by Davis, L. C.
"That's the thing about demons, the best thing and the worst thing. They don't lie. You can't make deals if you don't have a reputation for keeping them." He sighed. "I know there's a price, but it's one I'm willing to pay."
"In exchange for what ?"
He held my gaze and I could tell he was close to telling me, but he pulled back at the last moment. "Don't worry about it."
I shook my head. "He pitted you against Brent, Nick."
"I know that. I'm also pretty damn sure Locke is the one who tipped him off about me imprinting on you, but it doesn't matter. Brent made his choice when he put himself between me and you, and he knew how it would end."
His matter-of-fact tone shocked me even more than his words. "He was your brother, Nick."
"And you're my mate. I've got a lot of regrets in life, but that isn't one of them." He hesitated. "It wasn't all about you, though. Brent killed Daniel and I couldn't let that go even if I wanted to. Some bonds run deeper than blood, even for a werewolf."
I didn't know how to respond to that. My heart ached for the man in front of me and everything he'd lost, even if he couldn't feel it for himself. No matter what Nick said, I knew I was the reason he had been drawn into this world of half-truths and choices between two evils and I couldn't fault him for playing by its rules when being cold and callous was what it would take to survive.
"How is your family?" I asked, deciding to shift gears.
"They're grieving. Half of them, at least. The other half are planning vengeance, which is pretty much the werewolf version of grief."
"Your uncle still believes it was the Soule pack?"
"We've been on bad terms with them for years. One of ours killed one of theirs two years ago, so it's not a stretch to think they got to Brent."
I swallowed hard. "Did Locke just start a pack war?"
"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "It's a distraction, at least. Locke told you what he and my uncle talked about?"
"He's very excited about his construction plans," I said dryly.
"He knows how to set a stage, I'll give him that."
"And your family still doesn't know you imprinted on me?"
"No, and given what's about to happen, that's a good thing. This ritual shit is hard enough to deal with without having my mark on you. Locke knows that, and if he isn't half as stupid as he looks, he'll do what he can to keep the peace."
"So what, now we just wait for Locke to keep collecting monsters and try to find whatever normalcy we can in between?"
"Pretty much," he said, rubbing his cheek against mine. My heart fluttered in some primal reaction to the claiming gesture that was about as close to being marked by Nick as I was getting anytime soon. "Until the next full moon, anyway."
Twenty-Eight
DANIEL
The closer the full moon got, the less effect Locke's grotesque and admittedly delicious concoctions seemed to have. Soon, it wasn't just the stiffness in my joints that bothered me. It was the hunger regular food and drink had ceased to put a dent in. I had stopped occupying myself by looking out my living room window since the people I had grown up with were starting to look more like food than friends and acquaintances.
I had started out my first month of confinement intent on avoiding my captor as much as possible, but loneliness did strange things to a person. Even a dead one. Holden's company had been a welcome distraction from my isolation, but I hadn't seen him or Nick since Locke had sent them home. I was about to fish my old basketball out of the closet and paint a face on it for the illusion of companionship when Locke appeared behind me, causing me to drop the glass of water in my hand.
"Christ, Locke."
"Not even close," he quipped, setting an all too familiar Styrofoam cup on the counter. "Although I can turn water into wine. Fun party trick."
"Where have you been? I haven't seen you in days.'
"Miss me?" he purred. Good thing he had no idea how right he was.
"Full moon's tonight."
"So it is," he said, hopping up onto the counter. "Come moonrise, we'll know how much of a bear you're going to be on your monthly."
"And if I'm alright, you'll let me leave?"
"I doubt you'll ever be alright on a full moon, but assuming you're manageable, you'll be able to leave once the full moon is over."
"Define manageable."
"That depends on what kind of mood you're in. Arrogant and frigid or horny and desperate?"
I ignored him and reached into the fridge for another beer, the only normal food item I could count on keeping down lately. I wasn't going to dignify that question with a response, mostly because the answer wasn't remotely dignified, either.
When I turned around, he was right there in front of me, smirking like the fucking Cheshire cat. "Need some help with your bottle?"
"I got it," I muttered, popping the cap off easily without a bottle opener. I was too squeamish to put my increased strength through any exhaustive field testing, but there were small perks. I already had a partially broken closet door and a snapped remote as collateral damage and I was intent on milking my ignorant bliss for as long as I could.
By the time I reached the couch, shuffling a bit more than usual, Locke was already draped across it. "You know," he began, stretching languidly. "There are ways to curb your aggression on a full moon."
"That so?" I pushed his feet off the couch and sat, gulping the beer down. It didn't hit the spot exactly, but it was a comforting ritual.
"Don't be so coy. I know blond and statuesque is your type."
"Evil, too, apparently."
"Daniel," he whined, sidling up to me. His white hair veiled my arm as he started rubbing my shoulders. I should have pushed him away, but he was good with his hands and I had more tension going on between my shoulder blades than a cable bridge. When he leaned in, a familiar scent enveloped me before his voice shifted pitch just slightly to match Dennis'. "I know you still want me."
I threw myself off the couch and spun around to find myself looking at a perfect clone of Dennis, smug expression and all. Then again, Locke had plenty of his own smugness to work with. "Stop that!"
"I'm a shapeshifter," he reminded me, standing. A green aura appeared around him and he shifted, blurring his image for a moment before it faded and I found myself staring into Nick's golden eyes. Locke's entire demeanor changed as he took on Nick's casual gait and walked towards me, flicking the hair out of his eyes. "Or maybe you'd prefer this?" he crooned, his pitch lowering to match Nick's husky voice.
"Fuck off."
"What's the harm?" he asked, balling his fist in my shirt to pull me closer, my lips hovering a hair's breadth away from the pair I'd dreamt of kissing so many times. "It's not so different from your fantasies, is it?"
That was enough to break the spell. I shoved him hard and a snarl erupted from my chest, startling me as much as it seemed to startle him. I realized my fist was raised and pulled it back in horror, not so much because Locke didn't deserve to have his ass kicked but because I had never felt myself out of control like that. Sure, I'd always had a temper, but it was never in the driver's seat. I was beginning to realize just how easy it would be, flooded with strange instincts and in possession of a body capable of things I didn't fully understand, to do something I would truly regret.
"Don't," I gritted out, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice. "That's a line even you don't wanna cross."
Locke rose to his feet slowly, brushing the lint off his leathers. "My, so valiant in defense of someone who wouldn't even appreciate it."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I? I know why you're so protective. I know you were the one who brought him back after he took all of mummy Whitaker's happy pills," he sneered, shifting back to himself. For once, I was glad to see him, if only because I didn't need the visual reminder. The image of finding Nick on the bathroom floor that night years ago, foam running down his lips and a vacant look in his unblinking eyes
already haunted my dreams enough as it was.
"I wonder," Locke mused, draping his arms around my neck. "Does he still resent you for saving him? Maybe in some small way, he feels this is all poetic justice. You brought him back when he didn't want to be here, and I brought you back."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? You get off on watching us squirm," I muttered, grabbing a fistful of his white hair to pull his head back. The demon smiled, digging his nails into the back of my neck. "It's a game to you. All the pieces interacting on the board, playing off each other, and you're the game master, enjoying it all from a safe distance."
"Now you see why I don't want the world to end," he crooned, drawing me closer. I didn't remember wrapping my arms around his waist, but his skin was cool underneath my fingertips and it soothed the fire under my skin. "Mortals are so interesting. The things you feel, the way you ache when someone else doesn't share the same illusion of love you've given yourself over to so foolishly and completely." His long fingers toyed in my hair and his lips brushed mine and his tongue swept across them. "It's all so delicious."
I took him down to the floor and put all my rage into a kiss, which he returned in kind. Fabric tore, nails dug and teeth scraped until I couldn't tell who was inflicting pain and who was receiving it, but it didn't matter. I felt something for the first time in weeks, and I didn't want it to stop. It didn't matter that I hated the man beneath me far more than I had ever been attracted to him. In contrast to the numbness that had taken over me, hate and love were equal fuel for lust.
Locke writhed as my knee ground into his crotch, his snug leathers doing little to hide his arousal. I tugged them off and caught sight of the tatters of his shirt, momentarily distracted by wondering whether I had torn it off him without realizing it. He turned my face towards him and grabbed my hair, demanding my full attention. He could have that and more, if he could handle it.
I hooked my arm underneath his knee, hitching his leg up to grant me better access to his ass. At some point, he'd unzipped my jeans and freed my shaft from the confines of my boxers. His green eyes flared with approval but he let out a muffled cry when I thrust into his tight entrance. "Sorry," I said with a wry smile. "I don't really have a gentle setting these days."
"Oh, I like it rough," he said, arching underneath me. The shift in angle was enough to catch me off guard as he flipped us and landed on top of me, raking his nails down my chest as he adjusted himself. "I just wasn't sure you could keep up. You did cry the last time."
"I wasn't crying, my eyes were watering because you fucking bit me," I growled, exploring the smooth planes of his chest and thighs with my hands now that I had full access. I would've complained about him being on top, but the view wasn't half bad now that he was too breathless to ruin it by running his mouth. Watching him like that, with his hair falling around his willowy body, his androgynous features set in pleasured concentration as he rode my dick without a hint of self-consciousness, I knew I had no excuse for not being more suspicious of his motives the first time we met at that party. I should have known there was something wrong when a guy who looked like an elf who'd stepped out of a fantasy geek's wet dreams approached me.
I pulled him closer, my hand tangling in his hair, surprised at its softness as my tongue wrestled with his. I don't think he was expecting the sudden shift to tenderness, because I managed to end up on top of him again, pinning his hands to the rug. He didn't put up half the fuss I expected when the change in angle allowed me to hit his spot, but his nails did draw blood on my back as he moaned his approval.
"Fuck," he breathed, bucking his hips into me. "More."
I couldn't help but chuckle against his neck. "Demanding, aren't you?"
"I am an incubus," he said, as if that explained it.
I gave him what he wanted and started thrusting harder, letting the rhythm of his shallow breaths be my guide. He was right. Fucking him wasn't a complete cure for the objectless rage that had been building more inside of me each day leading up to the full moon, but it took the edge off and it felt too good to care. He shuddered underneath me and hot cum pulsed between our close-pressed bodies, but I wasn't done with him yet. Another thrust into his newly sensitive spot and he let out a cry that was half-bliss, half-pain.
"Are you a tiger or a kitten?" I taunted, my voice rough and ragged as I clutched him to me, pulling out of his tight hole, the only part of him that wasn't cool to the touch, only to drive in deeper.
"Oh, fuck," he gasped, clutching my hair. By that point, he seemed too overwhelmed to claw me. He just grasped me desperately with his hands and his legs wound tight around my waist, his hips bucking against mine as he beckoned me further into him. "Fuck, yes, God..."
"I'm pretty sure that's blasphemy," I muttered, giving in to the urge to let my teeth scrape the flesh at his shoulder. He moaned blissfully, still rocking his hips in a pleading rhythm to match my thrusts, so I put on a bit more pressure and the sound that escaped him when I broke the skin was mingled pleasure and rage. The line between the two didn't seem to be all that clear when it came to Locke.
"You fucking --" His epithet was cut off as I hit his spot again and he shuddered once more, burying his face in my neck as he came again with a muffled cry that sounded a whole hell of a lot like not-my-name. Good thing I didn't care. His orgasm made him tense up, and that was enough to push me over the edge. I groaned, relishing the sound of my own pulse thundering in my ears as much as the pleasure itself. It was a reminder that I was still alive in some capacity. Maybe I wasn't human, but buried hilt-deep in the demon was the closest I'd come in weeks.
I knew it would fade, and as he relaxed in my embrace while we both caught our breaths, I could already feel it starting to, but at least I didn't feel like terrorizing the villagers. For now.
I looked down at Locke and he held my gaze, his eyes glassy and his white skin flushed. That moment of vulnerability didn't last long. He pushed me off him and staggered to his feet. I rolled onto my side and watched as he lifted the tattered remains of his shirt off the floor. "I liked this one," he pouted, using it to wipe the evidence of his orgasm off his torso. I looked down at myself, realizing I was in need of a good scrub, too.
"Can't you just snap and put it back together?" I asked, taking my time getting to my feet.
"I could, but I don't believe in wasting magic," he said, leaning in the bathroom doorway. "Some things are more fun to do the old-fashioned way."
He disappeared and I heard the shower running, but I watched in confusion when he reappeared in the doorway, crooking his finger to beckon me in. "There's room for two and the full moon lasts three days," he purred. "It's going to take more than a bit of foreplay to domesticate you."
I cocked an eyebrow, warring with myself for a moment. I knew I was giving in to temptation. In my limited experience with demons, there was always a price to be paid, and I wasn't naive enough to think that making him come a couple of times was enough to settle any debt between us, but I followed him anyway.
The mirror was already fogged with steam by the time I walked in, and the sight of Locke standing under the showerhead, water cascading down his lithe body was all I needed to be up for round two. I stepped into the shower with him and pushed him against the wall, surprised to find him calm and tractable to my advances. He turned his head and I kissed his neck before turning him around to face the tiled wall. This time, I decided to slip a digit into him first. Something told me incubi recovered more quickly than the average human, assuming he hadn't been joking about what he was, but playing rough was one thing. Taking the risk of actually hurting him was another.
"I'm not that fragile," he said in a husky voice, pressing his hands flat against the wall as he looked over his shoulder, his gaze inviting. I needed no further permission to bury myself inside of him, even though I took a bit more time doing so than I had before. I kissed him and he moaned against my lips. Fast and hard was satisfying, especially in my current state, but restraint held its own
rewards.
"This isn't just about keeping me calm, is it?" I asked, able to feel the surge of some invisible reserve of energy flowing into him even though I hadn't noticed it until it began to drain from me. "You need this, too."
He clawed at the tile as I arched into him, his head falling back against my shoulder. "All monsters have their needs," he purred, reaching back to run his hand through my hair. "We both feed off of people, just in different ways."
"How do I taste?" I asked curiously, flattening my hand against his taut stomach, enjoying the feel of him clenched tight around my shaft.
His lips curved into a lazy smile. "Not bad for a dead thing."
I nipped his neck again, but his blissful moan made it clear it was no punishment. The water eventually ran cold and I found myself cursing my water heater for not having infinite reserves. We wrapped ourselves in towels and somehow ended up tangled in bed, both with each other and in my sheets.
I wasn't sure whether my marathon endurance was a zombie thing or an incubus thing, but the fact that Locke tapped out before I did was a bit of an ego boost. As bliss wore off into a hazy, post-orgasmic calm, I was even more surprised at how much the man in my arms had changed. As he laid his head on my chest, his finger trailing absently along my side, I waited for him to make some flippant remark to put me back in my place and transmute the strange intimacy that had transpired between us into some context he was more comfortable with.
I ventured a glance down at him, rubbing a strand of his damp hair between my fingers, admittedly enjoying the way he felt pressed against my side, his skin still heated from the water. He was staring off at nothing in particular, and I decided now was as good of a time as any to get an answer out of him. "Can I ask you something ?"
"One thing," he said with a yawn. It seemed a particularly human reflex, and I found myself unsettled by it. "Better make it count."
There were a thousand questions I could have asked him, hundreds I should have. The one that got out was, "Who's Adam?"