Monsters, Book One: The Good, The Bad, The Cursed

by Heather Killough-Walden

  “I…” she faltered. She licked her lips, swallowed hard, and tried again. “I was told… your kind were a possible threat to me.” But I had no idea it would be you yourself I had to fear, and I certainly had no idea you were more of a threat than Dmitri. “Why me?” she asked.

  There was a brief pause filled with strange sensations, as if his magical feelers were brushing against her, testing her, curious and eager. Then he laughed, and again it was beautiful. “Is that a serious question, little warrior?”

  Angel’s eyes flew open. The tone of his voice had just become so laid-back, and he’d asked the question with such honest surprise, she was surprised herself. When she met his gaze, his black eyes bore into her, and his lips offered her a soft smile. “Angel, you already know the answer. You’re a warden, so I’m well aware you’ve been briefed on the predicament befalling my men. Hence you know what it is I seek.” He came just a little closer, and Angel tensed up. He stopped and said, “I was told by someone very wise that my fate rests in the hands of a warrior such as yourself. But there’s no way to know for certain until….”

  Angel’s eyes closed again. She swallowed hard. The kiss, she thought. The Taal Kiss.

  Lord Malek doesn’t waste time, Gabriel had once told her while teaching her about the fae during one of her earlier training sessions. What he wants he takes, and quickly. Now she knew exactly what he meant.

  “You think I’m the Kindred you’ve been told to seek out.” That’s what they were called, the new mates the Taal men were in need of.

  “I believe it is a distinct possibility.”

  Angel almost flinched. He was so cold. So calculated. But he hadn’t done anything to her yet. He simply paced slowly around her and answered her questions. He was holding back for a reason, and the only reason she could imagine was that he regretted what he was going to do and wanted to give her time to come to grips with it.

  Angel shook her head. “There are hundreds of wardens. And you don’t even know me.” She looked up pleadingly. “You could be wrong.”

  Malek smiled, showing her his fangs. Angel felt the blood drain from her face. “True. I suppose we’ll know soon enough whether I need to keep looking, won’t we?”

  Angel felt sick suddenly. He wasn’t going to give an inch.

  Her insides felt like they became metal, and she swayed a little as dizziness swept over her. It didn’t help that her arms were locked behind her back. It was harder to maintain balance that way. But panic was knocking on her door.

  The Taal Kiss was notoriously and profoundly intense. Some humans literally went mad under its assault. She’d seen them afterwards. They were husks of their former selves, wide-eyed and empty inside.

  Given how she felt right now, how drained and weary, Angel didn’t think she would make it through this. Warrior or not. Her only salvation was that the Taal needed permission to give their target the kiss. She wished it was that way for vampires and werewolves and a host of other supes as well, but despite myth once again, that just wasn’t the case. Still, at least the Storyteller had evened the playing field for one of the most dangerous among them.

  The Taal men could not take a woman unless she let them. Unfortunately, there were ways for the Taal to get around that. And probably especially for their ridiculously powerful king.

  Angel closed her eyes and whispered, “Please don’t do this. Please choose someone else.”

  “After the trouble I went to in order to bring you here? It would be a shame not to proceed.”

  There was no warning. Angel cried out when sudden, hard sensations invaded her body, dug deep and made her feel. Her core lit on fire. But not in a bad way. It was a breathless evocation. It was inviting. It was not unpleasant.

  It was just devastating and unwanted.

  She knew she had fallen to her knees with the onslaught, but she didn’t remember hitting the ground. She frantically tried to reason with herself, to get her heart back under control, but it was already too much – and he’d barely started.

  She inhaled sharply through her teeth when he slid his hand around her throat from behind. Without her having noticed his movement, he now knelt directly at her back. She couldn’t even struggle when he almost lovingly tilted her head back to rest it against his shoulder. His lips were at her ear. “I like you, Angel. I have no desire to break you. But I won’t be denied. Please make this easier on yourself. Give me what I need in order to do what I have to do.”

  He wanted her permission right now. Just like that. He really didn’t waste time.

  Once again, just as it was for Dmitri, all she had to do was give in. But also as it was with Dmitri, she was terrified of losing some vital aspect of herself. With Dmitri, she’d always been afraid of losing her freedom. With Malek Taal, she was afraid of losing her mind.

  She wondered if there was anyone looking for her. If anyone had any reason to even suspect she needed help. Did they have any idea she might be trapped by one of the realms’ most powerful men?

  Probably not. Things had become so convoluted, so helplessly twisted in the mortal realm. Somewhere out there, a Terror copy of herself was probably putting on a great big smile right now. It was probably laughing and fooling everyone. No one would suspect a thing.

  Angel was doomed. And yet, she would rather be dead than crazy.

  “No,” she whispered, but barely.

  Malek sighed, disappointed. His grip on her throat tightened just a little. “Very well. You leave me no choice.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Malek shifted behind her, maintaining his hold on her throat. Each brush of his chest against her back sent delicious shivers through Angel, and she hated herself for them. He moved to whisper in her other ear, his lips brushing her flesh. “Do you know Angel, I can teach you to find pleasure in absolutely anything I wish?” He spoke to her in that deep voice and striking accent, adding to her wanton discomfort. “All I have to do is make you feel what you’re feeling right now as you watch me torture and kill those you hold dear.”

  His words paralyzed her soul. But her body was under his influence, shackled to him by his magic. She was beginning to know what horror was.

  Your magic, Angel! She needed to focus! She needed to figure out what spell to cast to get out of this! He obviously didn’t think she had anything left in her after Jake’s hunt, or the cuffs she was in would have been magic-proof just like the middle-man’s.

  Think, damn it!

  Malek went on, whispering his sweet, horrible nothings in her ear. “You will be climaxing at my unspoken command,” he said, “associating their brutal suffering with intense and unforgiving bliss.”

  Oh gods! Her spirit was crying inside, screaming and raving. But in his grip, her body only trembled. She wanted to move away, but of course lost the battle and as his free hand slid along her stomach to encircle her small waist and pull her further against him. His chest was rock hard behind her, his grip indomitable.

  “The next few days can be terribly confusing for you,” he continued. She felt the beginnings of an orgasm work its insidiously delicious way through her body, and her skin flushed. He laughed darkly as he watched her. She could feel his gaze searing into her while he worked his dark magic. “Or you can cooperate. We can leave their suffering out of this.”

  He laughed again. His fingers inched her shirt up over her taut stomach, exposing an abdomen tightened in mounting pleasure. Wanton fury was coursing through her heated veins. She fought it with every ounce of her mind, but her mind was losing. No, Angel! Use the magic! “The suffering will be all yours,” he added darkly. “Sex is empty without some degree of pain.”

  Angel took a deep, quick breath when his fingers curled into her skin and his nails pierced her slightly, marking her. It was heaven.

  Heaven… no. Wait. That was wrong. This was wrong.

  He gave a pleased chuckle. “You see? You’re already mine, Angel. Why fight it any longer?”

  Nooo! If she could just think, if
she could just concentrate…. And then she had it. She knew what to do.

  Iron was caustic to the fae. There was iron in a person’s blood. But the inherent magic of the fae negated the detriment of blood-bound iron so that those who needed that blood to survive could take it. The Taal were especially immune to the effects of iron in a human’s blood. And it would be worse for her since her blood possessed so little of it.

  But if she worked a spell to take that single defense of his down – just that one – she might save herself. She couldn’t remove Malek’s safety from all iron; he was far too strong for her magic to have that kind of effect on him. He was so old and so powerful, his protections were probably permanent by now.

  But if she concentrated on this alone, and maybe even on just the first few swallows of her blood – or even a single molecule of the caustic metal – she might just have a chance. It was a slight possibility. The slightest. But it was something.

  Then he might pull away from her. He might give up on her.

  Angel didn’t allow herself to think of what he would do when she surprised him in that manner. She refused to contemplate the fact that he’d probably just kill her outright. Instead, she focused on the magic. It was hard as hell to do.

  Her body was on fire.

  Malek’s lips brushed against her throat in a tender kiss that sent hard, sharp pleasure through her core. She bucked in his grip with the strength of it, but he held her fast. And the pain gave her a moment’s clarity. Enough for her to reach out for the magic that was there and hold on like mad.

  She hissed rapidly, “E nochtum quis nanda plu-” but he covered her mouth with his hand, silencing her desperate spell at once, and yanked her hard against the solid muscle of his chest, squeezing so tight she lost her breath. She couldn’t even cry out against his palm as not only an intense orgasm ripped through her, but a hard, deep ache blossomed to life as well.

  “You’ve forced my hand little warrior,” he hissed in turn, his tone relaying anger and surprise.

  The deep, unimaginable ache intensified, and immediately she knew what it was. It was the pain she’d been warned about during her warden training. It was what the Taal men were known to inflict on their prey as punishment and coercion.

  This particular pain was sexual longing at its foundation, but one so utterly intense and completely thorough, no sane thought was given free passage through the Taal-maddened mind. This was what she’d been afraid of. One way or another, whether like this or through his kiss, Malek was going to drive her mad.

  His potent pain and pleasure were birthed in the same place inside her, agony riding the tailcoats of bliss through every atom of her being. But as the pleasure ebbed away, the pain grew stronger. Malek kept his grip firm, watching her from above as his punishing magic took over.

  She felt her chest rise and fall as rapidly as her racing heart, and she knew it would please him to see it. She knew it would satisfy the dominant sadist in him to take in every tiny detail of how she reacted to his manipulations. So she tried to reel it in, tried desperately to shield herself from his perceptions, to hide the primal effect he had on her. But he had silenced her strength in more ways than one. And in that moment, as his infamous punishment grew to an incessant, throbbing ache deep inside her that demanded attention, she writhed in his tight grip, realizing that she had never felt so helpless in her life.

  Fractures of incoherence were rupturing her thoughts. She was losing her mind….

  He was winning. This time there were three strikes against her. He’d made every preparation. He’d planned out every careful step. And she’d pushed his final button. Now he exacted his plan with Machiavellian ruthlessness.

  Her wrists were bruising in the cuffs he’d placed on her, despite their padded lining. She was simply pulling too hard, too violently.

  “I imagine you’re feeling a little uncomfortable right now,” he said softly, so very softly, his accent-lilted words sliding across her skin, his lips at her ear. She sobbed quietly, the sound hushed by that same hand over her mouth. “But I can help you. I can take that pain away.” Now he whispered, and his breath against her sensitive flesh was laced with more insidious magic. “I know what you need. And I can make it all better, Angel.”

  It was too much. As his evil magic rose to a crescendo of suffering, she went still in his arms, overwhelmed by her inescapable need. She moaned long and low, and he slowly removed his hand, letting the sound free. It ended in a heart-wrenching sob.

  “What do you say?” he asked her, still whispering like a lover into her ear.

  But she couldn’t say anything at all, and he knew it. All she could do was nod. Just once.

  That was all it took.

  “That’s my girl,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his words. The hand holding her throat slid along her skin, grasping her chin. He tilted her head to the side, exposing the column of her throat. She should have been terrified then, but she could not feel any more fear. Her entire body was a long, lithe vessel composed completely of flexed muscle and heated desperation.

  So she squeezed her eyes shut and hoped her teeth wouldn’t crack against each other as he parted his lips and his breath again caressed the side of her neck. Her heart was a rapid-fire witness to her misery. It was no doubt calling to him, speeding her blood through that vein so close to his lips like a fast-flowing river of temptation.

  And then the wait was over, and his very sharp fangs were sinking carefully but deeply into her throat.

  Angel’s brown eyes flew open. She could feel them heat up, her captor’s fae power surging through her in complete domination, no doubt forcing them into amber light. It was probably very pretty – and she couldn’t have cared less. The need was changing inside, the ache inside her transforming. It continued to grow, but its pain was laced with the promise of absolution, with the almost-threat of culmination, and she had no choice but to welcome it with weak and open arms.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Malek wasted no time in taking what he’d decided he would claim the moment he’d laid eyes on Angela Clemens. She’d been fighting a werewolf at the time, pulled in on the same job every available warden was assigned to. The prison break in the Unseelie Realm that had caused the commotion in the first place was his doing.

  He’d done it for her. For two reasons.

  He’d needed the Terror to do his bidding. And he’d wanted to get closer, wanted to know more about her. And it worked.

  Now he pulled her precious, rare blood out of her body and into his with barely measured impatience, but as he did, it dawned on him what he’d done.

  He realized his mistake.

  No, he thought, and now it was his turn to tremble in fear and desperation. How could he have been wrong? She felt so good in his arms, and she tasted exquisite. A healer’s blood now flowed through his own veins; it was absolute bliss.

  But with the added boon that coursed through him like liquid happiness came torment. For despite the blood, despite Angel’s defiance and ultimate surrender, despite her immense inner beauty and strength … she was not the one. She was not his Kindred.

  Only the Storyteller could be so cruel.

  With immeasurable control, Lord Malek Taal allowed his small captive to experience the release he had so cruelly kept from her. She shook in the cage of his embrace as it moved over her, and he held her tight so he could feel it too. It really was a kind of ecstasy for him, even though it was all hers.

  Then, very carefully, he withdrew his teeth from her throat and used his magic to heal the wounds. She collapsed against his chest, her eyelids fluttering, her body going limp as she passed into unconsciousness. She was utterly and completely spent, and he was to blame.

  “Forgive me, little warrior. I will make this right.”

  Without hesitation, he sank his fangs into his own wrist, opening an ancient and powerful vein. He hadn’t taken enough of her blood to force a Taal turning, so it wouldn’t matter if she tasted him. H
is blood would simply heal her, refuel her, and return to her some of the strength he had so selfishly stolen.

  It was the least he could do for her.

  Malek hated himself in that moment as he raised his wrist to her lips and willed her to swallow. He watched her throat work and wondered what his blood felt like to humans. He’d never had occasion to learn.

  Angel had taken several swallows from him when Malek sensed the cavalry coming. He exhaled through his nose in irritation and lowered his arm. The wound healed at once.

  He’d known it would only be a matter of time before they made their appearances. Allowing the two Monsters members to live when he’d finished with them all but ensured that Cain would find him eventually. But it didn’t make the intrusion any less annoying.

  Malek gently lowered Angel to the ground and stood up. But he’d barely gotten to his feet when more than a dozen different portals sliced through the sanctity of his very warded chamber, depositing Monsters in his midst.

  The men stood silently in a circle around Malek as their individual portals vanished behind them. All thirteen of them were there. Surrounding him.

  Cain’s presence was the one that drew Malek’s attention first. He slowly turned to face the leader of the Monsters clan, whose very old eyes were glowing a very powerful blue. “Cain,” Malek greeted. “It’s been far too long.”

  “Agreed,” said Cain, whose gaze slipped to the sleeping woman on the ground at Malek’s feet. “If I’d come sooner, perhaps this could have been avoided.”

  Malek could feel the fury of twelve inhuman males directed at him just then. Despite the number of years he’d lived, he had to admit it was an unfamiliar sensation. Not since the Goblin Wars had he felt so much offensive magic, so much raw power held at bay, ready to be unleashed upon him. But one man’s anger was considerably hotter and sharper than that of the others.

  And as Malek slowly turned to face Jacob Crow’s starkly glowing green eyes in the darkness to his right, he wondered whether it might have been a very big mistake after all to leave the man alive.