I still feel like fucking shit about it and all the secrets I’m now being forced to hide?

  “You aren’t the only one, Zyt’is. And I blame Zen for this. Cyake, too. Ryth is no help either. Those pussy-ass bitches are so mired in self-loathing that it was bound to infect us one day.”

  Rain batters down all around me as I amble down Bedford Avenue, eyes trained on the broad male back ahead of me. That insanely broad, soaking wet, human male back. “Or it could simply have to do with what their names are. If anything was going to do it to us, I’d say this would be it.” If our targets were related to anyone else, I’m sure I wouldn’t feel so sick about withholding the information.

  Because that’s the thing I should’ve asked. One of two things I really, really should’ve known before taking on this job. See that male up ahead? The one stalking through the night rain, letting it beat down on his tall form?

  His name and his profession are very important. Just like Sil’s target.

  That 6’2” human male who just took a right onto North 10th is twenty-eight-years-old. Born in Queens, New York to immigrant parents. Mother and father?

  Alastair and Caitlin Harrovnian.

  Yup. Harrovnian. One of the weirdest human last names I’ve ever come across. Unique, too. As in, only their family line seems to have carried the name throughout history.

  I’m sure by now you can guess who he shares his parents with.

  Ironic how Ismini’s last name was never changed, even after she was adopted.

  Even more ironic how the male up ahead—a male gifted with unlimited resources due to his profession—could never locate the little sister he never got to meet, although she kept their last name and lived in the same fucking neighborhood they were both born in.

  And by “ironic”, I mean Nylicia. No one else could be responsible.

  I take the right turn onto North 10th—

  And come face-to-face with the very last thing I ever expected to see.

  I slow to a stop, peering through both the Gnetica shielding me from view and the heavy curtain of rain beating down.

  My sister senses my shock through our open mental connection. “Zyt’is, what—”

  I slam our connection shut before she can pick up on what my visual processors are analyzing. Why? Only Illion knows.

  My human target, the male I’ve been tailing for the last three weeks—invading his life, dissecting his personality—is standing in the rain, up against a house, a female human wrapped around him as they kiss.

  Ismini’s brother, a male she doesn’t even know exists, rocks his hips into the female once. The move makes his muscular back shift beneath that long, leather trench coat, and is all I need to see that they aren’t really kissing.

  No.

  The female is the doing most of the work, grinding on him, biting at his neck, like he’s the one thing she was born to taste.

  What. The. Fuck?

  Logically, my brain comprehends what I’m witnessing, yet the mind-fog isn’t any easier to push past. There’s a heavy sensation falling over me, one that reminds me of the calmness I feel right before I blow up and lose my fucking mind—

  That can’t be right. There’s no way this is upsetting to me.

  Surprising, yes, but come on. My species doesn’t do jealousy.

  As if to test me, Kaden-motherfucking-Harrovnian rears back away from the house, his arms full of that overly-eager, clearly-ovulating, writhing human woman. He tilts his head away from her mouth and I catch a good look at that facial expression.

  That stone-cold, unflinching expression that only ever leaves his face when his best friend is around.

  As my brain categorizes yet another odd detail to this scene, he hitches the woman up, hands on her ass, and heads around the side of the house.

  Okay. Alright. He might be the stoniest motherfucker I’ve ever seen, but he’s definitely a willing participant.

  That human woman looked familiar, too.

  I can sense both of them feet from me, as if they didn’t go far, just out of sight.

  Then, inevitably, the moaning starts up.

  Hers. Not his.

  Curiosity and the mission are the only two reasons why I take that first step. Because I swore to report anything I find and also use it to my advantage when the time for extraction comes.

  What I find is exactly what my instincts warn me I’m going to come across: Kaden now has that brunette up against the side of that house, under a small overhang, his hand lost between her thighs.

  No need to look closer to know his hand’s busy delivering just what that horny female needs; his forearm and bicep move with each stroke he gives her.

  She’s still suction-cupped to his neck, as if she’s desperate to mark him.

  From this angle, her profile is completely bared to me, eyes closed in bliss as she sucks and writhes like a bitch in fucking heat.

  That’s Kirsten Agostinelli.

  Or, as her file states: M-Kon Agent 6921.

  M-Kon as in Maeltzkon. That dangerous faction we’d all thought eradicated that actually continued to grow in the human world all these centuries, right beneath our noses, without any of us knowing a thing.

  None of us except Nylicia, of course.

  That woman, Kirsten, is Kaden’s coworker and rumored lover for the last half-decade. I learned that while digging into his life.

  So . . . despite his mission, they both decided to rendezvous here and now she’s giving him a good, ol’ welcome home in the rain.

  A coldness settles in my chest, but I can’t focus on it now, my attention drawn back to his face as he makes enough room between them to go to work on her pants.

  His body’s into it, rocking in the fluid motions of hardcore, powerful sex, but his eyes are locked on the shingle shakes that make up the exterior of that two-story.

  Lifeless. Emotionless.

  As always.

  Twenty-eight-years-old, and yet the eighteen-year journey to find his missing sibling, the equally-as-long indoctrination his agency has put him through, has taken that boy’s soul.

  He’s empty inside and driven to desperate lengths to try and fill that hole.

  He was ten-years-old the day his mom left to the hospital to give birth to his new baby sister.

  He never saw his mother again. Never met the sister he’d been so eagerly awaiting.

  His mother died in labor.

  His sister disappeared.

  With their father dead, he was orphaned and that same year M-Kon came into the picture, doing as they have always done.

  Giving children with no hope for a future a reason to live.

  A reason to fight.

  Ismini’s brother works with the enemy.

  He is the enemy.

  A ruthless one, whose emotional compass seems to be all fucked-up and then some. I mean, as a mercenary I appreciate his merciless tactics, bu
t he’s truly heartless at times, to the point that even I’m taken aback.

  The only time I saw him truly lose his shit and evince any kind of emotion was three weeks ago, when he visited the “crime scene”.

  That alley between two buildings where Ismini and Evesse were taken. It was mere hours after it happened, and the first round of cops had already been there.

  Kaden took one look at all the blood—blood he knew belonged to his sister due to the DNA hit in the database—and his entire world shattered beneath his feet.

  He held it in, but it was in his eyes. The shredding of the last bit of humanity he had left in him.

  That male thinks his sister died before he could finally find her. That someone slaughtered her in that alley and took her body—whatever’s left of it—elsewhere.

  Because of who he works for, I can’t tell him the truth. Can’t tell him anything, not even that I exist. Until Nylicia gives me the go-ahead, I’m trapped tailing him and watching as his quest to find his sister’s killer transforms him into an even colder man.

  I never guessed, however, that his lifelessness would extend to his sex life as well.

  Hell, for some asinine reason, it never occured to me I would end up being a witness to it.

  “Oh God, Kaden,” the human whimpers, wiggling to help him slide those tight, wet jeans over her hips. “Hurry.”

  That inner tension leaks out through my skin, settling over its surface like a heavy, slimey shadow, transforming parts of me against my will. As if from afar, I can sense the muscles in my face tightening, the scowl I’m now sporting a pure representation of evil and ugliness—

  The pants are off.

  His are unbuckled.

  He hasn’t said a single word.

  Not even a sound in that husky, insanely deep voice of his . . .

  He doesn’t bother to bag it before slamming into that pregnancy-waiting-to-happen, pathetic human.

  Lips parting with shock, I stare over my shoulder in disbelief.

  Five feet away from the sidewalk in the pouring rain. That’s where he’s decided this little reunion needs to take place.

  Right where anyone can walk by.

  And trust me. New Yorkers aren’t the type to stay in doors just because of heavy rain. It’s only a matter of time before they get caught.