Raging Against the Devil
Wild Beast Series
T Birmingham
Contents
Part 1: Doubt that the Sun Doth Move
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part 2: Doubt Truth Be A Liar
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Part 3: But Never Doubt I Love
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Glossary of Terms
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Rage Against the Devil Copyright © 2017 by T. Birmingham
Wild Beasts Series Copyright © 2016 by T. Birmingham
http://www.tbirmingham.com
Original Cover Image: JW Photography
Cover Model: Amanda Joan
Original Cover Design: Wicked Women Designs
Paperback and Electronic Book Formatting: Irish Ink Graphics and Formatting
Proofreader: Cat’s Eye Proofing
Editing by Underline This Editing
This book is dedicated to my Trailer Park sisters: to the Princesses who are really dragons and wolves and bears and unicorns and yes, even those who are really a moose (there you go, Lo), and to the courageous women who have become some of my dearest friends.
This book is also dedicated to the women who have always been my confidants, my soul sisters, my best friends. Whether in elementary school, the dreaded junior high years, high school, or college, you have pushed me, challenged me, accepted me, and loved me.
"Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god."
–Aristotle
The battle raged around her as Titania watched her people fall. On her side of the battle stood the humans, the gods who had chosen to fight on her side, and the Shades, powerful ghosts who were near corporeal and had once been human. But her people on the battlefield were fewer and fewer as one by one their now almost fragile looking forms littered the ground, their blood soaking into the mud at her feet.
Alexia watched the battle as an outsider, watched it play out as the dark-haired goddess screamed and fell to the ground, hovering over the wolf who had just been gutted by a tall, redheaded man with a pale face. A man who looked an awful lot like Alexia’s grandfather, Roman, except for the fact that he had a coldness in his eyes that even Roman did not have, and his features were just slightly different.
“Lycan,” Titania cried, “no, my wolf. No, my love.”
The goddess bellowed in pain while the wolf changed forms, switching sporadically from wolf to blinding god to human and back to god, his blonde hair becoming saturated in his own blood and that of others until his visage flickered no more.
The goddess wept, no longer participating in the deadly war and oblivious to the threats closing in.
Alexia wanted to yell to her, to get her to turn around, but she had tried getting Titania’s attention before. And each time, it was the same. Alexia witnessed as the goddess protected the dead body of her lover, only to lose her own life at the hands of a woman using the elements of air and fire. A gifted human. Just as the man who had killed Lycan had been a gifted human. Alexia knew instinctively that the Clans had not yet been made at the time of the battle she kept revisiting in her dreams.
Alexia shuddered and averted her gaze. She’d seen Titania’s end too many times, and despite what people said, death did not get easier.
The vision of the woman faded as if being pulled behind a curtain the way dreams often transitioned, but Alexia knew what was next. She clung to the first dream, because as much as watching another’s death did not get easier, the second part of the dream was always worse. She didn’t want to see, didn’t want to experience the next part of her dream.
But just as in real life, she couldn’t escape the inevitable.
She was trapped in her mind as the snow fell around her prone form. She’d had this nightmare before. But she still hadn’t figured out why she couldn’t move, surrounded by dying loved ones she could not protect. The one thing she was supposed to be able to do: protect. And she couldn’t even do that right.
Everything in her screamed for release from the prison where she was being held in the steel trap of her mind. She begged, pleaded to be set free, to breathe.
A deadly cold suffused her form, and she knew if she didn’t wake up, she would freeze to death. Her power awoke within her, and her fire caught around her. Except it didn’t spread out. The fire did not warm her people. Her fire only burned her slowly. She would die in this god-forsaken wasteland unable to do a goddamned thing about her people.
A red cardinal flew overhead and landed in the tree above even as Alexia felt the heat of her fire burn her own skin. The cardinal squawked out a warning right before blood started trickling from Alexia’s eyes, nose, and ears. And as the blood gushed from her, she heard the wind whisper, “die Krieger Skröm.”
Die Krieger Skröm.
Die Krieger Skröm—
Alexia awoke violently, her head in such pain that she quickly ran to the small bathroom in Cam’s trailer, now hers and Devon’s, if only temporarily. Everything she’d eaten for dinner several hours earlier came up at once.
The small bathroom window revealed that it was still the middle of the night, and the clock next the sink verified that fact. 3:00 am. The witching hour, as her adoptive mom, Lara Martinez, would have called it. An appropriate time to wake up from the damn dream she hadn’t been able to shake for three months now. As if summoned, she felt her mate’s presence. The room was too small, and Devon’s large form filled the entryway, comforting, rather than imposing. They needed to finish the last few things in their own trailer and move in, but they had both been putting it off.
“Again?” Devon asked and she looked at her Man Bear, tears in her eyes.
“I can’t do anything, Devon,” she said, her voice hoarse, and she leaned her face against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. Bliss. “Every fucking time, I’m trapped in my mind in that goddamned clearing, watching silently as you all die in that cold while I slowly burn. That fucking red cardinal always shows up squawking warnings and ‘die Krieger Skröm’ is whispered in the wind once again.”
“Like Kayla Anderson wrote in blood before she died.” He wasn’t asking. They’d had the conversation enough since the Anderson murders. The murders that had started everything for her.
Dreams. Her dreams had started before the Anderson’s deaths over a year and a half ago, and now, here she was again. Only this time, she knew her dreams weren’t normal. The things she had seen when the Anderson murders were happening and the things she was seeing now. They were omens. And the phrase, “die Krieger Skröm,” was like a death watch beetle she knew she needed to be on guard against because inevitably, her dreams seemed prophecy loss. That much had not changed in her life.
They’d all tried to find some reference to the phrase but there was nothing in the Clan Histories or even the human Histories she
had examined. They’d also been unable to find the supposed Light Clan of the Skröm the Histories did speak of. Fuck it all. Some days, it felt like they had learned nothing. And still, other days, she felt like she knew too much.
She hated to admit it, but there was a small part of her that wished she could go back to before Cam had gone dragon and burned a hole in their fragile world, before Mindy’s death, back to the simplicity. But she couldn’t go back, and if she was honest with herself, she wouldn’t.
Her Man Bear was only one of the reasons she wouldn’t. Her biological father, James; the new members of Lodge number two, which she lovingly called Montville’s School for Special Peeps; and the others she’d met in her world were all reasons as to why there was no going back. There were other reasons, important ones, too; but she was who she was, even if some days the burden felt so heavy, she wanted to scream.
“Red,” Devon said. She tried to give him a smile, but the jig was up before she even managed to look at him again because her stomach revolted, and she once again found herself dry heaving over the tiny toilet.
Devon’s presence was always a soothing balm, and she felt his hands on her neck and in her hair, calming her, bringing her back to herself.
“You’ve never gotten sick like this before, Alexia,” he said, rubbing her back and offering her the comfort she so desperately needed. But she knew he worried. Her bear couldn’t hide his thoughts from her even if he had wanted to try. “These dreams are taking everything from you. I-I can’t—”
“I know, Devon,” Alexia said, reaching back and patting his hand in an attempt to shush his fears.
“No, Red,” Devon said, turning her gently to meet his gaze, but his face was all hard edges and his bear was close to the surface. “You don’t get to pat my hand and tell me it’s all going to be okay. I’m not an underling. I’m not someone you need to cater to. I’m your mate for fuck’s sake.”
Devon’s booming voice filled the bathroom, and Alexia wanted to tell him to keep it down, to not draw the attention of everyone else in the community they were building. But she wouldn’t, because despite the fact that her mate was always free with his emotions, her big, bumbling bear rarely got angry. Rarely let loose in such a way unless he truly needed to let something out. So, she didn’t tell him to stop.
“I’m your mate,” he continued. “And sometimes, you don’t let me be your mate, Red. You get to make all the decisions. You get to decide what’s wrong, and when you’re going to deal with it. Most of the time, I follow along because you’re intelligent and keen on your feet and I know you’re doing right by your people. But not this time. You’re sick.” His voice became distant. “You’re sick, and I can’t fix it.”
“I’m sick because of these dreams. They must have something to do with the case Grandpa Roman doesn’t want us getting involved in. I know he said not to look into the deaths of the Others when we spoke with him, but these dreams… They started right around the murders. It makes sense—”
“None of this makes sense, Red!” Devon’s voice rose, and she should have seen it sooner, but she hadn’t. “You having those dreams before we met doesn’t make sense. You having dreams of the Anderson murders last March doesn’t make sense. You having prophetic dreams at all…” He grabbed her hand gently and she wanted to break at his touch, she wanted to fall into him, but she’d broken him enough recently, hadn’t she? “Red, you’re a Vuković and a Skröm. You’re powerful, but these dreams… Vuković don’t have prophetic dreams. Skröm don’t have prophetic dreams.” He looked between them and slowly lifted her to her feet. “This shouldn’t be happening.”
“But, Man Bear,” she whispered, tears in her eyes as she grabbed onto his other hand, “it is happening.”
He didn’t answer her. The only movement he made that showed he’d even heard her was the slight tension in the hands that held her own smaller ones.
She took a step back, lifting and running her fingers through his curly hair, trying to show him that she got where he was coming from. She moved further back, and walked to the sink to brush her teeth. She needed to be clean, needed to wash the dream away in some way. She finished brushing, but Devon hadn’t moved. She’d known he wouldn’t.
There was a still, quiet part inside of her that was worried, scared…hell, terrified, as much as he was. But she couldn’t afford that fear, that worry. She needed to stay strong for her people.
But shit, beyond his pain and worry, there was one thing he was yelling loud and clear, and she’d been ignoring it. Devon wasn’t just her people. He was hers as much as she was his. And she had to stop pushing him away, had to stop pushing away his feelings, his care. She had to let her mate in, let him be her partner. She thought she’d moved past all of that.
His arms came around her and Alexia sunk into the embrace of her mate. She moved her nose into his neck, breathing in the fresh waterfalls and the smell of oranges and fur, and her tears fell as her teeth extended. The blood coated her tongue, bringing refreshment and peace and a new hope after the mess of the nightmare she’d just had.
And Alexia felt whole again as she moved away.
Red, you’ve got to let me take care of you. Every time…every time you’re hurting, you back away from me like you’re afraid to hurt me.
She looked into his eyes after retracting her teeth and licking his neck to heal the skin there. Her hand reached for his jaw, which was softer than it had been a minute ago.
“I’m hurt when you shut me out, Red.” His thumbs wiped under her eyes and he pulled her into his strong body, and she let the sensation of his warmth and safety fill her. She wanted this. Wanted his love, his passion, his security, his joy, his openness. It was just so hard for her. “I know it is, Alexia,” Devon said, reading her thoughts in the way he did. She loved that, their connection. “And I know you try. You try all the time, but I want you to try for you. I want you to let yourself go with me because it’s for you. Not because you want to spare my feelings. Not because it’ll smooth things over. I want you to be able to be you with me. We’ve got an eternity before us. I don’t want you to be Roman. You don’t need to be like your grandfather to be a good Councilor. You just be you. With them.” He pulled back and she looked into his grey-green eyes, a world of truth and love and forever staring at her.
“And with you, Man Bear. It’s the easiest thing in the world to be me with you—” He tried to chime in again, but she stood on her tiptoes and put her hand against his mouth and smiled. “No, you listen. It is. I don’t always act it, and yes, I still push you away sometimes. I don’t want you to leave. I know that’s stupid,” she added quickly. “It’s just how I feel. But being me with you is as natural as breathing, but so is caring for you, just like caring for me comes easy to you. You don’t follow; you stand at my back, protecting me. You don’t keep quiet.” She laughed, remembering every time he’d shared his opinion. “You share what’s on your mind when it’s on your mind, and I’m not the only one who respects that, Man Bear.” She removed her hand from his mouth and leaned into him, leaving just a small space between their bodies. She didn’t close the space. She gave him that control. She loved giving him that control, because he did it so often for her.
Devon filled that small space in increments, keeping his gaze steady until the last millionth of a second, and then his lips met hers. His hands reached into her red, scraggly, curly hair that had been shaped into a rat’s nest during her rough night’s sleep, and he pulled her head to the side using her hair as an anchor. His kiss deepened and her own little she-wolf claws retracted, digging into his back and causing a low growl to emanate from his throat. She felt the tug of his big paw in her hair, and the delicious tingle zig-zagged in an arc of electricity down to her toes. His body against hers was always like a new experience. He wasn’t gentle in that moment, though. His tongue fought with hers, not in a show of dominance, but in a show of passion that made her weak and strong in the same instant.
“Please, Ma
n Bear,” she begged, and she felt his smile.
He lifted her easily, and her legs went around his waist as Devon entered her slowly, and she knew he was holding back, protecting her, and she smiled. She wasn’t the only one who tried to protect her mate. No, Devon protected her always.
Her fated mate inside of her was still like a hallelujah chorus of sensation cascading along her nerve endings, and she didn’t anticipate that ever changing. Their bond added another level of intimacy. Fated mates. Meant to be. Loved for always. Safe and secure, and more free than she’d ever been. Right there, in her Man Bear’s arms, him moving inside of her, their bodies meeting again and again and again.
She bit her lip as she felt herself come undone.
Breath after breath.
Flooding of emotion upon emotion flowing down the line of their bond.
She opened her eyes and saw their bond in all of its veiny and brown-tendril glory as her Man Bear joined her in their climax. He pulled her tighter to him as he came inside of her and she gave his ear a nip, licking his blood and savoring the taste on her lips.
His laugh echoed through the trailer, and she felt the boom of that sound. Yes, in her sex, but also in her spirit. The sound healed her, mended pieces of her soul back together.
“We will never go a week without sex again, Red,” Devon whispered, as he lay her down on the bed then grabbed a cloth from the bathroom.
“Shit, has it really been a week?”
His laugh filled the room again. “Almost.” He cleaned them both up, and goddamnit all she was ready for him again.
“In a little bit, Red.”
She gave him a mischievous smile. “Promise?”
“Always, Alexia.” He looked into her eyes and pulled her in for another lingering kiss. “You can have all of me, Red, always.”
Her leg went over his hip as they fell asleep in each other’s arms, and his warmth suffused her being, taking away the last bit of cold the dream had brought on.
Rage Against the Devil (Wild Beasts Series Book 2) Page 1