Ill Will

by Cate Corvin

  Okay, so Korso seemed alright. Couldn’t blame a guy for defending his stash, and Satan’s Bathwater was pretty goddamn tasty, contrary to my assumption.

  And it was nice, just me and Sura for once, with that strange shimmer of magnetic attraction between us. I moved closer, and someone bumped into my ass and sent me face-first into Sura’s chest, which was admittedly a nice place to be.

  “Wow, I’m gonna get the wrong idea if you start throwing yourself at me like that.” Despite his light-hearted tone, he was taut as he pulled me in tighter, and the heavy bulge in the front of his jeans was all too palpable with the lack of space between us.

  The infernal whisky running through my veins made me a lot bolder than I would’ve usually been. “Maybe I want you to get the wrong idea.”

  Sura hesitated, his tongue running along his lower lip in a slow, sexy way, but he still gripped my wrists hard, sending pleasant zings through my body. God, he was strong. “I wanted to do this the right way.”

  “What’s the right way?” I twisted my wrists, but he had a firm grip on me. “We’re in a demon club, drunk on Satan’s Bathwater. I don’t think ‘the right way’ has any place here.”

  He hissed when I pushed the rest of me up against him, standing on my tiptoes so I was only inches away from his nose. My heart was pounding with the music, every cell in me straining towards him like I was iron and he was a lodestone.

  Sura’s smile had faded, his gaze intense. “I’m not interested in just fucking you, Tori. I want more than that.”

  I couldn’t tell if my heart was drumming so fast, or if that was just the beat. “Maybe I do, too. Doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves right now.” I twisted against him, my hip rubbing against that massive cock, and he drew in a hissing breath through his teeth, releasing my wrists to grip my hips again.

  I cupped his face and pulled him down to kiss me, closing my eyes against the hot crimson glare of the lights, and he yanked me against him, his cock grinding into me. For one dazzling moment, Sura’s lips were soft beneath mine, the scent of whisky and peppery vanilla clinging to him, and I opened my mouth to tease him open…

  He turned his face aside, dark eyes veiled, jaw tense. Rejection swiped cold claws through me, shredding through the warmth of the whisky.

  I let my hands slowly slide from his face. “That’s the second time you’ve avoided kissing me. So, you want more, but you don’t want this. You’re not making a lot of sense.”

  Sura straightened up, brows drawn together, looking strangely furious. “Seriously, Tori, I do want you, I just…” He stared at me like he was steeling himself to do something, but after a long, tense moment, his shoulders slumped. “It doesn’t feel right, yet.”

  “Ah. Okay.” I backed away, stung by rejection. Good enough to grind on… but not good enough to kiss. It felt like I’d had cold water dumped over my head, dousing the fire of the whisky as my heart was stuck in my throat. “I’ll just leave you to figure out the right time, then.”

  His fists balled at his sides, but he didn’t stop me from melting into the crowd.

  I took a deep breath of glittering fog, irritation gnawing at me. So he’d fingerfuck me in a club full of people but kissing me was asking too much. Sure. Made perfect sense.

  Worst first date in slayer history.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ________

  TORI

  The door to Seventh Heaven wasn’t where I’d left it. I pushed through the dancers on the perimeter, searching for the flash of pink neon, but a wiry, gray-skinned cambion slid in front of me, licking his lips.

  With the exception of the tiny fledgling horns poking out of his forehead and the gray skin, he could’ve been a human. “Hey, baby. Looking for a good time?”

  “No.” I pushed past him, but the cambion kept pace with me.

  “You look like a hot piece of ass. The kind of ass that belongs in my Maserati. You ever been in a Maserati? I know a guy with a yacht down in Atlantic City, if you want to party with us-”

  “I absolutely do not want to party with you.”

  “Sure? Baby, we can take this back to my place, I saw your boyfriend brush you off. If you want to fuck, I’m down.”

  I sighed. “I will not fuck you on a yacht, I will not fuck you in a box. I will not fuck you here nor there, I will not fuck you anywhere. Get what I’m saying?”

  I turned and walked away, but the asshole snagged the back of my dress, his hand sliding down to cop a feel. Wrong fucking move.

  I slid my dagger from the hidden thigh sheath, but the cambion’s grip loosened, and I spun to find him pinned against the wall with Càel’s hand wrapped around his throat.

  Where the hell had he come from so fast?

  The knight squeezed, until the cambion’s gray skin turned an alarming shade of plum. A moment later his fingers punched through the half-demon’s throat, and hot blood sprayed over the convulsing crowd.

  Càel lifted the dying cambion and threw him into the crowd. Several imps dove for the soon-to-be corpse, dragging it off into their corner.

  I stared at him and wiped the single drop of blood that had hit me off my cheek. Càel tracked the movement, wearing a glove of blood up to his elbow. If it weren’t for that gory, vivid mark, it’d be impossible to tell he’d just ripped a cambion’s throat out and tossed him like a feather.

  There was no point in asking questions. I knew immediately, with a gut-deep instinct, why Càel had murdered him. The cambion had disrespected me.

  And Càel considered me his.

  No one walked away from disrespecting someone the White Wolf thought of as his own. “This changes nothing,” I whispered, lost under the music, but a grin spread across Càel’s lips like he’d heard me anyway.

  It was probably because Will had gotten me wound up, and Sura had compounded it before metaphorically splashing cold water in my face, but a tingling warmth started low in my stomach and moved downwards at the bestial, hungry look in Càel’s eyes. He’d just shredded a demon on my behalf, and he eye-fucked like a pro.

  He raised his unbloodied hand and crooked a finger, calling me over, but I shook my head and turned away. A hint of pink neon flashed ahead.

  “There’s always next week, Victoria.” Càel’s hand wrapped around my throat, stopping me in mid-stride. His tongue flicked against my earlobe, sending shivers down my spine. It was uncanny how fast his kind moved.

  “Won’t happen next week, either,” I said. My voice was swallowed by noise, but I knew he heard me.

  Càel’s soft lips pressed against my neck, and my nipples hardened, responding instinctively to his natural carnalism.

  God, if he didn’t have fangs…

  “As always, we’ll see, mo shíorghrá. Sweet dreams tonight.” His lips moved against my neck, and my head canted to the side of its own accord. He cupped my face, holding me against him so I could feel the full length of his hard cock, and kissed my throat for another long moment.

  I had no idea why I went with it, leaning into him and enjoying how my breasts felt heavy and swollen, nipples aching for the touch of his lips and tongue, but it was only Càel’s low, rough snarl of need that had my eyes snapping open again.

  He was so rough, so powerful, and so not my kind.

  “Good night, Càel,” I rasped, and pulled myself out of his hands. A small, traitorous part of me hoped he’d pull me back against my will, but I pushed through the pink-lit door without anyone else laying hands on me.

  I paused in the staircase outside. When I turned, the name Seventh Heaven was still clearly visible in its bold Gothic lettering. Now that I’d been invited in once, it seemed I had a standing invitation to return.

  Will was no longer in his corner, and I ended up leaving Club Bathory alone, an entire school taxi to myself. With no one else around but me, the two cacodemons laughed uproariously in the front seats, but refused to answer any of my pointed questions. I couldn’t even see the little fuckers, because they refused to drop the
ir invisibility.

  I walked into the Caitland-Moore alone and took the stairs down through Libra’s museum. A few members of Lux were gathered around the mummified husk of a moonspawn display, catching up on homework, but I ignored them as I strode to Tenebris Hall, still surging with irritation, rejection, and entirely unwanted desire for the enemy.

  As soon as I was back in my room, I kicked off my shoes, stripped off the stupid little dress, and pulled on a pair of soft shorts and a tank top.

  Worse than the confusion and temptation I felt whenever Càel was near was knowing I’d fully planned to bring Sura back here after our date. Ending the evening with a re-read of Dai Diyadin’s bestiary for homework instead of releasing the tension between me and Sura with some hands-on activities just seemed so… pathetic.

  I flopped on my bed and closed my eyes, the room still spinning a little. I could say one thing for Satan, he sure had some potent bathwater.

  “I’ll be honest, this kinda fucking sucks, Jim-Jam,” I whispered. My voice was raspy from the whisky and shouting over the music. “I feel like I finally fit in with the school, but Sura and Will keep messing with my head. One minute they’re hot, next minute they’re cold…” I heaved a sad little sigh. “He wouldn’t even kiss me on our first real date. Is it me? Am I too podunk for them? Do I have halitosis I’m unaware of?”

  Quit wallowing, Tori. James’ voice was a ghost in the back of my mind. Assholes aren’t worth your tears.

  “I guess not.” My throat worked for a minute. “Sometimes it seems like they genuinely like me, though. And Will… I don’t know what to do about him. He was right. I tried to use him to replace you, but nobody could ever replace you, and now I don’t know how to feel about him… or if I should feel anything for him at all. He’s still my stepbrother by marriage.”

  Jim-Jam would’ve grinned and punched me in the arm, if he was alive. Love is love, you dork.

  “Well, it sure as hell isn’t love. More like mutual tolerance.” I rolled over to grab the picture and touch Jim-Jam’s smile.

  My hand froze on the frame. There was only one smile in the frame: mine.

  The rest of the photo was missing. Someone had ripped it in half, leaving a raw, ragged edge like a wound, and a blank white space where Jim-Jam should’ve been.

  Concrete seemed to fill my lungs. I couldn’t breathe, my hands shaking on the soot-stained frame, eyes glued to that torn edge. “No, no, no.”

  I dropped the worthless frame on the bed and started searching my room, moving blindly from one piece of furniture to the next. The bed was untouched, the bookshelf’s dust undisturbed, the desk bare of anything but my notebook.

  My stomach dropped as I pushed open the bathroom door and found the light on and toilet seat up.

  Minuscule pieces of confetti littered the toilet bowl like dust. Whoever had broken in, they’d shredded his picture so badly it’d be impossible to piece it back together again, painstakingly cut it into pieces smaller than an ant. Half of it had already been flushed.

  I sank to the cold floor, bracing my back against the wall while I gasped for breath. It was like losing James all over again; this one last token I had that he’d ever existed, treated like literal shit and flushed down the toilet.

  Prickles rose on my arms and legs. Whoever had done this had enjoyed their cruel work, destroyed it beyond any hope of fixing, all to punch through my chest and squeeze my heart until it felt like it wither and die in their grasp.

  I gripped my legs and dug my nails into my skin until I drew blood. Hot, silent tears dripped down my cheeks.

  He was finally gone for good. The absolute last object I had that proved to the world that James Holmwood had once lived and breathed. I didn’t even have a grave to visit.

  I took a deep, shuddering breath and closed my burning eyes.

  It was just a picture, Tori. I’m still here in your head. Now find the cunt who did this and kick their asshole through their teeth.

  “I think I will, Jim-Jam,” I whispered, my throat convulsing on a sob. “I think I’ll do exactly that.”

  My eyes were still red-rimmed at breakfast the next morning. Will held me back, his hand clamped around my wrist until the rest of Lux and Tenebris had moved on to the training grounds.

  “What happened last night? Where’d you go, Tori?”

  I stared at him, feeling more than a little like a zombie after a sleepless night. His dark lashes cast shadows on his cheeks that made him look like he’d been crying, too.

  “Someone broke into my room and… destroyed something of mine.”

  A strange expression flitted across his face and he went still. “Lux managed to pick their way into a few rooms last night and fucked with people’s things. They flipped Lydia’s bed and pissed on Gilcrist’s mattress. I’ve already talked to Aislin to discipline her people. What happened?”

  I looked down, biting down hard on my lip to keep it from trembling. “They took my picture of J-J-Jim-Jam and shredded it. That was all I had, Will.”

  The words ended with a gasp for air as my throat swelled shut again, and there was no holding back the tears again, even if I bit right through my lip. Will wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his chest, his face buried in my hair while I cried.

  For once, there was no tension or latent sexual frustration when I melted against him, just the comfort of having someone hold me while the rage and grief spilled out in a flood. I cried until I was hiccupping and the chimes had split the silence of the cafeteria, but Will just pressed his lips to my forehead and held me tight.

  I finally took a shuddering breath. My eyes were gritty from so many tears, and my throat ached, but the raw, jagged hole in the middle of my chest no longer felt like it was bleeding out everywhere. With the flood of misery, a little scar tissue had formed around the edges.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry, Tori,” he whispered. I sat up, wiped my eyes on a cloth napkin, and pushed back from the table.

  “We’re late. Let’s get to class. Maybe fucking up some of Lux will make me feel better.” It wouldn’t, but wishful thinking was better than dwelling on the loss. I had a feeling Beatrice Glover’s name was on this.

  Will cast a warning glance at Ermengol when we walked in together. She eyed us beadily, but after a long look at my wan features and red eyes, she just directed us to one of the simple training courts and put us to work against Silas Vaughan and… Beatrice. What joy.

  I picked up one of the training staves and took my place in front of her. She raised an eyebrow and attacked without preamble, and it was such a relief to not hold back. There was no shit-talking, no posturing, just the plain, simple knowledge that we hated each other’s guts and wanted to fuck the other up beyond repair.

  After ten minutes of fighting with steadily-increasing brutality, we evolved into a refreshing death-match. Her staff cracked across my knuckles and caught my shoulder, and I blocked her next sweep to jam the end of mine right into her solar plexus and swing it upwards to catch her chin. Blood burst from her split lip.

  Silas jumped away from Will to defend his partner, entangling the end of his staff with my ankles, and that was the only thing that stopped me from burying this stick right in her eye socket. Sweat dripped in my stinging eyes and I stumbled, which was all the time Beatrice needed to sweep my legs out from under me.

  I landed on my back and knocked the breath right out of my lungs, and Silas was straddling me, gripping my collar and shoving something down the front.

  Will hit him like a cannonball, ripping him off me, but I barely noticed because something slick and warm was squirming and thrashing against my breasts.

  There wasn’t a lot of coherent thought involved in ripping my shirt open right there on the training court. A blacksnake spilled out, no more than a foot long and as thin as a pencil, but the sensation of its scales grating against my skin had me dry-heaving.

  “For a girl who hangs out in Seventh Heaven and gets fingerfucked in public, you sure seem wor
ked up over a little trouser-snake,” Beatrice said, laughing through bloodied teeth.

  I stopped retching long enough to grab my staff and drive it upwards, right between her legs. She stopped laughing with a choked scream and I jumped on her, knocking her to the ground and landing bodily on top of her.

  “Fuck you,” I hissed, that sick, black rage I hated so much pounding through my veins like a siren’s call. I wanted her to suffer, wanted her to pay for what she’d done in the pit, what she’d probably done to my Jim-Jam. “Did you break into my room?”

  She spat blood at me, her eyes glazed and wild. I punched her in the face, the satisfying crack of her teeth snapping together filling the air like music. “Did you? Did you destroy my brother’s picture?”

  Beatrice laughed again, the sound tinged with hysteria. “Did we?” she mocked. Her voice was slurred. “Who needs a picture of a dead idiot, cunt? He obviously wasn’t worth shit alive.”

  Every fiber of my body was trembling. I heard shouting from far away.

  “Why?”

  She grinned and spat out another thick glob of blood instead of answering. Someone touched my elbow and I shook them off, driving my fist into Beatrice’s nose to the dark pounding music in my head, the harmony of crunching bones and screams filling my ears in a glorious crescendo.

  Several hands gripped me, hauling me off Beatrice’s supine body, and I clawed to get back at her.

  Massive arms wrapped around me, pinning my arms to my sides. “Calm down, Tori. She’s out.” Sura. The smoky darkness of his voice pushed back some of the rage, enough to let me think clearly.

  Ermengol and Mater Dolorum knelt over Beatrice, and the professor’s sharp eyes flashed up to us. “Excellent right hook, Holmwood, but we don’t condone students murdering students in training. Take her to Headmaster Burns- restrain her however you see fit.”

  Sura and Will dragged me into the hall amidst the silent teams. Aislin Liddell was pale and furious, glaring after me.