Devilish Game (Shadow Guild: The Rebel Book 4)

by Linsey Hall

  “You can’t do things like that,” I blurted.

  His gaze flicked to mine. So did everyone else’s.

  Heat flooded my cheeks. “I mean, we’re supposed to maintain our distance.” And doing thoughtful things like making sure I have dinner is a surefire way to get me to fall even harder for you.

  I didn’t say the last bit, though.

  “Of course.” His voice was slightly stiff, but there was a knowing gleam in his dark eyes. He stepped backward, clearly about to head home. “I am going to set spies on Anton’s casino. And I’ll search for his contact here—the one who finds the kidnapping victims. I will alert you if I learn anything new.”

  “Thank you.”

  He turned and walked away, his huge form graceful as he strode down the street. The moonlight gleamed around him, making him appear otherworldly. Something pinched in my chest as I watched him walk away, and I turned to Berat.

  He handed over the containers, and I took them. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, his eyes dark with confusion, then disappeared back into the restaurant, which appeared to be closed. Of course it was closed at this late hour, but nothing was really closed if Grey wanted something.

  Silently, our group walked up the stairs to my flat. Normally, Cordelia would be literally jumping with joy at the sight of the kebabs, all but climbing my legs.

  Even she was silent.

  I walked into my flat and handed out the food.

  Mac took it but didn’t open it. Instead, she just stared at me. “I don’t think your bond is really broken.”

  I sighed. “It is. I can feel it. I swear to God, it was like a wire snapped. It is broken.”

  “But there’s still something between you,” she said.

  “I care for him. Like, really care for him. It’s emotions, not some magical bond.”

  “And he cares for you,” Eve said.

  “Yeah.” The word rushed out of me, and I collapsed on the couch. “I think we were maybe a bit too late in breaking the bond.”

  “You’ll just have to stay away from each other,” Mac said.

  “You’re right.” I leaned my head back on the couch. “I’m not in love with him or anything. It’s just that I like him. And I can’t help it.”

  “Well, try,” Mac said. “Because your lives depend on it.”

  That night, I dreamed. Maybe it was the kebabs that I’d scarfed down, or maybe it was the fact that I’d seen Grey right before bed.

  But I couldn’t help it.

  He appeared in my dreams, tall and strong, and so very present.

  So present that it almost didn’t feel like a dream at all. I was in my bed, just like in the real world. It was his presence I felt first, powerful and comforting. I opened my eyes, spotting him on the other side of the room, standing in the doorway.

  His posture was hesitant, his expression unsure.

  I sat upright, dragging the quilt over my ratty old T-shirt. It was one of Beatrix’s that I’d never let go of, but it was in such bad shape I only wore it to bed.

  The moonlight cut through the windows, gleaming pale white on his face and bare chest. He wore only a pair of sleep pants, a dark silky material that hung low on his hips, giving the most perfect view of the muscles that arrowed downward. Despite his massive size and ridiculously sculpted body, the light almost made him appear angelic, which was insane for a man rightfully called The Devil.

  “Are you really here?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure.” He raised his hand, inspecting it curiously. “I was just in my bed.”

  Had I really conjured him? Or was this just the best dream ever?

  He looked so amazing standing in the moonlight that I wanted to believe I was dreaming. Of course I was dreaming. It was insane to think otherwise. I didn’t have that kind of power.

  And all I wanted in the world was him.

  I beckoned to him, determined to enjoy the dream for all it was worth. It would be gone in the morning, and all I would have was memories. Memories of an act that had never happened—not truly, at least—but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy it. Anyway, Dream Me didn’t need to be totally rational and wise.

  9

  Grey

  Carrow gestured to me from her bed. The scene had the vaguely filmy quality of a dream. Almost as if the edges were blurred and reality distorted.

  I’d never dreamed much—not since being turned, at least. The only visions that visited me in the night were horrible memories of atrocities I’d committed while under the influence of the blood lust.

  Never had an apparition like Carrow appeared in my mind.

  But now that she had, I ached to walk toward her. She was so beautiful in the bed, her golden hair tousled and the moonlight gleaming in her eyes. Her lips were impossibly soft-looking, and the memory of our one night together flashed through me, making heat coil tight.

  I wanted that again.

  I would always want that.

  And even if this dream was a terrible idea, it was just a dream. And I wanted it. She wanted it.

  I strode toward her, desire spiking through me, coiling low in my groin and causing me to go unbearably hard. Memories of her taste lingered on my tongue, and if I could only have it again in dreams, then I would take it.

  I reached her, towering over her.

  Something dark and terrible in me delighted in the difference in our size. She was strong. Powerful. But she was also so much smaller than me. So much finer and more beautiful.

  It was such a contrast to the darkness of my life, the harshness.

  I yanked the covers away from her, and she gasped. Moonlight fell on her long legs and the white cotton between her thighs. My mouth watered, and my fangs threatened to descend. I wanted to taste her there. To bite, right on the soft flesh of her thighs. To hold her hips and keep her still as I ate my fill.

  I clenched my fists, resisting the urge, and put a knee on the bed, looming over her and thanking a God I didn’t believe in for a dream I’d never forget.

  “Grey.” Her voice was husky as she reached up to grip my shoulders.

  Her hands clutched at me, and I leaned into her touch, reaching down to grip her hips. She looked so delicate in my big hands, the torn T-shirt riding up her midsection to reveal the soft curve of her stomach.

  “Carrow.” Her name escaped on a growl, and hunger rose in me.

  She spread her thighs, and I caught sight of the shadow there.

  Just one more taste.

  I dragged her down the bed, too rough for real life but perfect for the dream. Carrow gasped, her gaze flicking to mine as she lay flat on the bed.

  I gave in to my baser urges. It was a dream, after all.

  In one harsh motion, I tore the tiny scrap of cotton away from her hips, revealing her to the moonlight and to me. She arched toward me, so perfect and beautiful.

  I fell between her thighs, burying my head between them as I gripped her hips tight, unwilling to let her get away.

  Instead of struggling, she wrapped her thighs around my head until my entire world was consumed by her. Her scent, her taste, her wetness.

  Her cries echoed in the room as I tasted her deeply, devouring her like it was the last time.

  Please don’t be the last time.

  If all I could have were dreams like this, I would take them. If there was only this one dream, this one last scrap of her resurrected by my memory and fantasies, I would take it and remember it forever.

  It didn’t take long to drive her over the edge, almost nothing at all to make her scream and squirm in my arms.

  Hunger roared inside me. Hunger to bury myself deep in her, hunger to forget everything in her embrace. Hunger to taste her.

  I’d never bitten someone like I wanted to bite Carrow. It was depraved. It was wrong.

  I did it anyway, giving myself over to the dream.

  She clutched my head tightly as I withdrew my mouth from her soft flesh and moved the short distance to the flesh of
her inner thigh. My fangs burned to sink inside her, to be enveloped by her flesh. They descended quickly, the hunger roaring inside me.

  I didn’t hesitate. As soon as I felt the smooth skin of her inner thigh on my lips, I sank my fangs deep into the soft flesh there.

  She screamed and bucked, the pleasure tearing through her as I drew deeply at her. The warm rush of blood over my tongue made my head fill with visions of her. Fill with the taste and sound of her.

  I could drink her forever, just drown in her.

  I ground my hips against the bed, desperate for friction.

  “Please, please, please.” Her hands tugged at my hair, her voice soft and begging.

  Icy terror shot through the dream.

  Was I hurting her?

  I drew back, fangs retracting, and looked up at her. Desire fogged her eyes and her lips were parted. She tugged on me, pulling me up her body instead of pushing me away.

  “Please, Grey. Now. I want you now.”

  Understanding dawned, and nothing in the world could have torn me away. My sleep trousers were gone in one swift movement, and I fitted myself to her softness, a harsh shudder going through me at the feel of her.

  She clutched me close and dragged me to her, unwilling to wait. Unwilling to let this play out slowly as I might have.

  I sank into her, so deep that the pleasure shot through my body like lightning. She clutched me close as a shudder ran through me.

  Unable to bear it, I buried my head in her neck and rutted like an animal, gripping her hips tight and holding her still for the nearly brutal movements.

  She moaned at my ear, holding me tight as I lost myself in her. When the pleasure came, it wrapped hard around me, crashing into me in impossibly huge waves. She followed, gripping me tightly as she cried out.

  As soon as it was over, I woke.

  Gasping, I stared at the ceiling, my body still hard and my breath still short.

  What the hell.

  Had that really happened?

  It had been so real.

  The slightest pinch of pain flared at my shoulder, and I reached up, feeling the half-moon indentations of fingernails. Fingernails that were far smaller than my own.

  And my sleep trousers were gone. Beneath the sheets, I was entirely nude.

  Oh, fates.

  That had really happened.

  Carrow

  Early dawn light slanted across my eyes, drawing me from a slumber so deep it felt eternal. I stretched, a yawn abruptly cut off as I remembered the dream from last night.

  It had been so damned real.

  I shot upright, gasping as I yanked off the covers. I still wore my T-shirt, but my underwear was on the ground, torn and tattered. A slight smear of blood decorated my right thigh, and two pin pricks marred the smooth flesh.

  Grey’s fangs.

  Grey had been here last night, and he’d bitten me. Memory of his head between my thighs flashed. He’d done that to me.

  And I’d loved it. I’d loved all of it. He’d been so much rougher, so much harsher, and more desperate than before.

  And I’d loved it.

  “But it was a dream.” I rubbed my forehead, remembering. I’d definitely been asleep, and all the edges had been fuzzy, like a dream. But it had happened. It had really happened. Somehow.

  I scrambled out of bed and stood, panting. “Get it together, nerd.”

  Cordelia appeared in the window. Whoa lady. It’s daytime. Put the full moon away.

  I spun to face her, and she shielded her little eyes.

  “Were you here last night?” I demanded.

  No, I had a hot date.

  “You and me both.” I flopped on the bed, unable to believe what had just happened.

  Cordelia scampered down and lifted Grey’s trousers in one hand and my torn underwear in another. Clearly. You should write about this and make some money, girl.

  I huffed out a surprised laugh, then sat, my mind whirring. “Grey’s trousers are here.”

  Yep.

  He wouldn’t have walked home naked. Hell, he wouldn’t have come here at all, and certainly not without all his clothing.

  “I had a weird dream.” I couldn’t make sense of how it had happened.

  You had more than a weird dream.

  “Yeah.” It had been a little bit like when I’d seen him for the very first time at the scene of the murder that had drawn me into Guild City. He’d appeared in my visions, the first person to do so in a way that allowed him to interact with me.

  This had been the same, but different.

  Had we reignited the bond?

  I tried to feel for it, that powerful connection that linked us together.

  I came up empty.

  “I don’t think we reignited the mate bond,” I said. “So we should be safe.”

  Please let us be safe.

  What was it that the blood sorceress had said? I couldn’t fall for him? I still hadn’t. Last night had been just sex. Well, not just sex. But almost just sex. It would be okay. Maybe he wouldn’t even remember it.

  10

  Carrow

  He totally remembered it. I could see it in his eyes when I spotted him outside of the entrance to Seraphia’s library an hour later. He stood next to the door and I was all the way across the street, but his expression was clear as day.

  “What’s he doing here?” Mac murmured from her spot next to me.

  “No idea.” Liar.

  We hadn’t agreed to meet, so his arrival was, of course, confusing for Mac.

  For me?

  No surprise there.

  His gaze flickered over me, concern glinting in the icy depths, warming them. I drew in a deep breath and strode up to him, having no idea what I would say but determined not to hide.

  Mac, as if her radar were beeping, lingered back to give us some space.

  Grey towered against the small door that led into the library, his gaze on me. Concern etched lines around his mouth and darkened his eyes. “It was real.”

  I nodded. “It was real.”

  “I didn’t . . .” He dragged a hand through his hair, unable to find words. “I didn’t realize. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Warmth heated my cheeks.

  “Are you sure? I was—”

  Rough. Passionate. Desperate.

  The words flitted through my mind, but I shoved them away. “I’m fine. Why are you here?”

  His brows shot up. “Why am I here?”

  “Yeah. We should be staying apart. I want to be staying apart.” Another lie.

  “You were there, too,” he said. “In the dream. So I know that’s a lie.”

  “It was just sex.” Even as I said the words, I knew they were also a lie. There was no way that could have been just sex.

  No way in hell.

  I met his gaze anyway, pasting my face in hard lines, lips flat and pressed together. “It was just sex, Grey. Some crazy dream magic. But the bond isn’t reignited, so we need to stay away from each other.”

  He nodded, something unidentifiable in his eyes. “Right. Of course.”

  “Good. I’m glad we have that settled. I thought it was just a dream, but apparently it wasn’t. Now that we know, we won’t do it again.”

  “Agreed.” His voice was ice, but that strange look was in his eyes. He said nothing more on the subject, however, and just tilted his head toward the library door. “Good luck in there. Contact me if there is any assistance I can provide.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked down the street.

  I watched him go, the strangest burn in my chest and behind my eyes.

  Mac approached to stand at my side. “What was all that about?”

  “Hard to explain.”

  “I can imagine.” She studied me, then shook her head. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

  If I ever am.

  I turned away from Grey, who was disappearing around a corner, and approached the library door.

  “I
t’s not meant to open for another twenty minutes.” Mac pounded on the door so hard that the ancient wood shook. “Seraphia!”

  I went to a small, mullioned glass window and peered inside, gasping at the sight.

  Though the exterior of the building was a tiny Tudor shop—no bigger than the Kebab storefront, the interior was enormous. I could only catch shadowed glimpses of it, but the ceiling soared high overhead, and millions of books covered the walls.

  Inside, a small, pale figure raced forward. I joined my friend just as Seraphia yanked open the door, looking tired and harried. Her dark hair was a mess around her head, and her eyes were sleepy.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing, pounding at this ungodly hour?” Seraphia demanded.

  “It’s eight forty-five in the morning.”

  “Oh.” Seraphia grimaced. “Really?”

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  Seraphia dragged a hand over her face, revealing the glowing tattoo of vines on her forearm. Her dress was well wrinkled and the shadows under her eyes dark. “Please excuse me.”

  “What’s wrong?” Mac demanded.

  “Nothing.” She opened the door wider to admit us. “Come in. What can I help you with?”

  Mac and I shared a glance. That was a brush-off if I’d ever heard one, but we’d only recently become friends with Seraphia. We weren’t close enough to push, so we didn’t.

  I followed Mac into the gorgeous space. Unlike the rest of Guild City, this building appeared to be more modern, though still relatively old.

  The interior was grand, reminding me of Notre Dame or St. Paul's Cathedral. But instead of God, this place worshiped books. The enormous space was stuffed to the brim, each soaring wall containing thousands, maybe millions, of tomes on the many shelves. Ornate carvings covered the ceilings and decorated the space between the shelves, creamy marble transformed into scenes from various novels.

  There were dragons and knights and queens and witches, heroes and heroines, war and joy. My breath left my body as I spun in a circle, taking it all in.