by C C Dowling
“I’m all yours,” she practically growls into my ear. My grip on her tightens, not in a gentle way. I can’t imagine that trained killers like things gentle.
“Yes, you are,” I say, because she is. Five minutes ago, I would’ve thought the same thing about Creed. Now, I’m not sure.
Damn. Thinking about him hurts. Thinking about what just happened with Lyra hurts more.
Turning to face the security camera, I extend my middle finger and give them my best fuck-you grin. Then I step through space to our new destination.
Downtown Vegas.
Dhru teleported—teleported—into my cell.
Sure, Fae can teleport. It’s one of their innate abilities. Along with healing, energy manipulation, and glamour. But I’ve never known a Fae to teleport without the help of ley lines and nexus points, underlying currents of energy and magick native to the land. And Earth has so little magick outside its few nexus points, it’s negligible.
Apparently, that doesn’t matter to Dhru.
“I do what I want,” she’d said. I’ve never doubted that for a second.
“Where are we?” I ask when we appear in a relatively empty alley behind a row of buildings. Kicking my senses into high gear, I scan the area for threats. The magick protecting Dhru’s energy signature is almost gone. For those who know what to look for, and how to look, she won’t be hard to find.
We shouldn’t be here, exposed, in the human world. Though, honestly, I don’t know where we could go. She doesn’t quite belong in the Shadow Lands. She’d never be welcome in the Undying Lands. And she isn’t human. My chest aches for her. She’s a lost girl, and she doesn’t even know it yet.
“We’re just off Fremont Street,” Dhru answers, breathless. I don’t know if it’s from teleporting, or from how charged up she is right now.
Succubi feed on sexual energy. We can sense it in others. Coax it out if we need to. With Dhru, there’s zero need to. Fae, dragons, Satyrs, and Succubi are at the top of an already over-the-top, sexually charged list of Outer Realmers. Dhru, however, might top us all.
She’s lit up like a fireworks display over the Main Street Electrical Parade at Disneyland during Christmas time. I could do nothing but stand next to her for the rest of my life and never go hungry again. Of course, what I imagine doing with Dhru involves a lot less standing.
That thought surprises me. She was a target. A hit. A means of revenge for my brother. Not only did I not kill her, I revealed a secret part of my nature—to a fucking Called, no less—to save her.
I told myself that I helped her to figure out my brother’s plan. The real truth of why I did it is impossible to deny with her body so close to mine, and mine on fire for hers.
A part of me feels like I’ve let Mayz down. Like I’ve let all my siblings down. All the Named. But the rest of me, the part currently pressed against Dhru’s tits and stomach, knows without a doubt that saving her was the right thing to do.
Hell. I rag on my brothers for thinking with their cocks, and here I am. Pussy-whipped.
“I just need to get a few things to kick this night off the right way,” she says.
Leaning into my neck, she inhales. Her nose touches the sensitive spot behind my ear. I shiver. Shit. I’m typically the one calling the shots. Making others feel what she makes me feel. With all things sexual, I’m the one in charge.
For her, I’d submit.
“Dhru.” For the first time in my life, her name passes my lips with desire, not spite. I start to tell her that we’re too exposed. That even though my serpentine blade is badass, I’m only one Named. Being alone out here is dangerous. Her father’s enemies are her enemies, too. If word gets out that she’s both Dharkling and Lightling, she’ll have tons more.
But before I can say another word, she presses her thumb against my lips. “Hold that thought.”
Turning from me, she stalks toward a group of three humans. Ragged shorts and loose t-shirts hang off heroine-chic bodies. Lurid glares drink in my dragon’s form. I suppress the sudden urge to kill them all. I don’t want anyone looking at her like that. No one but me.
Fucking Lyra and her fucking uniform. Wasn’t there anything else Dhru could’ve changed into? A burlap sack, maybe?
Dhru approaches a guy with dreads and presses the length of her body against his. A part of me wants to be jealous, but I know she doesn’t want them. It’s amusing, the way she teases them. For what purpose?
I step closer. Dhru shoves something into her mouth and tilts her head back.
“Got anything stronger?” She sticks her hands in the pockets of Dreads’s shorts.
That’s strange. Why would she bother with street drugs? Dragons burn hot. She’ll metabolize anything she consumes in less than twenty minutes. In massive quantities, and with pharmaceutical-grade quality, she could extend her high for an hour. Max.
“Hey. Hands off,” Dreads says.
A guy with a scruffy beard moves into position behind her. “I’ve got something harder.” He grabs his crotch.
Seriously? Do humans really think that’s sexy somehow?
“It’ll cost you. I don’t see how you’re hiding money in that outfit. Lucky for you, sweetheart, I’m willing to take payment another way.”
Dhru turns to Beard. Her dark bangs flop into her eyes. With a flick of her head, she brushes them aside and fixes her glowing amethyst irises on him. Her voice drops to a bestial growl. “You have no idea what I’m hiding.”
One second, Beard has his hand on his crotch and a creepy grin on his lips. The next, he’s on his back with a half-transformed dragon in his face. If this wasn’t so dangerous and reckless, I’d be impressed, and turned the hell on.
Scratch that, I’m turned on anyway. And since when have Succubi worried about dangerous and reckless?
This is why I don’t like dragons. They mess with your head.
Dhru growls. Beard shouts. Dreads takes off. And the third guy with a bottle to his mouth just stares.
Reverting back to her human form, Dhru says, “Don’t. Fucking. Move.” Her hands make quick work of a pat down I’m sure every cop in LVPD would envy.
Pulling a pipe and a lighter from Beard’s pocket, Dhru sits on his chest and dumps what looks like white rocks into the pipe. “Finally!” She sighs in relief and flicks the lighter.
Smoke rolls around her lips, up her cheeks, and through her thick eyelashes. Her eyelids flutter when she inhales deep. She groans. This isn’t fair. I want to be between her lips, making her moan.
After a few more puffs, Dhru discards the pipe and lighter. Standing, she saunters over to the guy with the bottle and snatches it from his hand. He doesn’t move. Smart human. Dhru chugs the murky brown contents and hands the empty bottle back to the man.
With a wicked grin on her face, she turns to Beard, still on the ground. “Boo!” She takes a step toward him and waves her arms. The guy screams as he scrambles to his feet. When he tries to run, he trips and knocks over Bottle. They get up in a jumble of limbs and take off down the alley.
Rolling her shoulders, Dhru laughs. I don’t understand why. Was scaring those guys to get drugs that won’t really affect her fun? Or maybe her laughter isn’t about fun. About getting a short-lived high. Maybe she didn’t break me out of my cell because she cares about me. Feels for me what I feel for her.
Maybe this is all about getting back at a certain Destined Fae.
Dhru’s amethyst eyes meet mine. What she sees in them, I don’t know, because I don’t know how to feel in this moment. How to feel about her.
“Just needed to take the edge off. Let’s get this party started.” She grabs my hand. Her skin is hot, and I think about how hot she’d be in other places. And then I think about how she should be hot for Creed.
I stare at the place she touches me and frown at the flood of emotions pulsing through me. I want her, more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. The heat under my skin tells me as much. But the ache in my chest, and the sour pit in my gut, ma
kes me feel sick.
I know that whatever’s happening between us has nothing to do with Dhru and me. She’s using me to get back at Creed. For some reason, she’s pissed at him. That’s why she flipped off the cameras, gave me back my dagger, and teleported us out of there.
This is stupid. Being an object of desire, being used for said desire, is exactly what Succubi are for. It’s what we do. Normally, I fuck who I want, glut myself on sexual energy, and never look back. I’ve never given a shit about hurting anyone. If Dhru were someone I didn’t care about, I’d do the same to her.
Fuck.
I do care about her. Worse? I want her to care about me. No. More than care. Crave.
Dhru can’t give me that. I know better. She’s Destined, for fuck’s sake. She’s already a whole soul, bound to a Called. Sure, she might be pissed at him. She might run away for now. But always, without fail, Destined find their way back to one another. They’re meant to be together.
As much as I want her to be, she isn’t mine. She’ll never be anyone’s but Creed’s.
Dhru’s fingers skim across my forehead, then down across my cheek. “Hey?” She tilts my chin down to face her.
Pushing my emotions aside, I hold her gaze with my own. Cutting off my feelings is something I’ve learned to do well. It’s how I survived Mayz’s death. A death caused by Dhru’s father. Anger flares, replacing hurt. Good. Anger, I can deal with. Use to my advantage.
“Hey, yourself. Did you get what you came for?” I ask.
Her gaze travels the length of my body. I don’t let it respond. I don’t. “Not yet,” she mutters.
“You’d better find it quick. It’s dangerous to be you right now. The magick hiding you is almost gone.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh. Right. What time is it? Do you know?”
“The clock in the dungeon said it was ten after ten before we left.”
Having a clock in a place like that is pure genius. It’s a torture to those who have nothing but time to count every second. It forces the captured to focus on nothing else. Given enough time, time can make anyone mad.
“Almost,” she whispers. Her thumb strokes my cheek. It’s all I can do to not pull away from her. It’s all I can do to not want more of her flesh on mine. “Happy twenty-five to me.”
“It’s your birthday?” I ask. It’s a stupid question. I’d known it was close. I wouldn’t have been able to track her otherwise.
“Yep.” She nods. “In just under two hours. Come on.” She squeezes my hand. “I feel like celebrating. Let’s go shoplifting.”
Does it matter that the Forum Shops at Ceasar’s are getting ready to close? Or that I have zero money?
Fuck no.
Why? Because I’m a dragon-Fae abomination who can teleport—fucking teleport—and blast people with energy balls. I grow fangs, and claws, and breathe fire. I’m about to get real persuasive, real quick.
It’s my birthday, bitches. Time to celebrate.
I pick the most expensive-looking boutique—one with slinky, skintight party dresses and sexy lingerie—and walk right on in like I own the place. The girl behind the counter takes one look at Harlo, in her expensive-looking leather pants and vest, and smiles. Friendly. Nice. Practiced. Then her gaze lands on me. Her eyes widen. Her lips press into a thin line. Her brow wrinkles, and that’s right, bi-atch. Someone as lowly as me is with someone as hot as her.
“C-Can I help you?” She glares at my secondhand Nightingale’s uniform. What little of it there is, anyway.
Fucking Lyra. God, I want to burn her to the ground and spit on her ashes. Doesn’t matter that I’m really pissed at Creed. That he chose her over me. Lyra put herself between us. She deserves whatever the hell’s coming to her, as soon as I can figure out whatever the hell’s coming to her.
“Yeah. You can help.” I glance at Harlo, then back to Samyra, according to her nametag. “We have a job to do tonight. High-end clients. We need two of your sluttiest outfits and matching lingerie sets.” Samyra’s mouth pops open. With a flick of my finger, I close it. “Think you can do that?”
Samyra glares at me and scoffs. “I don’t know what kind of establishment you think this is, but things here are very expensive. I’m not sure someone like you could afford it.”
Oh no, she didn’t. Letting the beast within unfurl, I’m two seconds from biting this judgmental, snotty cunt’s head off when Harlo steps between us.
“You don’t really care if we pay for our clothes, do you?” Her voice vibrates in a way that reminds me of Lyra’s tone when she persuades someone.
Harlo runs the back of her hand along Samyra’s cheek. Homegirl’s eyes glass over and her features, which were snarled in bitchy disgust, relax. Harlo laces her fingers with the retail rep’s and leans in until her lips touch her ear.
“Why don’t you show us your most expensive garments?”
Samyra nods and leads Harlo to the back of the store. Harlo glances over her shoulder, flicking her chin at me to join them. I stare at the place her hand touches the human’s, trying to decide if that’s the coolest trick I’ve seen in the past few hours, or if I’m going to kill the human for touching my woman.
My woman. Those words are sobering as fuck on a night when I want to be anything but. I’m Creed’s woman. He’s my man. But he chose Lyra. And I want Harlo.
Running my hands through my short hair, I pull on a few chunks. I’m more confused than I’ve ever been, not that I’ve ever had my shit together in any part of my life. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know who to be pissed at.
My father, for all the countless reasons he screwed up? Creed, for making me believe I could have a future with someone? That I could love someone more than I love myself? For choosing another woman over his Destined, making me feel more worthless than a bag of crank cut with rat poison? Lyra, for lying to me about what I am, about my father, and about whatever the hell is between her and Creed? Or Harlo, for being someone I want so bad I can’t think straight?
I laugh at that thought. The last thing I am is straight.
The truth of the matter is, if I want to get really fucking honest with myself, I’m pissed at me. All I’ve ever done is mess things up and run. I did it with Helen. With Becca. With Creed.
You know what? This is bullshit. I don’t want to be honest. It’s my birthday. Almost. I want to have fun.
I decide I won’t kill Judgmental Judy for touching my Succubus and follow Harlo to the back of the story. After all, she probably can’t help it. I haven’t been able to keep my hands off her, either. Plus, we need her help. I don’t know shit about shopping. Helen was the one with taste.
Gathering a few lingerie options, and more than a few slinky dresses, Samyra leads us to the changing room. There’s only one. My mind goes straight to the gutter. Or rather, it’s already there. It lives there, wallowing around in the muck.
I lick my lips as my dragon eye-fucks Harlo like she’s a juicy steak. Ah, damn. I bet she is juicy.
God. I’m such a douchebag asshole in the way I objectify women. Objectify sex. But right now, I don’t care. I want to push my Succubus into this changing room, strip her bare, lick every inch of her, and forget about where Creed’s probably licking Lyra.
“Get your ass in there so I can watch you change,” I practically growl, all demanding and shit. Yep. Definitely an asshole.
She raises an eyebrow. “You want to watch me change?” she asks, and is she for fucking real?
Shaking my head, I laugh. “No. I want to tear your clothes off, suck your tits, and eat your pussy. But I’ll settle for watching you get naked.”
The sales rep gasps. Prude.
Harlo’s brow furrows. She bites her lower lip. I groan, because I want to bite her. Her expression changes. The same fire that rages inside me broils like a tempest across her storm-gray eyes. She grabs the clothes from the retail rep with one hand and tosses them on the bench inside the tiny room. Some of them hit the mark. The rest fall to the floor. With
her other, she takes a fistful of what little shirt I’m wearing and uses it to force me into the changing room. The door slams behind us the same time my back hits the mirror.
Mirrors. Fuck yes!
My breath comes in hard, short gasps as my gaze holds Harlo’s. Fuck me six ways to Sunday. I’ve never been manhandled like this. Not even by Creed.
My nipples bead. My pussy pulses with excitement, soaking my booty shorts. My muscles clench. All I can do is stare at her, worship her, fantasize about giving her the fuck of her life. Of my life.
Samyra bangs on the door. I reconsider my earlier conviction to let her live. “Only one person allowed at a time. Store rules.”
Rules? I almost laugh, but I don’t want to break this moment.
A wicked thought crosses my mind. I reach shaking hands toward Harlo’s waist. When my fingers touch her stomach, I almost moan. “We don’t give a shit about your rules.” My voice is rough and low. “So either get in here and join us, or fuck off.”
Samyra’s expensive-ass shoes are visible under the door. For a delicious second, I think she might actually join us. Granted, she’d probably die of a heart attack at the energy level Harlo’s kicking off. At least she’d die a happy bitch, though. Worth it, in my opinion.
By the time our prudish, judgmental sales rep storms off, I’ve already forgotten about her. My fingers dig into Harlo’s hips, just above her low-slung leather pants. I pull her toward me. She doesn’t move, and for a moment, I think she’s changed her mind. That she doesn’t want me.
Her face falls. Her eyes shift. Her expression reveals so much pain. It’s brief, but it’s there. What the hell? Is she afraid I’m going to hurt her? I kind of thought she was the type of girl who likes to be hurt a little.
Before I can analyze anything—her look, my feelings about Creed, about her, about what the hell it all means—her grip on my shirt tightens. She yanks me forward into her. Her mouth crashes into mine, all lips and teeth and tongue, and fuck. Fuck! The feel of her in my hands, on my tongue, is better than any high I’ve ever chased.