Wicked Games

by Kel Carpenter

  “So what elements do you have affinities for? I know about the fire…but I’m guessing that’s not the only one.” I thought back to the night Josh died and the way Laran had set fire to his body. I shivered again, and not because of the cold. I wasn’t afraid of Laran, not anymore at least. We were both capable of truly terrible things.

  “I have control over all of the natural elements and their forms.”

  “Really? How much control?” I asked. I quickly wished I hadn’t. Wind swept across the skies, howling like a hound. Clouds rolled in where there previously had been none. Electricity crackled through the air as a single bolt of lightning struck not five feet in front of us.

  I stopped dead in my tracks, standing frozen in the middle of the parking lot. My heart pounded in my chest and my eyes went wide as I stole a glance in Laran’s direction.

  He didn’t just have enough control to burn a body.

  He could control the very atmosphere.

  That type of power was…immeasurable.

  If he could summon a storm in seconds, what could he do when he really got angry?

  “You can cause natural disasters. That’s why you’re War,” I murmured. The words suspended between us as the pressure dropped. Closing in around us, pulling us together, like magnets. His eyes flashed from black to the darkest of reds. Not brilliant like a rose or a ruby, but still glinting with danger and secrets.

  “I have great control over all of them, but I align myself with fire. Maybe that is why I am drawn to you as well.” Be still, my beating heart. Laran was not really a sweet talker, but that made his words all the more endearing.

  “You Horsemen are much more forward than human men. I’m not sure if I should find it refreshing or concerning,” I whispered back. He squeezed my hand gently, but with enough strength to make my skin tingle.

  “That’s because we’re not men. We’re demons, and heir to Hell or not—we take what we want. You branded me, Ruby Morningstar. There’s no getting rid of me now.” His words were a scorching fire against my skin. Words that I reveled in. There was just one thing…

  “Do not mistake that brand for love. The beast is possessive. You may like it now, but if you were to be with someone else…” I let my voice trail off as my eyes dropped to his lips. “I can’t say for certain, but there is a strong chance I might burn them alive.”

  “The only reason the human lived as long as he did was because you did not return his affections. Rest assured, Ruby, this brand does not go one way. You may own me, but the only reason I have not branded you is because you share a room with the banshee. For now.”

  Holy shit.

  How the hell could his words turn me on so much when they also kind of scared the shit out of me? Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to fuck him seven ways to Sunday.

  But branding each other? The beast pushed and shoved, trying to claw her way forward. She wanted that. With all of them.

  I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that kind of commitment, but I guess I should have thought about that and had a conversation with the bitch inside me before she went and branded him.

  Fuck me.

  “We should probably get in the car before I do something reckless,” Laran whispered. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from leaning forward…

  Nope. Nope. Get yourself together, Ruby. Stay strong.

  Instead of lunging forward to kiss him, biting his lip, and breaking whatever self-control he held, I rolled back on the balls of my feet and said, “Yeah, we probably should.”

  I couldn’t help but notice the clouds that scattered while I drove to my house in silence. It was a comfortable silence. Not awkward really. I had Laran wait in the living room since he refused to wait in the car while I grabbed the couple of things I needed out of my bedroom: Bandit’s pink elephant and hammock, another week’s worth of clothes, and the Amaryllis flower I kept in my room. Just because. It would be nice to have a touch of home.

  We were in and out in less than fifteen minutes and pulling into the parking garage under their apartment building in another thirty. Would have been half that if not for the traffic.

  Laran held the flower pot in one hand and the pink elephant in another as we made our way across the garage. Our footsteps echoed in the silence. The lot was rather empty, but it catered to one of the most expensive high-rises in Portland. The few cars that were down here put my VW to shame. The cheapest one was worth a hundred grand, easily. There weren’t tattoo artists living here, that’s for damn sure.

  “Your firm must make good money for you guys to afford this place,” I said as I pushed the button.

  “Hmm?” he asked.

  “Your firm? Rysten mentioned it the other night,” I said absentmindedly as we got in the elevator.

  “He told you about Cocks Brothers?” He turned an access key as my hand stilled on the button marked PH. I pressed it once and glanced at him sideways as the doors closed.

  “Cocks Brothers?” I asked and he stared at me in question. I tossed my head back and roared. “You named yourselves Cocks Brothers?”

  “Not that kind of cocks,” he said defensively. Like I was the one with my mind in the gutter. “Caux. C-a-u-x.”

  “Like that’s any better,” I scoffed.

  “Allistair’s the one that picked it,” he grumbled. That got another chuckle out of me.

  “Why does that not surprise me?” I said as the doors dinged and slid open.

  I took one step outside the elevator when I stopped and stared in awe at the scene playing out before me. Rysten was in the kitchen, desperately trying to protect something. Food. Baked chicken, by the smell of it. Wearing oven mitts, he held a pair of tongs in one hand and a large baking pan that was still giving off little wafts of heat in the other.

  That wasn’t the part that caught my attention. Not really.

  It was that he was holding the pan away from the counter and snapping the tongs as if they were a weapon, trying to deter a certain raccoon standing on the worktop.

  “Off! Off with you. No food for the vermin,” Rysten scolded, jabbing the tongs in Bandit’s direction. Bandit hunched back on his feet and let out a hiss, swiping one of his paws towards the chicken in an attempt to grab it.

  Satan save me.

  “What are you doing?” I asked them. Both Rysten and Bandit froze mid-fight and slowly their heads turned towards me. Laran stepped out of the elevator beside me and started laughing his ass off.

  “What are you laughing at?” Rysten demanded.

  “Both of you.”

  “He’s trying to steal all of the fucking food. What do you expect me to do?” Rysten asked. Bandit made a chittering sound, slowly turning around and walking across the counter.

  “He’s a raccoon, Rysten. What do you expect? Have you been feeding him and giving him plenty of water like I asked you?” I motioned with my hand for Bandit to come to me and he jumped down and ran.

  “Yes, I’ve done everything you asked. He’s worse than a bloody hellhound when you’re gone,” Rysten said. He slowly started to put the chicken back on the counter, watching Bandit like a hawk, expecting him to turn around and make a go for it. I can’t say I blamed him. Bandit’s done it before.

  “Now, Bandit, bud, we’ve really got to work on your house manners with…” My words left me as I watched him go to Laran and tug on his jeans. Not mine. Laran’s.

  He waited for a whole three seconds as Laran leaned down and offered him his pink elephant. Bandit ignored the elephant and scurried up his arm to perch on his shoulder. Laran stood back up, putting the elephant in the crook of his other arm and scratched Bandit behind the ears.

  “What?” Laran asked me.

  “Nothing,” I said quickly, hurrying into the living room. I’ve never seen Bandit act that way towards anyone outside of me. Not even Moira. The most he’s ever done is tolerate a select few and their presence. That Laran seemed to be growing on him…it gave me hope.

  I crossed through the livin
g room, and for the first time, it didn’t feel quite so sterile and harsh. Black hairs clung to the expensive white fabric: tale tell signs of Bandit’s romping about. As pristine as the white walls, marble floors, and all white furniture color scheme was—I preferred a more lived in look myself.

  I walked down the hallway to the left of the fireplace, going to my and Moira’s temporary room, sandwiched between Rysten’s and Julian’s. Inside we had boxes lined against the back-wall of the things we wanted to take with us. Apparently, you can bring possessions to Hell. It just took some finagling to get through all the red tape so the portal keepers would allow it. Who knew?

  Perk of having the Horsemen, I suppose.

  I tossed my duffel bag on my faded black comforter. Moira’s lime green alarm clock read five thirty in bright white numbers. I wondered what time she’d be rolling in. She said she was packing, and that meant she was cleaning as she went, and that by itself could keep her there until seven tonight, but at least she would miss traffic.

  “Dinner’s ready,” Rysten said behind me. I turned and gave him a small smile.

  “Lead the way.”

  When we got back into the kitchen, Laran was leaning on the counter feeding Bandit pieces of chicken off his plate. I smirked at my raccoon, shaking my head.

  “Must you feed him from the table?” Rysten asked, whipping us up two plates. Laran ignored him while Rysten set them on the bar and pulled out the middle chair for me.

  “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?” Laran said without looking our way. I choked on a snort and Rysten glared at him, taking his seat on the other side of me.

  We ate our dinner in relative silence, since any time either of them tried to speak with me it devolved into slights of hand and petty slurs. At least the food was great. Baked chicken, roasted potatoes, and green beans. I ate two plates before I had to put my dish in the sink and accept surrender.

  We migrated towards the couch where the stalemate continued. Laran sat on my left and Rysten on my right, while Bandit ran off with his pink elephant. Probably burrowing it in my sheets for me to find later.

  “What do you want to watch on TV?” Rysten asked, flipping through Netflix.

  “We could start season two of How to Get Away with Murder.”

  “Alright.”

  He pressed play and the intro started rolling. Not ten minutes into it, a quiet tension started building between the three of us. I peeked a glance at Rysten, but his eyes were firmly on the TV. When I looked over at Laran, he had his elbow propped up with his chin in the palm of his hand.

  Well, maybe it was just me then. I folded my hands in my lap and tried to force my attention on the TV. Nope. Still wasn’t working. I only made it another ten minutes before I started fidgeting and shifted in my seat. I brought both feet up and tucked my knees under my chin, wrapping my arms around my legs.

  There. Maybe that will fix it. Then I am touching absolutely no one.

  Five minutes later…

  Ten minutes later…

  Fifteen minutes later…

  The show was almost to the end and I had no fucking idea what was even going on. Somewhere along the way, both Rysten and Laran had scooted closer. They both were such sneaky bastards about it that I didn’t notice.

  Ah hell. I stood up from my seat and walked into the kitchen. Under the counter on the far right, they had a wine cooler Rysten had so nicely pointed out. I was going to make use of it.

  “What are you doing?” Rysten asked.

  “She’s clearly pouring herself a glass of wine,” Laran mocked. The damn bickering, while funny at times, was beginning to get on my nerves.

  “Who said anything about a glass?” I muttered to myself, pulling out a nice bottle of Chardonnay and popping the seal. I dug through three drawers before I found the wine opener.

  “Ah-ha,” I said under my breath. Popping the cork, I inhaled the sweet scent. I took a small sip straight from the bottle and moaned in delight.

  “Enjoying yourself over there?” Laran called. I waved them off and took a much larger gulp. The full-bodied white wine washed over me like an old friend. The zest of fruit and unmistakable sweetness paired with a hint of vanilla was simply excellent.

  I wasn’t a wine snob, but I could pretend, eh?

  “So, what did I miss?” I asked, strolling up around the couch during the credit scene. They eyed me with varying levels of amusement as I clutched the bottle in one hand and plopped down between them. If they were going to test my limits, I could sure as hell return the favor. Especially with my trusty friend here.

  “Nothing much. I don’t understand what the point of this show is,” Laran grumbled.

  “What’s not to understand? You got Viola Davis over here as our badass lawyer. She’s followed around by her team of wannabe lawyers. Meanwhile, they’ve all killed someone or fucked someone they shouldn’t have and need to cover it up. Hence, How to Get Away with Murder. It’s a high production soap. Don’t think too hard.” I stopped to take another drink of the Chardonnay. It was quite good.

  “And this is what humans spend all their time doing?” he asked incredulously.

  “Pretty much, yeah,” I said. He held out his hand for the bottle of wine and I debated telling him to get his own. Then again, technically, this was his and I was the one mooching. So there is that. I passed the bottle over. “If you drink it all, you have to go get me another one.”

  He drank about a third of the bottle in two large gulps. Prick.

  Rysten clicked start on the next episode as Laran passed the bottle back. I shifted to lean my head against his shoulder as I kicked my legs up and swung them over Rysten’s lap.

  The beast purred, much preferring this arrangement. After a moment of brief shock and silence, they settled in. Laran angled his body so that my head fell on his chest while he wrapped an arm around my waist. The sound of his heartbeat lulled me into a temporary calm while Rysten massaged my feet.

  Just for this alone I could keep them around. Rysten can cook. Laran gets along with Bandit. Both seem to have a decent idea of what cuddling looks like. Although, if it weren’t for there being three of us, I suspect we’d be doing much more interesting things right now than pretending to watch a TV show.

  I finished off the bottle of wine only fifteen minutes in, not that it was really me drinking the whole bottle when Laran kept stealing sips and grimacing. He struck me as more of an ale kind of guy. You know, the kind of guy that stands there shirtless while he throws axes and drinks a stein of beer. But who was I to tell a man what to drink?

  We watched another episode or two, finally settling into some sort of temporary peace. I knew the jibes were there just under the surface when every now and then a character would say or do something that had Laran either rolling his eyes or scowling while he muttered how utterly stupid they were. Rysten simply smirked and we would share a private glance. He understood the show and what I liked about it. He got me in that way, and it was something that I knew I was going to be eternally grateful for as time went on. Outside Moira, he was the only one.

  Moira…

  What time was it? And why wasn’t she home?

  Something wasn’t right here.

  As the end credits rolled across the screen for the third episode in a row, I moved my legs off Rysten and onto the marble floor. “I need to use the bathroom,” I told them. Not a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Laran’s arm slipped from my waist as I stood up off the couch and padded down the hall into the side bathroom. In one hand, I still clutched the empty wine bottle as I reached for my cell phone with the other.

  It was nearly eight thirty.

  And I had no new messages.

  Paranoia and panic vied for control as I typed out a message to Moira. It was just a quick, ‘Are you ok?’ And then I sat down to use the bathroom. I washed my hands in the pretty stone sink and swiped my empty Chardonnay bottle off the floor. Why did I carry this in here?

  My phone buzzed. It wa
s Moira. She sent a picture.

  I swiped left, half expecting a dumb gif revolving around yoga or Rick and Morty.

  But what I saw…it was my worst nightmare.

  Time rolled to a stop. My heart skipped a beat and adrenaline flooded my system as I took in all the details. Moira’s bedroom. Her rumpled bedspread. The blue shimmering liquid that matted part of her forest green hair to her face.

  Forest green. Her glamor was down.

  The dazed look in her eyes. She was alive, but she was strung out.

  My phone rang to “Fergilicious.” It was a ringtone I knew well.

  I swiped right and brought the receiver to my ear.

  Praying I was wrong.

  Knowing I wasn’t.

  “Did you get my picture, dollface?” I’d heard this voice before.

  I was dumb enough to believe it would stay in my nightmares.

  Chapter 17

  “Yes.” My voice was stiff, but steady. I don’t know how, but I was thankful it was. Moira wouldn’t want me to beg.

  “Excellent.”

  “What do you want?” I asked him. It wasn’t a plea, but it was close. I would get on my hands and knees and fucking crawl if that’s what he asked.

  But he wouldn’t.

  That wasn’t enough for him. Not after that night. After Julian.

  “I’ve given her too much black lotus it seems. You have twenty minutes to come home before she receives a second dose. This one will be fatal. If you tell anyone, I will put a bullet in her brain and be gone before they can catch me.”

  The bottle slipped from my fingers and shattered on the marble floor as I thought of her dying. Flicks of pain and slices of fire licked at my skin where the glass edges cut me. I didn’t give a single damn.

  “Time is ticking, Lucifer’s daughter.”

  The phone went dead at the same moment the bathroom door came off the hinges.

  Laran and Rysten took in everything from the shattered bottle to my terror-stricken expression. I had two choices: lie through my teeth and run off to be a hero, possibly dying while I was at it…or I could tell them the truth and send the full might of the Four Horsemen to kill him and save her.