by C C Dowling
I want those lips to kiss me between my thighs. Damn. What’s wrong with me? Isn’t fucking Creed enough?
I tell my dragon to shut the hell up before she can answer. It was a rhetorical question, bitch.
“Why’s that?” Creed says.
Squaring her shoulders and raising her chin, Harlo meets Creed’s glare. “I just witnessed a Called fucking a dragon. I have to imagine the Council will have something to say about that.”
Creed hisses between his teeth. His jaw muscles tick. “And I just witnessed Lightling magick coming from a demon. The Council, indeed,” he threatens. Holy fuck. Did I miss something while I was dead?
“Guess we’ll all go to the Council together, then,” she says, her gaze flicking to me. “Or we can talk here.” She lifts her cuffed hands. “Either way, Called, we have a lot to discuss.”
The warm, wet mess between my legs drips down to coat my thighs. Creed’s pleasure mixed with my own desire for not just him, but her too.
“Fine,” I say to both of them, using Creed’s shirt to clean up. Not that there’s a clean spot left on the tattered thing. Turns out, bleeding to death is fucking messy. “But can we talk while we shower? I’m a fucking disaster.”
Harlo’s brows lift, and her lips tilt into a gorgeous smile. I stare at those lips, imagine them doing all kinds of naughty things. “I’m down for a shower,” she says. Her tongue flicks out, wetting her lower lip.
I whimper. Creed growls. Spoilsport.
Wrapping his arm around me—to what? Claim me? Protect me? Fuck that shit—Creed leads me to the door. With his free hand, he grabs Harlo’s cuffs. If this were a different type of scenario, I’d be turned the fuck on right now.
Actually, I am.
“Dhru showers. You talk. I’ll listen. Then we’ll decide what to do,” Creed says in his annoying, authoritative-Fae voice.
Harlo shrugs. “Suit yourself,” she says, all pouty lips and playful smirk. Is she fucking trying to give me a heart attack?
She leans close. Her scent envelops me. My pussy pulses with desire. More wet coats my thigh. Fuck showering. I want to get dirtier and dirtier.
Licking the tip of a finger she then puts in her mouth, Harlo says, “Your loss. I’m really good at scrubbing those hard to reach places.”
My knees buckle at the thought of her hands on me. Her fingers inside me. I grab Creed’s muscled forearm to keep from landing on my ass as fire races fierce and hot under my skin. Need slams into me, hard, and I know I’m not making it through an entire shower without Creed’s dick in me again.
“You won’t touch her, demon,” Creed insists. It’s sweet that he thinks he’s protecting me. He’s also dead-ass wrong. Harlo’s touching me the next chance she gets. I’m gonna let her.
“Creed,” I whisper, fighting the urge to climb on his dick right now. With Harlo watching. Hell, with her participating. “If you don’t want her to touch me, you’re going to have to.”
A feral, bestial, possessive growl rumbles his chest as he claims me with his mouth. When he pulls back, he opens the door. “Lyra!” His tone is demanding. Desperate. Just like me.
The Siren appears a moment later. Her bitchy, judgmental face is twisted into a sneer, a look that doesn’t become her at all.
Creed pushes Harlo toward Lyra. “Please see to our guest’s accommodations.” The way he says guest and accommodations makes me worried for Harlo. I should say something, but I need Creed inside me so bad it physically hurts. By the strain around his eyes, the way his lips are pressed thin, he feels the same. “I’ll take care of Dhru and meet you in your office.”
Hell fucking yes he’s going to take care of me. Then he’s going to take care of me again. I clench and press my legs together, praying for a shred of relief from the mounting pressure and need. But the dude upstairs is a dick; that action only makes things worse.
Lyra needs to fuck off so I can fuck Creed.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Lyra says to Creed, the warning in her tone unmistakable as her eyes flick from him to me.
His gaze softens as he nods at her. What the shit was that?
“I do. Thank you,” he says.
Lyra’s face changes. She smiles. I burn.
“Anything for you, Craediarrae,” she says. “You know that.” She leads Harlo through the door.
Before I can round on Creed to ask him what the fuck that just was, his mouth is on mine. Suddenly, I don’t care about anything but him. Claiming him. Riding him. Tasting him. Fucking him.
The instant we hit the private bathroom, separate but attached to Lyra’s office, my clothes are off. His, too. The heated water steams the mirrors. Back pressed against the tiles, I spread my legs for my Destined and let him fuck me under the stream until we’re both spent and the water runs cold.
I glare at the monitors displaying a live feed of the dungeon below the basement. Yet another room I never knew Nightingale’s had. “I don’t understand why we have to lock her up like a caged animal.”
I know I’m being a whiny bitch over a practical stranger, but it feels wrong to treat her like the enemy. If she was the enemy, she would’ve killed me.
I mean, on purpose.
Lyra pinches the bridge of her nose, then rubs her temples. “God, dealing with you is worse than dealing with your father,” she says. “And he’s damn near impossible.”
Anger flashes through me. I’m sick of being compared to a father I’ve never met. “You don’t need to be here, Lyra. None of this involves you. So why don’t you just fuck off?”
Okay. Yeah. Fine. I’m still pissed about the look that went down between Creed and her on the rooftop. I’m not normally the jealous type, but this Destined bullshit has me all fucked up.
Her perfectly plucked eyebrows raise into her thick, luxuriously dark hairline. “This is my establishment, in case you forgot.” She waves an exquisitely manicured hand at her desk and the lockers. “My office. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the one who can fuck off.”
The dragon within me claws at my insides like I want to claw at her face. It’s strange to feel anything but want and desire for Lyra. I spent the better part of a year trying to figure out how to get into her pants. Skirts. Whatever. Now, that thought disgusts me. I have Creed to blame for that—no. Not blame. Thank.
Pulling me into his arms, Creed steps between me and Lyra, his back to her. Yeah, bitch. I see that sneer on your face every time he touches me.
“Craediarrae.” My lover’s name rolls off her tongue. I want to cut it out.
Moving my neck side to side, I flex my jaw and try to calm down. I’m tense. Ready to snap. My dragon hates the idea of my assassin savior locked behind bars. The only time I want her restrained is if I’m the one in charge.
Jesus. At this rate, I’m going to have to ride Creed’s dick again. And soon.
Lyra’s nagging pulls me from my fantasy. She’s talking to Creed in their Fae language. Something about going beyond duty, and getting in over his head. About not trusting dragons. About how dangerous the Dharkstars are. About crossing boundaries between Dharkling and Lightling. Blah. Blah. Blah.
I cover my ears. “God! Shut up already.”
Creed’s arms tighten around me. It’s a warning to watch myself. A warning I ignore.
“I’m not going to hurt Creed,” I snarl at her. “Or betray him. Or let my dickhead father, or some crotchety Council, arrest him. Or cut off his balls. Or touch a hair on his goddamn head. He knows this is dangerous. We both do. Fuck you and your Lightlings-are-holier-than-thou rhetoric. In case you haven’t pulled your head out of your ass long enough to notice, I’m half Fae.”
Shit. I probably shouldn’t have said that last thing to her. By the looks on both their faces, I know I shouldn’t have.
“I’m noticing now.” Her tone drips with deadly sweet poison.
I want to back away from her, from the wicked gleam in her sunburst-colored eyes. Creed’s arms wrap tighter around me. I get why
. I just died. Almost. We spent the past half hour letting our bodies express our fear of almost losing one another. If he feels about me the way I feel about him, then yeah. He’s not letting me go anytime soon.
“W-What do you mean by that?” I ask Lyra, and could kick myself for sounding like a frightened, weak little girl.
With the same gentleness you’d handle a porcelain doll, Creed cups my cheek in his massive hand. “Did you understand her?”
I shrug, because of course I understood her. I can fucking hear. “Yeah. So?”
“So.” Lyra draws out the word. “I was speaking Faeryn.”
“Faeryn? What the fuck is that?”
Creed’s thumb caresses my lower lip, bringing my attention rushing back to him. My nipples also stand at attention. So does the bulge in his pants. Fuck me. I want him. Now. Fire and heat flare under my skin, making me burn. It’s the same fire I see in the swirling depths of his dark eyes.
“Faeryn is the Fae language,” he says, his breath washing over me.
Those words break the tension between us faster than a cold shower. “Fae language? But I don’t speak—”
“All Fae speak it,” Lyra says. I wish she’d stop looking at me like I’m a fat juicy steak, or a winning lottery ticket. “It isn’t a language you learn. It’s something that’s in your blood. You either know it, or you don’t.”
“Lyaerelae,” Creed says, and what the hell did he just call her? “Go easy on her.”
Lyra winces as if Creed just slapped her. “You’re defending her? From me?”
Yeah. That. There. The flash behind her eyes: hurt. The second: jealousy. No wonder I can’t stand her. She and Creed have something together.
Pushing me behind him, Creed turns to face her. Typically, I love the fact that my man is thick and strong. But right now, his muscles make it hard to see around him.
“I’ll always defend her,” he says. The rich baritone of his voice rumbles in his chest. “She’s mine.”
Mine. Something about the way he says that word soaks me. I’m not one to stand for the possessive-type bullshit of a controlling relationship. No one owns me. But somehow, when Creed says it, it means something else. It’s also true. I am his. Well, at least half of me.
Lyra’s mouth opens. Her features twist in fury. “No,” she whispers. Her eyes finds mine where I peek out from behind Creed. “No!” she says, stronger than before.
With speed I didn’t know she had, Lyra rushes toward me and grabs me by the arm. I expect her to punch me, or hurt me, or . . . honestly? I don’t know what.
Her gaze penetrates through me, to the last layer of whatever my soul looks like now that it’s joined with Creed’s. “Dhru Dharkstar. You will leave and never come back. Never think of Craediarrae Blaize again.”
Lyra’s face darkens. Her voice vibrates with power. Electricity dances across her flesh, making her hair stand on end.
A part of me wants to obey her. It would be easier if I could forget everything, could go back to being a self-sabotaging, drug-addicted loser with father-figure abandonment issues. Okay, so maybe not easier.
Still, there’s not a force in this fucking world that can make me give up Creed. Nothing.
Shaking my arm from her grip, I resist the urge to spit in her face. “Fuck. Off.”
Her face falls into a blank mask as my hearts send blood swishing into my ears. Just when I’m about to open my mouth to ask if she’s going to eye-fuck me all day or fight, she laughs. Full-out laughs. Holding her stomach and everything.
Creed growls, which only makes her laugh harder. I cannot for the life of me figure out what’s so damn funny.
Sauntering over to her desk, Lyra grabs a tissue and dabs at her eyes, careful not to smear her makeup. A last few giggles shake her shoulders before she composes herself. “You’re Destined,” she says to Creed. “To a Dharkstar. By the gods, there’s something sadistically ironic about that.”
“This isn’t funny,” Creed insists.
Lyra holds up her hand. “No. It isn’t. I was just imagining the look on your queen’s face when she finds out her pet soldier is mated to the very same dragon bloodline she blames for the recent Elf uprising. The uprising that almost cost her her kingdom.”
Queen? Elf uprising? Kingdoms? Yeah, I don’t know shit about Faerie. About dragons, for that matter. I’m sure, when things calm down, Creed will tell me everything I need to know about being an Outer Realmer. When the fuck will things calm down? Who the hell knows.
“If you say anything,” Creed says to Lyra.
Stepping from behind my mate, I finish the thought: “I’ll kill you.”
Lyra rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. I’m not going to say anything. I’d never betray Creed like that.” Lyra steps in close and takes his hand in hers. He lets her. “Never. There’s too much between us.”
Like hell there is! The Fae in me isn’t about to stand for this bullshit.
The instant I think about zapping Lyra with a bolt of lightning, the photons in the air rush toward my skin, making it sizzle. A space opens up behind my second heart. A space made for harnessing massive amounts of energy. Coalescing my anger, jealousy, and power into a glowing white ball, I pack it and condense it until I can no longer contain it.
The ball of energy hits Lyra square in the chest, knocking her into her desk. She flips over it, heels over tits, and crashes to the floor.
“I’m between you now, bitch,” I say in what I’m pretty sure is Faeryn.
Creed rounds on me. “What the fuck, Dhru?”
He’s mad. That much is clear. What doesn’t make sense is that he’s mad at me, not at Lyra for putting her hands on him. In front of me. Or ever again, really.
“Creed, I—”
He turns from me and goes to Lyra—goes to fucking Lyra—to help her off the floor.
He just chose her over me.
A thick, weighted heaviness settles in my stomach. I think I might be sick. Shit just got real between us, in a bad way. So I do the thing I do best. The only thing I know how to do.
I leave.
The same way I did to teleport myself to the rooftop, I imagine myself in the only place I want to be right now.
Creed’s eyes meet mine the instant before I disappear.
Yeah. Fuck you, too.
The next second, I’m staring at thick metal bars, and one sexy-as-sin demon. Sitting with her legs kicked up on the small cot, her back against the wall, she looks like she’s asleep.
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” I coo at her, because fuck Creed, and this Destined crap, and whatever feelings he has for Lyra. My dragon is done being denied. I’m done. I want her. Cinnamon and clove. If she wants me even a fraction as much, I’m taking her.
One storm-gray eye peeks at me through long, thick lashes. The side of her mouth tilts in a smirk. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
I shake my head and bite my lip. “No.”
She moans and stretches her arms over her head. Her tight leather vest rides up her stomach and sides, revealing taut muscles and delectably tan flesh. I can’t wait to run my tongue along every inch of her.
“Wanna get out of here?” I ask casually, though both my hearts are in overdrive.
Standing, she places her hands on the cage bars and leans into them until her entire body is flush against the metal. Her eyes rake up and down my scantily clad body, making me shiver. Booty shorts and a cropped tank. No bra. Or underwear. Standard Nightingale’s attire. Lyra let me borrow a used uniform. Least that bitch could do, considering.
I run my fingers through my still-damp hair, remembering my time with Creed in the shower. Pain blooms in my chest. My Fae side wants me to go to him. My dragon wants Harlo.
“Sure,” she answers. “But I don’t think your Destined will like that too much.”
I push the thought of Creed away. “I don’t give a shit what he likes right now.”
Her eyes widen. Her irises glint like frozen steel. “What did you have in mind?”
Her words are slow. Deliberate. Seductive.
I grin. “This is Vegas. A girl’s limited only by her imagination.”
Harlo rubs up against the bars, strokes their length with one hand. “How do you imagine getting me out of here?”
It isn’t getting her out of there I’m imagining. It’s getting her off.
I scoff. “That part’s easy.”
Grabbing the double-bladed serpent dagger that nearly killed me not too long ago, I teleport into the cage.
She jumps back and curses when I do. “How did you do that?”
I shrug a shoulder like it’s no big deal. “I do what I want.”
She rolls her eyes and laughs. It’s the best sound. “Dragons,” she mutters. I know she means it as a four-letter word.
Stepping close to her, I inhale her scent, relishing the taste of her on my tongue. God, I can’t wait to actually taste her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I pull her close until our hips meet and my tits rub against hers through my Nightingale’s shirt. The feel of her body against mine sends tingling energy straight to my . . . well, my everywhere. I stroke her jaw and tilt my head up to hers. She’s taller than me. Most people are. I like that in a woman.
“If I give this back to you, do you promise not to stab me again?” I hold up the dagger, hilt first.
An unreadable expression flashes behind her eyes, but it’s gone before I can guess what the fuck it meant. Taking the weapon as if it’s a delicate flower, Harlo tucks it into a slit in the waist of her pants. “I promise I won’t penetrate you with this.” She pats the blade, a playful smirk twisting her lips.
Jesus, I want to fuck her right here. But Creed and Lyra are bound to break the door down any moment, and I’m done dealing with their shit right now. Creed chose her. Lyra. He can fucking have her. I have Harlo.
“Ready?” I whisper in the space between our lips.
She exhales. The perfume of her saturates me, making me lightheaded, reminding me of the drugs and booze I gave up when Creed came along. Time to remedy that decision.
Harlo’s hands brush up my chest, caressing my hard nipples before settling around the back of my neck. Her fingers tug at the hair I’ve let get too long. My once-pixie haircut is more like a bob. Whatever. She doesn’t seem to mind, and I can’t find the fucks to give.