Dhark & Desired

by C C Dowling

  My fingers tug at the zipper holding her leather vest together. When it comes undone, so do I. God, she has the most perfect pair of tits I’ve ever seen. My greedy hands palm her breasts. I pinch her nipples. My thirsty lips drink in every sound of pleasure she makes.

  Her hands find the hem of my shirt. Instead of lifting it over my head, she rips it off. Pieces of fabric fall to the floor. Fuck you, Lyra. You’re not getting this uniform back, either.

  I grab at her leather pants, trying to pull them over her luscious ass. But her pants are fucking tight, and I don’t want to push away from her to undo them. Swatting at my hands, Harlo slides her pants over her thighs, then uses her feet to kick them the rest of the way off. Her lips never leave mine. It’s impressive.

  When I realize she isn’t wearing any underwear, I nearly lose my shit. The scent of her arousal hits me like a semi-truck traveling full speed with a heavy load. Cinnamon and clove. My new favorite smell. Soon to be my new favorite taste.

  My Fae side tries to remind me that I love the way Creed smells, too. I tell her to shut the fuck up, buttercup, and forget about that asshole for now. I’m here. He isn’t.

  Harlo’s nails slice across my flesh when she shreds my booty shorts. My skin burns as it heals. Pain and pleasure. My dragon loves that. My Fae doesn’t complain, either.

  Forcing her knee between mine, Harlo opens my legs and plunges two fingers in. No warm-up. No warning. Her tongue strokes my mouth with the same intensity her hand strokes my pussy. Her thumb presses against my clit. Her fingertips find the spot inside me. I cuss, and moan, and clench my muscles, and dig my nails into her shoulders, and I swear I’m about to lose my fucking mind.

  In less than sixty goddamn seconds—a Guinness World Record, or some shit—I’m screaming at the top of my lungs in a changing room in some fancy-ass boutique on the Strip in Vegas. Dream motherfucking come true.

  “H-How did you get me off so fast?” I ask when I can speak.

  Running her fingers through my wetness, Harlo brings them to her mouth and licks them clean. She groans when she does. It’s the sexiest fucking thing ever. “I’m a Succubus. A demon who feeds on sexual energy. I know how to read your body and give you what you need so you can give me what I need.”

  It’s official. Demons are my new favorite thing to fuck. My dragon purrs her agreement. My Fae shakes her head.

  Okay. Time to return the favor.

  Palming the Succubus’s ass, I push off the mirror and slam her against the wall. We trample the expensive designer clothes scattered on the floor. Fuck those clothes. I never want Harlo to cover up again.

  The flimsy changing room frame shakes. It might not survive what I’m about to do to her. Hell, all of Ceasar’s might crumble under the aftershocks of rocking her world.

  One of her legs wraps around my waist when I squeeze her ass and bury my face in her tits. Her skin is so fucking smooth, and silky, and hot. My thighs quake with pure lust at the way she feels against me.

  Tangling my fingers in her braid, I yank on her hair and kiss her like she’s the very air I breathe. “I want you so fucking bad,” I moan into her mouth.

  Her tongue dances with mine, but stops when I speak. Using my hair, she pulls my face from hers and stares into my eyes. Even this much distance is too much, according to my dragon.

  “Why?” she asks, and is she seriously questioning me? Now?

  I suck in a breath to try to steady my beating hearts and open my mouth to tell her . . . what? I don’t know why I want her so bad. Or why I want her as much as I do when I’m Destined to Creed. All I know is that something inside me wants to be inside her. It’s similar to the way I felt with Creed before we bonded. Similar, but not exactly the same.

  With Creed, wanting him was about opening myself up. About being seen by another person without judgment. He’s home. Safe. Loyal. Though how I’ll reconcile what happened with Lyra, I don’t yet know.

  With Harlo, it’s more a sheer, reckless desire mixed with raw, consuming lust. With her, I feel like I can conquer the world. I feel like I should conquer it. For her. She taps into the place deep within that wants to see the injustices of our worlds burn.

  Creed connects with my Fae nature. Harlo, with the Dharkstar in me.

  Maybe . . . I mean, I don’t know how the rules of this shit works, but maybe it’s possible for someone to have two Destined? If Outer Realm souls align with Light and Dhark, then wouldn’t it make sense that someone born of both would house two halves of two different souls?

  Harlo’s grip on my hair tightens as she stares at me, waiting for my answer. Not wanting to sound ignorant, and not capable of being vulnerable about my new theory/revelation, I go with a surefire answer.

  I stare at her tits, grab her ass, and say: “Because you’re fucking hot, and you smell delicious.”

  Her lips press into a thin line. Her brow scrunches, and there’s that fucking look again. The look that says I’m sad, and I hate you, and I want you, all at the same time.

  “Is that the only reason?” she asks.

  No. It isn’t. Not even close. But I’m not about to share the other ones. It’s not that I don’t trust her. I don’t trust myself.

  Besides, why does she care?

  “You’re a demon. A Succubus. Do you need a reason to fuck?”

  As soon as the words are out, I regret them. Not only because she elbows me in the jaw and throws me to the ground, but because I know that that was the worst thing I could say to her. My asshole mouth and douchebag tendencies on full display.

  At least it’s good to know that becoming a half-dragon, half-fairy didn’t change a damn thing about me.

  “Fuck. You. Dragon.” She spits the last word like it’s the foulest curse. Grabbing her clothes off the floor, she puts them on in record time.

  Rubbing my jaw, I push up to sit against the wall. “Where are you fucking going?”

  She zips her vest and turns her stormy grays on me. “Away from you.”

  I don’t want her to go. It’s my birthday soon. I don’t want to celebrate alone. Plus, I’m sick of people walking away from me. Of me running. It’s well past time for something different.

  “Don’t go, okay? I’m sor—”

  She wrenches the changing room door open, cutting me off. “No, you’re not. It’s not even your fault that you’re not. You’re a Dharkstar. It’s in your genetics to be a cunt.” She scoffs. “You probably can’t even help it.”

  She’s right. I can’t help it. I’ve been a shithead since the day I was born. But being with her, being Destined to Creed, makes me want more. I’m just not good at more. I don’t know how.

  “I want to help it,” I mutter, because admitting that I’m weak in a confident voice seems impossible.

  She pauses, hand on the door. The raging storm in her eyes breaks. Her features soften. For a second, I think she’s going to close the door, get dressed with me, and party until we can no longer stand, or my father’s enemies find us.

  I’m wrong.

  “Fuck you, Dhru Dharkstar. The next time we meet, I intend to do what I should’ve done on that rooftop. Kill you.”

  She slams the door behind her and stalks out of the store. Out of my life.

  Curling my knees into my chest, I rest my head on them and wrap my arms around myself. Being alone sucks. I must be cursed, because every time something good comes my way, I ruin it. I don’t bother going after her. Not because I’d be running through Ceasar’s Palace naked. Because I don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve Creed, either. Or rather, they don’t deserve to be stuck with someone like me.

  The gods, or fate, or whoever the fuck decides this shit, are a bunch of sadistic assholes. I wonder what Creed did to piss them off, to be chosen as my Destined.

  It’s no wonder that Creed chose Lyra. That Helen kicked me out. That Harlo threatened to kill me. I’m a goddamn disaster.

  Rubbing the tears from my cheeks, I glance at the clothes and lingerie scattered on the
floor. Samyra makes an announcement over the store’s speakers about closing in five minutes. Grabbing a lacey, dark-red pair of panties and an oxblood strappy dress where the main material is skin, I get dressed and admire myself in the mirror.

  Time for Plan B. If I can’t screw away my problems, I’ll snort them away. Drink them away. Pill them away.

  “You have the rest of your life to deal with how destroyed it is,” I tell the girl in the mirror. “Tonight, you turn twenty-five. It only happens once. Enjoy it.”

  Leaving a mess behind me, like I always do, I stride out of the changing room and past the shoe section. I grab a gemstone-encrusted pair of heels on my way out the store, flipping the sales rep the bird when she demands I pay for my outfit. Keeping my middle finger raised high, I laugh when she threatens to call security.

  I don’t even wait until I’m out of her sight before I teleport into the VIP section of Scorched—one of the hottest nightclubs in Vegas. I’d seen it once in a nightlife magazine Helen brought home. I’d begged her to take me. She’d said yes. We got pregnant. We never went. The rest feels like ancient history. Was it really only a few days ago I thought I was a normal, fucked-up human being?

  Loud music vibrates the air, driving all the pity-party thoughts straight out of my head. Muted blue and purple lights strobe. Liquor flows from the bar. Scantily clad bodies surround me. The crowd undulates with one need, one want, one purpose.

  To have fun.

  I am so fucking down with that.

  A Middle Eastern hottie in a black spandex dress, push-up bra, and six-inch studded metal heels, razors a few white lines on a nearby glass table. I catch her eye, sidle over, and take the tightly rolled hundred dollar bill. One snort. Two snorts. Swallow. Relax.

  Ahhh. This is the life.

  Happy birthday to me.

  My hands shake as I push through the crowded casino inside Caesar’s Palace. I need to get the hell out of here. Not just this building, but out of this realm.

  Smoke, noise, and music assault me from every angle. Bodies rub against me as I pass. Every single one of them stops to face me when we connect. I’m used to it. Succubi have a certain effect on humans. What I’m not used to are the instant orgasms happening in my wake. Typically, those take at least a little effort.

  I’m so glutted on that damned dragon’s sexual energy I could explode. Pleasuring Dhru did something to me. She filled me in a way no being ever has, which is why I can never feed from her again. She’s an addiction. The kind where one hit hooks you for lifetimes. Thank the Demon Seat she’s such an asshole. If she hadn’t said what she did, I wouldn’t have been able to stop.

  I press against the ache in my chest and clench at the twist in my gut. What she said shouldn’t have stopped me, though. It’s true. I’ve never needed a reason to pleasure someone before. Not ever. No Succubus does.

  With her, it’s different. She’s different. I’m different with her. Maybe it’s because she’s part Fae, and Lightling energy isn’t something we feed on. Or maybe it’s because she’s Destined that her energy is so strong. Everyone knows that once a soul-split unites, the beings housing it become more powerful. They channel each other. Adapt to each other’s gifts. Gain immunity to mind control and other forms of manipulation magick. Sure, they’re weaker—if one dies, they both do—but the pros generally outweigh the cons.

  I scoff. Dhru really is the ultimate selfish asshole. She’s going to get herself killed running around Vegas without protection. It’s like she doesn’t care that she’ll drag Creed down with her. Or maybe she’s oblivious. She wasn’t raised in our world. She wouldn’t necessarily know how being Destined works.

  I shake my head to derail that train of thought. It’s not my job to teach her, or save her. It sure in hell isn’t my job to help a Called. Fuck them both. Besides, her Fae is tied to her now. If she stays put long enough, Creed can use their bond to find her. She’s his damn problem. Not mine.

  Not. Mine.

  I’m done with Dhru. Done with Earth. Done with giving a shit about anyone. Caring about people is dangerous. It gets you killed. Just ask Mayz.

  Pushing away the sadness that thought brings, I head south, toward the Luxor, the closest nexus point I can use to take me home. Gotta love when humans place big-ass pyramids over points of power. It really helps those of us not from here find our way around.

  I get as far as the Bellagio fountain before a familiar energy sends a jolt of white-hot lightning up my spine. Thunder rumbles in a cloudless sky, as if the air senses it as well. The humans around me glance up, confused, but quickly shake it off. I’m not as quick to recover. Instead, I stare straight ahead at the creature prowling toward me.

  No. It can’t be him. His kind aren’t supposed to come here.

  Dressed in a designer shirt, dark-wash jeans, and black boots, he almost looks like he belongs on Earth. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, revealing deeply muscled forearms decorated with colorful ink depicting everything from skulls, to weapons, to wings. His tousled chestnut hair, just long enough in the front to hang over his gold eyes, frames his high cheekbones, long straight nose, and strong square jaw.

  His beauty makes him hard to look at, even for a Succubus. Lesser demons burst into flame. No wonder my mother and aunts fell for him.

  I’m frozen to the spot as he stalks forward. The people around us part like cattle herded by a sheep dog. They don’t see him. Not really. Not unless he wants them to. Rarely do any of his kind want them to.

  “Charlotte Storm.” He says my name with affection, or anger. Impossible to tell with him. His voice washes over me, stealing the breath from my lungs. His low, seductive tone is layered with promises of pleasure, and pain, and every single thing in between.

  All I can do is stare, wait, and pray as he gets closer. No. Not pray. Demons don’t pray. If we did, we’d pray to him.

  “Samael,” I manage to say around the lump in my throat. I don’t insult him by asking what he’s doing here. I know why he’s here.

  When he reaches me, he wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in for a hug. I smother against his massive chest. It feels so good to be embraced by him, even though I know it’s a trap to disarm me.

  What daughter doesn’t want to be loved by her father?

  As soon as he hugs me, he lets go. His sparkling golden eyes narrow. His thumb grazes my lip. His nose skims my neck as he inhales my scent. “I can smell dragon all over you.” His words are harsh, yet measured. “Care to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  I tremble. Whether it’s from his withdrawal or my fear, I can’t tell. “No, actually. I don’t care to tell you.”

  Ugh. I want to groan at the words as they fall from my lips, not that I can stop them. No one lies to an archangel. Not even demons.

  “You discharged a massive amount of Light magick.” He cuts straight to the point. “I sensed it. And the Dharkstar energy in your veins reeks of it.”

  It isn’t his Light he smells in Dhru’s essence.

  “What happened?” he practically growls.

  “I stabbed her. Then I used my—your energy to heal her.”

  I may be half angel in my own right, but Dad’s made one thing perfectly clear to me and all my siblings. The Light energy we have is his. We are gifted with it by his grace, to do what we were made to do: seduce. Every orgasm and act of pleasure we ingest strengthens him. One day, he plans to have amassed enough power to overthrow Michael, the current Celestial Throne, take control of the Angelic Authority, and dismantle the Council of the Nine Realms.

  The day he does, Succubi and Incubi will no longer have to hide their dual nature. My father can openly express his preference for Dharklings. And Dhru would be free from persecution. Free to be Destined to a Fae.

  They don’t know it yet, but the two of them should be allies. The amount of raw, carnal lust Dhru exudes would give Samael enough power to overthrow the Angelic Authority. My father’s influence and cunning would be an asset in the war
she wants to start with the Council. Not that Dhru’s expressly told me that. It’s more that she’s destructive by nature, and has an impressive disregard for rules. Plus, she’s a Dharkstar. There’s no way she doesn’t want to bring down the Council.

  It’s a shame Dhamyan killed my brother. He and Samael might’ve been an unstoppable force if they didn’t hate each other with a burning passion to rival Hell’s fires.

  Gritting my teeth, and clamping down on the hurt in my heart at the thought of my brother, of Dhru and what happened between us, I push my confused feelings away and focus on my father.

  He grips my arm, hard, his features settling into his practiced look of disappointment. “You were supposed to kill her. Not heal her. Dhamyan Dharkstar took my eldest son from me. From your mother. He took your brother from you. Have you forgotten about the price he must pay? Eye for an eye. Child for a child. Why did you fail your brother? Fail me?”

  Those words are like a flaming sword through the chest. His disappointment cuts deep, gutting me. Will I ever be good enough in his eyes?

  “She’s different. Special,” my lips utter.

  Fuck. Why did I have to say that?

  My father’s perfectly shaped eyebrow raises toward his hairline. Curiosity flashes in his brilliant eyes. “A special dragon? Daughter, they all think they’re special. Why in Heaven would this one be different?”

  Taking a deep breath, I prepare myself for the truth I can’t stop. “I think I understand why Dhamyan killed Mayz.”

  Curiosity turns to rage as his flawless features contort into sharp, hateful angles. His massive hand moves to my throat. He squeezes, then lifts me off my feet. I don’t bother to struggle. I won’t fight his will, and he’s too strong.

  “Why?” Nearby car windows shatter at the vibration in his word. Humans scream and scramble as they rush past us, oblivious to our presence, unable to find the source of the destruction.

  “Dhru Dharkstar is half Fae,” I struggle to say around my father’s grip. “Not just any Fae. She’s a Called descendant.”