Wrong Side of Hell

by Juliana Stone

  Logan exhaled harshly, aware that they were garnering just a little bit more attention than he liked. He slid into the chair and glared at Bill. “Tell me.” He said tersely.

  “I don’t know the exact details—”

  “Your kind never does,” he interrupted. “You pull your puppet strings and move your chess pieces with one hand while doling out the barest of information with the other.” Logan bent forward, his eyes glowing red as his animal shifted beneath his skin. “I’m not playing anymore. You either tell me the whole truth or I walk.”

  Bill held his gaze for a long time and then nodded toward the chair, his face grave. “Sit.” At Logan’s growl he lowered his voice. “Please. I’ve a story to tell.”

  AN HOUR LATER Logan let himself into the room Bill had readied for Kira. The blinds were drawn and the light was dimmed. It was a simple room, with pale cream walls free of decoration, and sparse furnishings of sturdy oak. The red and black threadbare carpet had seen better days, and Logan chose to ignore the stains, some of which appeared to be blood.

  The bed was a four-poster, a wrought iron contraption that was dated, most likely an antique from two hundred years ago. And that pretty much summed up his impression of this backwoods town.

  Modern conveniences seemed to have passed the place by.

  His gaze settled onto the bed and he froze, surprised that Kira was awake and sitting up. Her back was to him and he was struck at how frail she looked with her shoulders hunched over and pale arms held tight to her body. The seam of her spine was visible through the cotton shirt she wore.

  He clenched his hands at the sight. How he wished he could finish Mergerone. Drag his sorry ass to hell and dole out the heaviest of sentences upon him. Logan smiled at the thought and made a mental note to talk to his brother, Lucian, personally.

  Kira turned her head to the side and for a moment an uncomfortable silence fell between them. He thought of everything that Bill had told him and acknowledged the truth. She was his. From the moment he’d tasted her soul, she’d belonged to him. He’d marked her as surely as she’d claimed him.

  There was no going back. There was only the consummation.

  She cleared her throat and whispered hoarsely, “You’re still here.”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

  “You sick of me already, Dove?”

  She was shivering, and he moved closer but stopped at her panicked plea. “No, I don’t . . . please don’t look at me.”

  Logan swore under his breath as he took the remaining steps until he was in front of her, staring down at her bleached head, with inch long black roots. She still wore her faded green clothes from the Institute and he scowled when he caught sight of the blood splatter that decorated her shirt.

  “You need to get out of those clothes.”

  Congealed blood marred her skin, but thanks to Bill’s ministrations the bruising along her arms and neck was fading. But she was filthy. Who wouldn’t be? The girl had been beaten to death.

  Her entire body trembled and she locked her feet together in an effort to control it, while sliding her hands beneath her thin legs.

  “I need a lot of things, but mostly I just need you to leave.”

  “Less than twenty-four hours ago you were singing a different tune.”

  “Twenty-four hours ago doesn’t matter anymore.” She turned her hand over and he caught sight of the scars on her skin. “Nothing matters. Nothing’s changed.”

  “Everything has changed.” He bent down in front of her. She had no clue. “And I already told you. I’m not going anywhere.”

  She exhaled slowly, but kept her head lowered. “Why?”

  Because you’ll be hunted and without me you will die. Because apparently your future is tied to mine. Because the only way to make sure you survive is for me to. . .

  “Bill asked me to.” He answered instead.

  “Bill?”

  “The short, round shit who saved you.”

  A violent shudder racked her frame and this time she did look up. Her dark eyes were shadowed with pain, fear, and confusion. Her gaunt cheeks were sunken, her lips colorless, and the cut above her mouth—though on the mend—looked raw against her pale flesh.

  “I thought you saved me.”

  “No.” He knelt down so that their eyes were level with each other. She would have looked away but he grabbed her chin and held her still. He needed to do this right. Needed to make her understand. “To be honest, you saved yourself, because you were brave enough to listen and react in a situation where most humans would freak the fuck out.” He couldn’t help himself and slid his hand along her delicate jaw. Damn but she was cold. Her eyes hung like luminescent jewels and in that moment Logan thought that he could stare into them for hours.

  Kira tried to move her head but his grip was too strong, so she closed her eyes instead and whispered, “Don’t look at me.” A single solitary tear wove its way down from the corner of her eye and Logan dried it with a gentle swipe of his mouth. Christ, a week ago, “gentle” and Logan Winters were not something most people would put together.

  He didn’t do “gentle.” He was as hard-assed as they came, but for her he’d damn well try.

  “Open your eyes,” he commanded. She kept them squeezed tight. “Kira, open your eyes.” Logan threw in a dose of compulsion, and wariness looked back at him as she did his bidding. The harsh color of her bleached hair only served to emphasize how pale she was. “Why don’t you want me to look at you?”

  “I don’t look anything like . . . like what I did back there.” She paused. “Back in the gray realm. There I was perfect, but here,” she shook her head, “here, I’m broken. A ghost of what I was . . . of what I want to be.” She laughed bitterly. “How ironic is that? The only way I can be the person I want to be is if I’m dead.”

  She fingered the damaged skin at her wrist and he drew her hand into his. “We all have scars, Kira. Some are visible, but the most painful ones are hidden. Don’t be embarrassed to show your weakness. You’re alive and that kind of strength trumps the shit out of whatever this represents.” His fingers traced the scars at her wrist and she shuddered violently beneath his touch.

  She opened her mouth to say something but then closed it.

  “I’m not crazy about the blond hair, but hey,” he grinned at her, “we can fix that, right?”

  Her bottom lip trembled—he felt her weakening—and without pause, Logan scooped Kira into his arms, holding her close to his chest as he kicked open the door to the bathroom.

  “Logan, please put me down.” Her words ended on a sob and something broke inside of him at the sound.

  His arms tightened and he dropped his head, inhaling the scent of her—the one that was still full of sunlight and honey and something else. Something he’d not experienced in centuries. Promise. He used his booted toe to start the water running in the bath.

  “What are you doing?” She whispered.

  Logan stared down into her eyes. Bill had told him a lot of shit he’d not wanted to hear. Stuff about duty and the League. About fate and consequence. He’d made it clear that Kira needed to survive, and that Logan was the key.

  Holding her felt like all kinds of right, and for the first time in hundreds of years Logan knew he was where he was supposed to be. He had no idea where this road was going to take him. Didn’t even care about Bill’s so-called prophecy. He tried not to think about the child that would figure into all of this. Kira’s child. His child.

  Instead he nuzzled her neck. Inhaled her scent and took it deep into his lungs. He would do the only thing he could to save her. He would claim her as his own and kill anyone who would dare to take her from him.

  “Logan?” Her voice was soft, hesitant.

  He drew in a ragged breath. “I’m going to do my damnedest to make your ghosts disappear.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  KIRA SHIVERED EVEN as the room filled with hot steam from the bat
h. She closed her eyes and rested her head on Logan. Beneath her fingers his heart beat heavy against his chest. It vibrated, singing a song that held her entranced—a melody that for a time chased all her demons away.

  He was strength and security. A lifeline to hope and promise. She should be scared as hell, and yet . . . she wasn’t. In his arms there was some kind of contentment, which was so strange, considering she barely knew him.

  I’ve known him for fifteen years. The words whispered through her mind and she knew them as the truth. Logan Winters had been a silent companion to her for all those years at the Institute. She’d found strength in his memory—in the very idea of him. He’d rescued her when she was ten and she supposed she’d always thought he’d come for her again.

  And he had.

  For years she’d felt as if she were living in slow motion. As if the days and weeks and months had blurred into one long string of abuse, confusion, and fear. And yet in the space of a few hours her world had tilted off center and settled into a place she’d never expected.

  It was a world where the savior and the beast were one in the same. A world where the monsters from her nightmares were real. A world where the things that hadn’t yet come to pass were very much a possibility.

  And the child. The small boy with fiery eyes and dark curls. Where did he figure in all of this?

  “I’m so tired,” she said softly.

  Logan’s hands slid up her arms until they settled upon her shoulders. His breath was warm against her neck and the timbre of his voice vibrated inside her. She shivered once more as he spoke. “The water’s ready.”

  Carefully he set her onto her feet and though Kira tried to be strong, she swayed and grabbed at his chest, her fingers fisting into his t-shirt.

  “I’ve got you.” He murmured.

  Kira’s eyes remained closed as his hands traveled down her back until he grabbed the edge of her shirt and slowly pulled it upward. She held her arms aloft and when cool air drifted across bare flesh, she quickly covered herself. Ashamed. Frightened. Anxious.

  She felt his hands at her waist.

  Bit her lips at the gentle tug on her waistband and tried like hell to remain still as he pulled her pants down to her ankles. Still, with eyes closed, she stepped out of her clothes and turned from him.

  Logan’s hands were on her hips—fire burned in their wake, and she jerked, her knees buckling beneath her. He was there and scooped her back into his arms and then he set her into the tub full of hot water. It slid over her tired, aching limbs and for a second she tensed, but as the heat absorbed into her flesh, Kira eventually relaxed.

  Hands soon joined the water that lapped at her body. Fingers smoothed her skin with soap, slid over her stomach and up her rib cage and to her breasts, where they lingered—but only for a moment. Her nipples were already hard pebbles and they ached as he glided over them, spreading electric heat along the way.

  He worked his magic up to her shoulders and to the back of her neck. Heat from his mouth blew over her flesh there, spreading goose bumps across her skin and awakening such longing that it was painful.

  And still she kept her eyes closed.

  “Sit up a bit.” His words sounded forced, and Kira moved at his urging, her hands bracing either side of the tub as he wove his magic down her back—kneading her sore muscles until all the knots disappeared.

  Logan pushed her back and then tugged a leg forward, up and out of the water. His hands worked their way down her thigh, then to her knee until he gently scrubbed her foot. Then he did the same for the other, taking his time as he lathered up her ankle and massaged the arch. When he was done, she was a mass of electrified nerve endings that screamed for his touch and cried out at the loss.

  Don’t stop. The words echoed inside her head.

  Kira’s chest rose and fell in rapid, exaggerated breaths. She’d never felt as alive as she did at this moment, nor as scared.

  Her hands covered her breasts once more, and she sat up, knees locked together, suddenly unsure. What the hell was she doing? Cool air caressed her face and for a second she thought he’d left, but then Logan spoke, his voice rough and bordering on loss of control.

  “Open your eyes.” He was there, right beside her.

  She exhaled slowly and licked her lips, more than a little confused.

  Kira did as he asked and as her gaze settled upon Logan, everything inside her stilled. Her heart lurched and for a moment it was painful for her to breathe. Or maybe she wasn’t breathing at all.

  “What are we doing?” Was that her voice? Full of smoke and whisper?

  His eyes morphed into deep crimson and as his nostrils flared, she sensed the beast that lived inside him, lurking beneath the surface. Instead of scaring her, the thought of such a wild creature only served to excite. To inflame.

  The throb that had begun minutes earlier, there between her legs, erupted with a fury, and the accompanying ache drew a groan from her lips as she shifted in an effort to alleviate the tension.

  “I think you know, Kira.”

  God, the way he said her name, with that slight accent on the “r,” made her weak.

  “But . . .” How could she articulate the questions—the notion that someone like him would want someone like her? Someone broken and damaged? She glanced at the scars upon her wrists. “But, why?”

  His ice blue eyes glittered and the rumble she heard in his chest was powerful. She stared into his eyes until she couldn’t take it anymore, and when she would have closed her own, Logan growled. “Because you are mine.”

  Her eyes widened at that, and he licked his lips as if she were a delectable piece of food he was going to taste. And taste. And taste again.

  “What are we doing?” she asked again. Her mind was muddled, and she was both afraid and filled with anticipation for his answer.

  A wicked grin spread across Logan’s face as he shed the last remnant of humanity. His jeans were thrown to the side and as he stood there—naked, powerful, and incredibly sexy—Kira knew she’d just taken a turn down a road from which there would be no return.

  “Why, we’re taking a bath, little Dove.”

  Her mouth went dry and she jerked backward. “But there’s no—” She squealed as he slid into the tub, his large frame displacing a considerable amount of water.

  “Room.” She finished on a whisper.

  “Yeah,” he growled. “That’s the point.”

  LOGAN’S HEART RAMMED against his chest and the beast that lurked beneath his skin stirred painfully. His cock was hard and he shifted in an effort to alleviate the discomfort.

  The urge to mate—to mark her as his—was strong, and he hissed, his teeth clamped together tightly, his jaw aching from tension. If it was anyone other than Kira with him now, he’d lose the fucking conscience, grab hold of the selfish bastard inside, and take her now.

  She stared at him with those large exotic eyes full of fear, confusion, and yes, desire. He wanted to grab hold of her—press her naked breasts against him while he tasted the inside of her mouth. He wanted to part her legs and eat from the very center of her body. He wanted to lick and plunder and ease the ache in his cock.

  He wanted Kira for himself with a need and an urgency that was unlike any other he’d ever felt. Suddenly things were clear in a way he’d never imagined. He’d wanted her all along. Even without Bill’s whispered words. Without the League. In that moment he knew he’d never have left Kira.

  He wanted her in every way imaginable and he would never let her go.

  He would kill any who dared to take her from him. He would die for her.

  Gone was the smile from his face. There was no way in hell he could keep up that façade. In its place was the hungry beast that existed inside his soul. The one that wanted to devour, to taste, and to touch. To control.

  A low growl escaped him. The one that wanted to claim.

  Her tongue darted out, a tasty pink treat that slid along her lips, leaving them soft and wet in its
wake. His teeth glistened in the gloom as he slid forward and reached for her.

  Kira didn’t resist. She opened her mouth—to speak? He didn’t know and he didn’t care. Logan’s right hand sank into the back of her head as he urged her forward and he took her mouth with a ferocious intensity that shocked him.

  As his mouth opened and his tongue thrust inside her warmth, the primal nature that was the very heart of him cried out. Mine. He felt it in every fiber of his being.

  Kira groaned beneath his onslaught and he moved her, bringing her between his legs, settling Kira’s around his waist as the warm water lapped at their sides and slid over skin that was heated.

  “Mine,” he said fiercely against her mouth. The taste of her was exquisite. Honey and sunshine. Softness and passion—it filled every pore in her body. When he pulled away and gazed at her pale body against his dark skin, he saw through the veil, through that thin grasp of this human reality, and he reveled in the golden warmth of her spirit and soul as it glided over his flesh.

  Her eyes widened as she followed his gaze. “Oh,” she breathed.

  His eyes flattened to a lead gray color. “Can you see that?” His voice rough and harsh, barely got the words out.

  Kira nodded and ran her fingers along his forearm, and then crept up his chest. His hands slid down her back to settle on her butt and he pulled her against his straining cock as his mouth claimed the turgid nipple that dangled in front of him like a plump cherry.

  She arched her back and whimpered as he kneaded and sucked and used his tongue to taste. With one nipple already claimed, he held her in place, his free hand sliding downward. He paused—feeling her tense as he slowly sank his fingers between them—and the moan that escaped when he brushed against her clitoris nearly drove him insane.

  “Mine,” he whispered again as he broke free of her breast and pulled her mouth into his once more. She matched his passion with an intensity that should have surprised him, but didn’t. Kira Dove may have been human but there was nothing ordinary about her.

  “Logan, I’ve never—”