Rage Against the Devil (Wild Beasts Series Book 2)

by T. Birmingham

  “Something like that,” she said, not meeting his gaze.

  “I can—”

  “No,” Eire said firmly, looking up at the clear, star-riddled winter sky. “No, you really can’t.” She almost laughed at the prospect. When she finally peered up at him, she saw his gaze was hooded. Had she hurt him?

  Fuck, she shouldn’t have cared. After yet another betrayal, she should have been more cold. But she wasn’t more cold. She was just as in tune with the wolf as she had been before the meeting with her brothers.

  “Look,” she said, moving closer to the bike, but letting her head fall as she got closer. Fuck. Head down...walking forward... I might as lay on the ground and crawl forward on my belly, she thought. Submissive she was not. She lifted her head as she went forward, hardening her stare, but not too much. She wanted him to understand. “I have sort of a…shit…I have a…well, a special diet. Like in the woods a week ago when we saw the last scene in Courtwood.”

  “So, not just blood, then?”

  “No. Not just blood.”

  His face became inquisitive, eager. “Ummm…the claws.” He paused, his face showing slight disgust as he looked at her hands. She wasn’t much of a fan of that look, and she crossed her arms over her chest in defiance. “They’re long and Ginny said Fae of Swords, but she also said that you’re something else…are you…”—he smoothed his hand through his hair—“Your brothers said Stone earlier…is that like a Wendigo? You have the facial structure—”

  “Jesus,” she said, taking a step back. “I don’t eat people.” She shook her head, swallowing back the bile at the thought. She shivered at the thought of people parts in her teeth. Ugh. Gross.

  “Well, then, what—”

  “I eat dirt,” she spat out in frustration, and then she put her hand over her mouth in horror. Why had she said that?

  “Dirt?” Nicky asked and she saw his eyes light up. “You eat dirt? Like bugs and detritus and forest floor dirt?”

  “No, I can’t eat just any dirt, asshole.” She tilted her head toward the bar, rather than look at his face. God, she fucked everything up around this man. “I eat dirt from In Betweens. In the Veil, I can eat any dirt, but here, on this plane, the best dirt comes from the crossing of rivers or bodies of water.”

  She glanced over at him, and his eyes were sparkling as he let out first a quick chuckle and then laughed outright. He didn’t look disgusted.

  He sat on the bike, his head thrown back. Laughter lines stretching at the side of his eyes. He was tall, strong, had a jaw made of steel, was capable and quiet yet commanding, and she felt one of the sheets of ice she’d spent years carefully crafting and freezing…crack.

  Split.

  Could she repair it?

  She didn’t know.

  And in that moment, she didn’t know if she cared. She felt her feet move the few steps toward the bike, the gravel of the parking lot crunching under her combat boots. She made it to Nicky’s side in just a few strides, and she saw that he had tears leaking out of his eyes from laughing so hard.

  He opened his eyes, and those eyes brightened at what she knew was the realization that something had changed. A small change. She just needed to know what the shift meant. She loved her ice, but a small fissure in one sheet was okay, right?

  Her inner bitch reminded her that not ten minutes earlier she’d found out that her only friend had been in cahoots with Damon, that her brothers had been running her life for ten years, that in fact nothing this past decade was really hers. Not the money she’d earned from her jobs as an Enforcer. Not her little home on the outskirts of Syracuse. Nothing. She should have been pissed. Instead, she told that inner voice to hush up, just for a second.

  Just for one second.

  Just so she could know.

  She leaned forward slowly, warily. She thought Nicky would reach for her. He didn’t. He held her gaze, but it was like he knew she needed the control. It was like he knew that one slight move would break the spell, ruin the moment, and they would never know the truth.

  She placed a hand against his chest, letting herself fall into him. His chest was burning, and she could feel the pitter-patter of his heart under her hand. Her other hand tangled in his hair, and she let her lips brush against the edge of his mouth, feeling the rough texture there that was far from unpleasant. Her lips moved to his jaw and back down, as she tasted the caramel and pine.

  Sugar and earth.

  God, if she ever tasted his blood, she might be satisfied forever. She left the thought alone. Nicky would never be the one. But he might be someone to have fun with while she was here. She needed that. It had been too long since she’d had a man. She’d never been with a Clan member. It wasn’t really done, but she didn’t give a fuck.

  She especially didn’t give a fuck when her lips finally met his and he gave into the moment as well. He pulled her hips into his side and she moved to straddle the bike in front of him.

  Front to front.

  Cold to hot.

  Fae to Vuković.

  Other to Clan.

  His tongue touched hers and his heat and her cold were like a million sensations in one. She felt the touch like a brand, and she knew by his intake of breath that he didn’t object to her own claiming.

  His hands rough against her lower back.

  Her hands moving in his hair while simultaneously holding tightly to the camo t-shirt she had in her grip.

  She bit at his lip and he bit at hers and they both pulled their heads back at the same time, the taste of first blood like nothing she had ever experienced.

  “Caramel and pine it is.” She smiled at him. He was steady. He was sweet and strong, but consistent. He would be a good gamble if she was in the mood to gamble with her feelings. She wasn’t. But he tasted exactly how he smelled. That wasn’t as common as most thought.

  He looked at her and smiled. “I was imagining a snow cone with a metallic taste. You smell like ice and the metals of the earth when they’ve just been mined. But you taste like vanilla ice cream, smooth and creamy and just right.” He paused and then chuckled as he licked a tiny drop of blood from his lip. “And like the earth that gets into my mouth in wolf form while I’m hunting.” He put his hands on either one of her hips, drawing her in at the confused and slightly suspicious glance she gave him. “It’s a great fucking taste,” he said as he pulled her in again. She went. Really, she couldn’t help herself.

  Warmth.

  She felt it course through her as his lips met hers once more.

  Head to toe warmth.

  He pulled back, letting his nose sniff at her neck, like he was nuzzling her, and the fates help her but she let him. His hand touched the inside of her arm, and his breath came in puffs that felt like small moments of pleasure against her neck. “Hell, it might actually be one of the best tastes ever.”

  Well, what the fuck did she say to that?

  “Can I ask a question?” His tone was tentative, guarded, but he never looked away.

  “Ummm…I guess so.” She knew her own expression was guarded as well, but she barely knew the man and she’d fucking told him that one of her food choices was dirt. And instead of disgust, he’d laughed and kissed her without abandon.

  “You don’t have fangs…not like the Skröm or an animal or some of the Others…” He let his voice trail off.

  “So, you want to know how I take in blood beyond the drops I just stole during our kiss?” She’d almost expected the question.

  “Not stolen, babe. It was given willingly, Vanilla.” She scrutinized him. His chuckle echoed around them, and she loved the sound, but the nickname…Vanilla? Really? She was a badass, dressed all in black and wearing combat boots.

  She sobered at his teasing because she was about to share with him some other truths. “My other gift is…well, it’s unusual…and rare,” she said, lifting herself off the bike and stepping away, giving herself a bit of space to breathe.

  “How unusual?” Always patient. Never
pushing. That was Nicky.

  “I can harm or heal,” she answered. “I am able to open a vein with my gift of Swords, but when you poison someone to death in the process of feeding, that sort of defeats the purpose. Fae don’t care. A lot of them will still kill and feed. But I didn’t want to live that way. So, as much as I hate this other gift, the Stone you heard Zeke mention earlier—” She cringed at the use of the gift’s name. She never spoke about her Stone out loud. “With that gift, I can make a small cut in the skin that I can also heal. I drink only a small amount and then I heal the human—”

  “You drink from humans?”

  “Well, no Clan member is going to let an Other drink from them, and I don’t trust any Others.” She paused. “Gimp is… well, Gimp was a friend.”

  “Gimp still is a friend,” Nicky corrected her and he held up his hand when she would have lashed out. “He’s just an asshole friend who needs to gain your trust back.” Well, shit, he was right. Gimp was an asshole. And if she chose to let him back into her icy shield, he’d have a lot of groveling to do. He’d proven himself time and again, but she just feared their whole relationship had been built on Gimp trying to impress his boss, her brother.

  “So, you have to drink from humans?” Nicky asked, dragging her mind out of the dark thoughts it had fallen into.

  “Well, I can drink from Clan, Other, or human, but like I just said, humans are the easiest. I can pretend it’s part of making out and then heal it, so they never know—”

  “You can use me,” he growled out, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck go up. Jesus, wolfy was fucked up.

  “I don’t use people—”

  “Don’t,” he commanded, and she raised her eyebrow at the tone. “Don’t make this about your anger. You know I didn’t mean it that way. I’m not saying use me until I’m dry. I’m not saying make me a pincushion... I’m saying, you need blood, and I have stronger blood than a human can give you…” He paused and looked her in the eye again. “I’m saying we have a connection—”

  “No—”

  “Don’t,” he commanded, again cutting off her defiant tirade. She gave him a frosty glare, letting him know that she seriously wanted to punch him for his authoritarian attitude.

  “Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, Eire,” he said and she let her anger cool – damn, he really did bring out the fire in her, didn’t he? “I’m a little on edge.” He scratched the back of his neck, then rubbed it as if trying to relieve some tension. Was he going to transform? He was acting more antsy than usual, and she’d noticed that he spent more time as a wolf than any other Vuković or Luna she’d ever met.

  Even the Others she knew who transformed still tended to prefer their human skin, unless they’d had some trauma. Then, their transformations were more frequent. What had Nicky been through? What had made him so jumpy that a simple conversation caused him to want to quite literally turn tail and go for a run?

  “I think you’re my fated mate,” Nicky blurted, turning his face toward her and letting her see the seriousness in his steady gaze.

  Well, that hadn’t been what she’d expected to hear. “Wha… Wha…” Shit, she was tongue-tied.

  He waited for her to say something, but what the hell was she going to say? Fated mates?

  No.

  She was Other. He was Clan.

  That just didn’t fucking happen. These things didn’t happen. Her soul wasn’t even in sync with his, at least according to the Histories.

  She had nothing to say, so she did what felt the most right.

  She turned back to the bar.

  And Nicky didn’t follow. He didn’t call out. He just sat there, waiting for her to say something.

  Even with all their lies and machinations, her brothers were still the better choice in this moment.

  She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t stand there and listen to Nicky say the most ludicrous things.

  Because a part of her wanted what Nicky said, and it killed her that something about their biology was tricking them both. He really believed it. She’d seen it in his eyes. He really did think she was his fated mate. She knew better. It was impossible, and they’d both be hurt if she pursued anything with Nicky.

  In this world, crafted by the we-do-whatever-the-fuck-we-want gods, she was less than him. As a Clan member, his Histories said he was all Light. And she knew what the Clan Histories said. She had been created by the Darkness. They didn’t mesh. They didn’t make sense. She wouldn’t ignore the facts. And the facts were she was Other and he was Clan.

  And that meant she had a lot of frustration and tension to work out because wolves who believed you were their fated mate wouldn’t let it be just sex. No, it would have to mean something, and she wasn’t willing to give that much of herself to anyone. Not even to the wolf she was growing to care for. Not even for the man who’d caused a crack to form in her icy shields.

  “He’s worth it,” Loch said from behind her as she walked into the bar, the door no longer squeaking or crooked from her earlier mishap. Someone had mended the broken door. But not everything could be fixed so easily.

  They still hadn’t locked up. Had they known she’d walk back in not thirty minutes later, having fucked up yet again?

  She didn’t answer her youngest older brother. She just walked behind the bar and pulled the tequila off the top shelf. Loch watched her from across the bar.

  “Like old times?” she asked. They might never have drunk together, but he’d been her best friend at one time. She needed the troublemaker again. She needed the reprobate; not the wise man he’d apparently finally become. Not the liar, either.

  Life had done a number on the lot of them.

  “Like old times,” he returned as he sat down across from her. His long body leaned into the bar and she smiled at the thought of the string bean he used to be.

  She poured the three shots of tequila for each of them. Three were needed. Her body would burn right through the alcohol, but for a good half hour, she’d get to experience the fuzzy oblivion. After the first three, she continued lining them up and drinking herself into a hazy world of forgetting until she felt an arm sling across her back and almost threw up as another arm went under her knees and she was carried from behind the bar to the upstairs rooms.

  “Goddamned idiots,” Damon said as he carried her upstairs.

  “Bu-vue shtill lurvs us,” Eire slurred, taking her finger and touching his nose with her finger. Or at least she was aiming for his nose. She hit him square in the eye instead. “Oops.”

  “Shit, Eire,” Damon said as he brought her up the steps and to the spare room where she saw the blurry form of Zeke getting ready for bed.

  “Can she have the bed?”

  “Imbeciles,” Zeke said, but he cleared his stuff off the bed and moved to get some sheets and extra bedding from the hall closet to put them on the floor.

  She felt Zeke move out of the room, but Damon laid her down on the large bed. She fell into it and snuggled in. Fuzzy bliss. No talk of fated mates. No Fae to fuck with her. No thoughts of betrayal. No dreams of tearing her father apart. Just fuzzy, beautiful—

  She felt the bile rise in her throat as her body tried to expel the poison she’d fed on in access.

  “Well, that was quicker than I thought,” Damon said as he dragged the trash can over and pulled back her hair. She threw up everything in her system. It wasn’t much. She hadn’t been eating enough. She needed blood. She needed more dirt. She needed a burger—

  She gagged at the thought and put her head back over the trash can. When she had dry heaved for a few minutes, she felt Damon’s hand recede. She lay back on the bed while he took the trash can, probably to the bathroom to clean it out. She didn’t hear him return, and her breath evened out as she calmed into sleep.

  She felt the brush of a kiss against her forehead. Damon had always done that. Had always been more of a father than their own father.

  “Yes, I love you, Eirey,” Damon said.

 
She only barely heard it, but she answered with a whispered, “Love you too, Damon.”

  And then she fell into a deep sleep filled with dreams of things she would never have.

  But dreams didn’t know that.

  And in her dreams that night – for just a short span of time – everything was possible for Eire Donovan, the queen of Swords and Stone, the self-made ice-cold bitch.

  Eire felt the lukewarm blood soaking through her jeans and her favorite blue Rage Against the Machine t-shirt that her mom had gotten her just the week before.

  Her mom.

  She forced herself to push away from Loch. He didn’t want to let her go. That was her big brother.

  But he needed to.

  Eire could feel her Fae ancestry running through her veins, and she was no longer a child. She was changed.

  He let her go unwillingly, and Eire walked into the bedroom where her father kept her mother. She covered her mother’s bloodied and still form, and then moved to the bathroom, but everything in there was a reminder of her mother or of Lochlan Trappe, and she just couldn’t—

  She just couldn’t be in there right now.

  Eire moved into the hallway, walking into one of her brother’s old rooms. They didn’t live there. But when her mom had started to come for the ‘meetings,’ they met her at the house out back, and they stayed there. Pretending. Pretending that her mother’s addiction and their father’s vile tendencies weren’t real. Her brothers couldn’t stop Lochlan, and until today, Eire hadn’t been able to either.

  She didn’t feel any exultation or excitement, though.

  She was twelve years old and both of her parents were dead.

  She had no one.

  She had nothing.

  She changed into a pair of shorts and a long t-shirt that were in the drawers of her brother’s room. She didn’t know which. Just that it wasn’t her father’s clothes. She had no desire to smell like rose blossoms and talc.

  She moved back out to the hallway, slowing her step until she stood in front of the doorway to her parents’ room again.

  She looked ahead, further down the hallway, but she didn’t move.