by C C Dowling
Harlo lands a kick to Creed’s muscled stomach. He doubles over, then uses the movement to his advantage, grabbing her around the waist. Using his strength, Creed slams her to the ground. He raises his weapon overhead for the kill. That’s when my brain finally clicks in. I have to stop him. I don’t know why, I just do.
“No!” I rush toward him, but he’s already mid-swing. The only thing I can do is throw myself on top of her and hope to hell that Creed can stop, or at least slow down enough to not permanently damage me.
Dragons have scales harder than steel and heal fast, right? Guess I’m about to find out.
My body lands on top of Harlo’s an instant before Creed’s weapon makes contact. Pain cramps my side. My other side, the one closest to Harlo. I don’t have to time to analyze why as I wait for my spine to be severed by Creed’s blow. In hindsight, this probably wasn’t my smartest move ever; I definitely didn’t have time to think this through. But I couldn’t let this stranger—this Named, Creed had called her—die.
Creed shouts my name. My hearts break for the pain in his voice. His weapon connects with my back. Something like the sound of a gong vibrates the air. Pressure radiates up my spine.
Creed’s weapon bounces off me. Fucking bounces off. That’s lucky. So why is it hard to breathe? Why do I feel so cold all of a sudden?
The wide, storm-gray eyes of the Named stare into mine. Her lips part in a gasp. She’s so close, we’re breathing the same air. Toasted cinnamon and clove choke me. Damn. I could suffocate on her smell forever.
“What have you done?” she says.
“You protected me,” I say, and damn. It hurts like hell to talk. “I protect you.”
“Dhru!” Creed shouts. Why does he sound so scared?
Strong hands that know how to please my body, and kill for a living, wrap around me. Creed pulls me against his chest. It hurts so much to move, I cry out.
“Shhh. I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Creed says into my ear as his hand finds my waist.
“I know you do,” I want to say, but I can’t get my voice to work. Or my lungs.
Creed presses his massive hand into my side. I scream.
Something metallic clinks against the concrete rooftop. Harlo moves toward me. I need her closer. I imagine her and Creed wrapping their arms around me, together, to make this pain go away.
“Get away from her,” Creed grinds out, his teeth clacking together.
“I-I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’ll kill you for this, Named. On my honor.”
“No,” I manage to say between gasping breaths. “Not . . . fault . . . my . . . choice.”
“What in the name of the gods is going on up here?” Lyra’s voice cuts through the haze clouding my thoughts.
A part of me wishes I had an answer for her. The other part of me wants to tell her to fuck off. She’s not the boss of me anymore.
I don’t get to do either. The black at the edge of my consciousness has other plans. It pulls me under into a blissful dark.
If my siblings had asked me how I was going to kill Dhru Dharkstar, stabbing her wouldn’t have been a top five answer. Break her neck? Flay her alive? Skewer her with an arrow? Sure. Gut her with my Infidium serpent blade? Not even on the list.
I guess I thought I’d never get close enough, or that she’d never give me an easy opening. Plus, I didn’t know Dhamyan’s daughter was part Fae when I came here to kill her. Or that she’d throw herself on top of me at the exact moment I’d planned to stab Creed.
I wonder if she knows a Called Weapon can’t hurt another Called or Called descendant. If she didn’t know, why would she risk herself for me?
That question sits like a heavy weight in my stomach, twisting my insides. It’s a weight I don’t want to look too closely at. Not now. Not ever.
I did what I came here to do. Dhamyan’s daughter is as good as dead. A rare mineral mined in Faerie, Infidium is lethal to all Lightlings. Fae and angels most of all. It hinders a Fae’s ability to regenerate, cuts them off from their healing magick. Her Called is too weak to heal her himself. I know I sliced him at least once, across the thigh.
Her Fae presses against her wound to slow the bleeding. She screams. That sound is my undoing. The blade slips from my fingers. All I can do is stare at her. At the way her features twist in agony. At the way the shirt she’s wearing rides up her thigh. How the fabric is red with blood.
You protected me. I protect you. Her words bang around in my chest, destroying me.
I hate her father. Hate what he did to Mayz. It’s not something I can ever forgive him for, not that demons understand forgiveness. But I finally understand why he did what he did to my brother. Dhamyan Dharkstar would never risk his position of power to mate with a Lightling. Neither would a Called. But if anyone can get two unwitting participants to enjoy a night of debauchery where rules are broken and lines are crossed, it’s a Succubus.
I don’t know how my brother did it—because, like Sirens, Succubi and Incubi cannot Seduce full-blooded dragons—but I’m pretty sure I’m staring at the bleeding, dying result of whatever twisted plot Mayz hatched.
He’d always hated the separation between Lightlings and Dharklings. He saw it as a form of control. As a way for the Angelic Authority to keep their position of power over the Council of the Nine. Over us all.
Angels. While they’re so busy judging the rest of us, who’s judging them?
Maybe Mayz tricked Dhamyan and a Called into mating as an act of rebellion. Maybe he created Dhru to prove that Lightlings and Dharklings can mix. To threaten the angels’ control. Or maybe I’m just grasping for any remnant left of my brother because I miss him so damn much. Whatever his reasons were, if I let Dhru die, I might never find out.
I move closer to help.
“Get away from her,” Creed snaps. Raw emotion cuts deeper lines in his skin than his Called marks ever will.
“I-I’m sorry,” I say, because I am. Damn. I really am, and I hate it. Succubi don’t apologize for anything. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’ll kill you for this, Named. On my honor.” The Called’s words vibrate the air. I know he means what he says. What I don’t understand is the emotion behind it.
Called are typically mindless automatons who blindly follow orders. They don’t care about their charges, just like Named don’t care who they assassinate. They also don’t fuck their charges, especially if they’re Dharklings. Unless . . .
Creed’s features pinch as he tries to call on the magick in his blood. When he can’t, the realization of what that means plays out like a movie on his face. He’s terrified. More than that, losing Dhru would destroy him. There’s only one reason he would feel that way.
They’re Destined. That’s why their orgasm was so powerfully delicious.
“No,” Dhru says. To Creed? To me? Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to hurt him. Not in this moment, at least. Healing Dhru is my priority.
“What in the name of the gods is going on up here?”
My shoulders scrunch and my teeth grind when the Siren speaks. Things just got a lot more complicated.
Dhru’s body goes limp in Creed’s arms. A sob racks his chest, and even though I hate him—hate Fae, and Called, and Lightlings—my heart breaks with him.
Cursing, I drop to my knees beside Dhru and bite into my wrist. Black blood pools on my skin. Tilting Dhru’s head, I press my wound to her lips and stare into Creed’s eyes. I don’t have a weapon or any way to defend myself. In this position, I’m vulnerable to him. I show him my neck in an act of submission. The demon in me rages against the act. But that same demon rages against the dying of her dragon more.
Her dragon? Fuck me.
Damned Destined. They’re like a disease, infecting everyone around them. That’s the only reason my judgment’s clouded. The only reason I’m doing this. The only reason that explains why I’m about to break the secrecy oath all Succubi take—the oath to conceal our true orig
ins.
Creed nods, agreeing to our momentary truce.
“Am I fucking invisible up here?” The Siren stomps her foot and crosses her arms.
I growl and glance at Creed. He should deal with her. There will be less blood that way.
His eyes flick to her, then immediately back to Dhru and me. “Go back inside, Lyra.”
The Siren looks like she’s going to argue. Her mouth opens and closes, and her hands bunch into fists. With a long look at Creed, she sighs and says something to him in the language of the Fae. Then she turns to me. “If you hurt him, there is no Hell deep and dark enough to hide in. I will find you.” Her words vibrate the air and wrap around me like a straitjacket.
“Lyra,” Creed begs. “Go.”
She nods once and heads through the door, shutting it behind her.
“What are you doing with your blood, demon?” Creed says, more accusation than ask.
“You can’t access your healing magick because my serpent blade is coated with Infidium,” I confess. His eyes widen. His lips press into a hard, thin line. “You may be cut off from your magick, but not from mine. With my blood inside Dhru, it’ll seal the connection, and make what I’m about to give you stronger.”
“What you’re about to give?” Creed scoffs. “You’re a demon. A Dharkling. I need Lightling magick to heal her.”
“I’m a Succubus,” I correct him.
“Same difference,” he growls.
Oh, but it isn’t.
“We’re out of time, and options. You’re going to have to trust me.”
His brows raise into his hairline. I know I’m asking the impossible. If our roles were reversed, I’m not sure I’d trust him, either. But we don’t have time for this. Dhru’s hearts have stopped.
“Touch me and draw my energy. Now!” I bite out as impatience, confusion, and a million other emotions roll through me. “You lose nothing by trying.”
Wrapping his hand around my throat—which is a dick move because he could have touched me anywhere, as long as we’re skin to skin—Creed closes his eyes and chants in Fae. The silver in the grooves of his flesh glows, competing with the bright lights of Vegas.
A vortex forms in my chest, then a vacuum, as Creed sucks my magick into him, and then pushes it into Dhru. My blood pounds in my ears. The world around me spins. He’s pulling too much. I don’t stop him. I don’t have the strength even if I wanted to. I don’t want to. I want him to heal my dragon.
The energy transfer slows. Dhru still isn’t breathing. “What are you doing?” I snap at the Called.
“This isn’t working. If I pull any more, it could kill you,” he says. Seriously? What does he care about killing me?
I don’t even hesitate. What the hell does that say about me? “Do it.”
Tapping into my father’s genetics and the connection I have with him, I open the energetic floodgate. White light pours from inside me, escaping through every orifice. Creed grunts, then glows brighter than twenty neon signs at midnight as he takes the full force of my magick. His eyes fix on me. His dark irises swirl like molten lead, then change to match the silver in his skin. Grinding his teeth, he says something in his foul Faerie language.
A pulse of pure energy lights up Dhru’s body. Her limbs spasm. Her lungs draw in a ragged breath. Her hearts thunder away in her chest. It’s the best sound I’ve ever heard. Better than the tortured, dying screams of the countless Lightlings and dragons I’ve slain. Better than praise from my mother. My aunt. My brothers and sisters. Better than the final cry of a spent orgasm after I’ve feasted my fill.
Damn her. Damn dragons. Damn fate.
I don’t know how this is possible, but I know it without doubt. On a cellular level. I would do anything for Dhru, consequences be damned.
My Aunt Lilith is going to kill me for this. If my father doesn’t find me first.
And honestly, I don’t know who I fear more.
There are nicer fucking ways to wake someone from the dead than shoving a cattle prod up their ass and lighting them up.
Jesus H. I didn’t know being alive could hurt so much. Then I remember the pain I went through when Creed awoke my Fae side, before I threw myself on both the proverbial and literal sword, and oh yeah. I do know being alive sucks dirty assholes.
My eyes ache, along with my lungs. My ribs are tender, and my side feels bruised, but I’m here. In Creed’s arms. A place I’d stay forever if I could.
When I bury my head in his neck, he growls. It’s the sexiest sound in existence. I breathe him in. Musk and spice. A thick liquid coats my tongue. Licking my lips, I swallow and moan. Cinnamon and clove.
Nope. That’s not my Creed.
Forcing my eyes open, I try to sit up. Everything spins. My hearts race in my chest. My pulse hammers away deep in my brain, and okay. I need another minute. Dying takes a lot out of a person.
Creed drops his lips to my forehead. He whispers to me in that Faerie language I’m beginning to love.
When his lips skim over my cheek and neck, and his teeth nip and kiss my collarbone, I decide that I don’t need another minute. I need Creed. Right fucking now.
Turning in his arms, I straddle him and wrap my body around his. My greedy fingers skim over his bare, muscled chest, then tangle in his silver hair, and fuck yes! I love it when he’s in his true form. My lips crash against his. Hungry. Desperate. Like I’m starving, and thirsty, and every other depraved thing, and Creed is the only way to satisfy.
My lover’s hands reach around to grab my ass through the fabric of his oversized shirt. He pulls me to him. My exposed sex rubs against his pants, driving need and desire straight to my clit.
I’m soaked. He’s hard and ready to go when I reach my hand between us to stroke him. I easily work his buttons loose, and growl into his mouth when his magnificent erection is free.
Without a word, or a care that we’re on Lyra’s rooftop, or even a moment to process the taste of cinnamon and clove in my mouth, I position Creed’s head at my center. His fingers dig into my hips as he plunges forward, sheathing himself inside me to the hilt.
Tilting my head back, I sound my pleasure into the night air. I roll my hips, over and over again, to match Creed’s pace. Suddenly, it no longer hurts to be alive. It’s fucking amazing.
It doesn’t take long for the familiar, delicious pressure to pool in that spot inside me Creed’s massive dick hits with every stroke. Digging my fingers into his shoulders, because I know this orgasm’s about to throw me out of this universe and I need something solid to come back to, I claim his mouth with mine. His tongue strokes me. His dick strokes me. The sensation of Creed is my undoing.
My walls clench around him. A surge of pure energy rockets through my body, sending me into orbit. I scream my release, because if I don’t, I’ll explode, and shatter, and break.
Biting my neck, hard, Creed releases into me. His thick length pulses in rhythm with my own pleasure, his warm release filling me. The painful euphoria of his teeth pull me back into my body. Back into the awareness of my lover. My mate. Mine.
I press my fingers into his shoulders. He grips my hips and licks my neck where he bit me. Panting, we hold each other. Well, mostly, he holds me up, because after changing, and dying, and getting thoroughly fucked, I don’t see how I’m even conscious.
When the tremors from the most intense, need-filled orgasm I’ve ever had subside, I let my body slump against Creed’s chest. “Holy shit,” I say between panting breaths, because holy shit.
“Yeah,” he says, voice all growly and rough. If I wasn’t so spent, I’d want him again.
“That was interesting,” says a third voice. Third voice? Did we just have an audience? “And deliciously filling.”
Tension returns to my muscles. Snapping my head up, I glance over my shoulder at her. The flavor coating my tongue makes my mouth water. Toasted cinnamon and clove.
“After that, I don’t need to eat for a month.” Harlo smirks. Her glassy, dazed eyes meet
mine, then roam over my body to stop at my crotch. Well, at the spot where my crotch sits on top of Creed’s, who’s still inside me.
Grunting, Creed slides out of me, repositioning me on his lap so he can button his pants. When he does, my shirt rides up, giving her full exposure. I don’t close my legs, don’t hide myself from her. I want her to look. Shit, if I’d known she was here, I would’ve asked her to join, not that Creed would’ve been okay with it. Actually, I’m not sure what Creed would be good with.
When Harlo’s gaze connects with my swollen, exposed sex, the lines on her delicate face harden into a mask of hunger, desire, and need. It’s a look I know well. One Creed wears for me. One I probably wear for him.
Creed stands, breaking our moment, and holds his hand out for me to take. I do. When he pulls me up, I gasp and grab my side. Immediately, two sets of hands are on me. Creed’s and hers, and honestly, I don’t know which I like more. Or maybe it’s that I like them both just as much.
“Hands off,” Creed says to her in his authoritative tone.
She rolls her eyes. I love her for that. It’s my reaction, too. “Haven’t you figured it out by now, Called? I’m not going to hurt her.”
“No. You’re not.”
Something metallic clicks. I divert my attention from my side to the hands of the woman I just met. The woman who fought off an angel sent to kill me. The woman I protected from Creed. The woman I crave.
Creed just cuffed her. Actually fucking cuffed her. Where the hell did he pull those from? A flicker of something like panic flashes across her face before she smooths it into a mask of cool indifference.
“Fine.” She scoffs and holds up her hands. “I’d rather face whatever punishment you have for me than deal with the Demon Seat.”
“Demon Seat? What’s that?” I ask.
They both ignore me. Assholes.
Creed points a finger in her face. “You think that just because you helped her, I’m going to trust you?”
“No. I do think you’ll hear me out, though.” Her lips tilt at the corner, all cocky and confident.