Dhark & Desired

by C C Dowling

  Dhru snorts and grabs something off the ground. Creed smirks as he watches her. I roll my eyes to keep from punching them both.

  “Better?” Dhru says, all playful snark, as she sidles up behind me.

  I still haven’t turned to face her, and by the way Creed studies my face, the reason I haven’t is obvious. It’s moments like right now that I’m grateful I’m not a man with a hard dick on display for everyone to see.

  “Is it better?” I mutter to Creed.

  Suddenly serious, his lips press into a thin line. He shakes his head. “Not really, but we have bigger problems.”

  Turning away from Creed, my eyes land first on Dhru. I curse under my breath. The tunic she grabbed off a fallen Power hangs low in the front, and only covers to mid-thigh. But then my gaze finds my father’s, and all my naughty thoughts turn to vicious violence, a sentiment to match the one on his flawless features.

  He slices through three dragons before they even know he’s there. I try to grab Dhru, to push her behind me, but Samael is fast.

  Yanking her by the arm, he tosses her in the direction of the busted bar. Shards of broken glass cut her skin when she lands in a pile of limbs. Doing the only thing I can, I strike my serpentine blade against the stolen sword in my hand. Only, the dagger’s gone, knocked away by a well-placed kick to my wrist. Agony lances up my arm. Before I can cry out, or beg him not to do this, Samael advances on Dhru.

  My mind races in a thousand directions, but it’s impossible to formulate a plan. Paralyzed, I teeter on the edge of inaction. This is what it must’ve felt like for the hundreds of targets I’ve neutralized, in the moments before their deaths.

  Someone grabs my arm. I try to rip theirs off. “Harlo,” Creed snarls in my ear. Doesn’t he know that this is no time to talk?

  Samael draws his massive blade and stalks toward Dhru, taking his time. I wriggle in Creed’s grip.

  “Are you with us?” he asks. It takes me a second to get his meaning.

  He’s asking if I’m willing to do whatever it takes to protect Dhru. He’s asking if I can kill my own father.

  I nod, numb to what I’m agreeing to.

  Creed moves, Called Weapon drawn. His speed rivals Samael’s. Almost.

  Throwing up an elbow, Samael catches Creed on the chin. His head snaps with a sickening crunch, and he goes down hard. Forcing the muscles in my legs to move—forcing myself to do something, for fuck’s sake—I take off in a dead sprint.

  Nausea slams against me, twisting my insides. I’m not going to make it in time.

  Lifting his angelic sword over his head, my father grins in the sick, sadistic way only the archangel of Seduction can. I open my mouth to scream when Dhru throws herself in front of Creed’s body. My father’s strength, coupled with the razor-edged blade, will easily cut through them both.

  Raising her arm to cover her face and prepare for the blow, Dhru closes her eyes. I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t look Death in the face, either.

  Before my father’s sword connects, silver and gold lines flare beneath Dhru’s flesh. They cut deep grooves into her skin in the unmistakable pattern of a Called. Light erupts from her mark, painfully bright and brilliant. The screech of metal against magick rends the air when Dhru’s energy shield blocks Samael’s blow. Still, the momentum behind my father’s attack forces Dhru to her knees. She may have blocked one strike, but she won’t survive another.

  Before I can curse him, or beg him not to do this, or throw myself in the way, Samael raises his sword overhead for the final blow. The look on Dhru’s face tells me that she knows she can’t win, but that doesn’t mean she’s about to quit, either. Pushing to her feet, my dragon balls her hand in a fist and goes for the nut shot.

  Grabbing my father’s junk, she twists, surprise lighting her already glowing face. Samael grunts in pain, but he doesn’t go down.

  “Holy fuck, dude,” she says, eyes wide. It’s a look of surprise I’ve seen all too often. Dhru didn’t expect to get a handful of that. No one ever does.

  Loosening his grip on his sword, Samael wraps his free hand around Dhru’s neck. She lets go of him to claw, uselessly, at his forearms. He’s too strong for her. Too strong for most.

  He pulls her close and sniffs the length of her neck, scenting her. Scenting me in her. “Any last words before I wipe you from existence?” he says to her as he glares at me. “And my daughter with you?”

  Something inside me breaks. For me. For Mayz. For all my siblings. Our father doesn’t care about us. He cares about his agenda, about how he can use us to advance it. Fury boils my blood at the wasted time I’ve spent trying to make him proud. Trying to earn his love. Love isn’t something Samael can give. It’s only something he can destroy. Just like he’s about to destroy me.

  “I have some words,” says a smooth, calm, deadly-as-fuck voice I know better than my own. It’s a voice that’s haunted my nightmares for twenty-five years. “How about, get your fucking hands off my daughter.”

  Samael has two dicks. Two. Fucking. Dicks. One right on top of the other. Jesus! No wonder he’s the archangel of Seduction. My mind goes to all kinds of places as I grab and twist on Harlo’s father’s anatomy.

  Okay. This is too gross. Even for me.

  The ick factor fades when his hand wraps around my throat. I’m about to be all the way dead. I know it.

  My shitty life flashes before my eyes. But goddamn it, it’s my shitty life. I’m not ready to give it up. To give Creed up. Or Harlo. I’m not ready to give in to the egotistical fuck trying to ruin me.

  “Any last words before I wipe you from existence?” Samael asks, glaring at Harlo. “And my daughter with you?” God, he’s such an asshole. Doesn’t he know I can’t breathe, let alone talk, while he’s choking the life out of me? Then again, I’m sure my words aren’t anything he wants to hear.

  “I have some words,” says a deep, serious voice that makes my battered and exhausted dragon stand at attention. My ego—and strangely enough, my Fae—want to tell that voice to fuck off. Can’t he see I’ve got this handled? He’s stealing my thunder.

  Then he says something that drains the bitchy fight right out of me.

  “How about, get your fucking hands off my daughter.”

  Samael’s molten eyes widen. His grip loosens. I fall to the ground in a heap, and draw in a ragged breath. Harlo’s there, one hand on my shoulder, the other on Creed. Is she actually caring for him? That’s . . . bitchin’.

  Harlo’s entire body vibrates as she glares at Samael. Raw hatred pours off her in waves. As the product of severe daddy issues, I totally understand the sentiment.

  “Dhamyan.” My father’s name is a whisper on Samael’s lips as he falls, landing hard on his knees. The metal of his sword clanks against the ground.

  Placing an expensive, black-shined shoe on Samael’s ribs, Dhamyan Dharkstar pulls his dagger out of the archangel’s spine and wipes it on his designer, navy-blue suit pants, not giving two shits about the blood stains.

  Talk about stabbing someone in the back.

  Sliding the blade into a holster on his belt, he steps harder on the angel, eliciting a moan of pain. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that.” He leans in close, right next to the angel’s ear. “Infidium hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?”

  Samael mutters something under his breath.

  “What’s that? I couldn’t hear you.” Dhamyan leans closer, patronizing as fuck. Okay. I see where I get it.

  “I’ll kill you,” the archangel says, fighting for every word.

  “Not if I kill you first.” Faster than I can track, Dhamyan grips Samael underneath the chin and twists. Bone and tendon crunch and snap. The angel’s body twitches as his severed spinal column fires uncontrolled electrical impulses.

  Holy shit. Did my dad just kill Harlo’s?

  Harlo gasps, then grips her dagger. Her crouched stance signals that she’s ready to fuck some shit up if need be, but the flash of pain in her eyes tells me she�
�s torn. Unlike me, she loves her father. Up until he threatened to kill her, I have to imagine she thought he felt the same.

  She doesn’t love Dhamyan Dharkstar. If what she said earlier is true, she’s probably fighting off the temptation to return the same courtesy he showed her brother because she doesn’t want to hurt me. Honestly, I’m not sure I’d give a single fuck if she killed my dad. She obviously gives one about losing hers, though, despite his being an asshole.

  Dhamyan straightens his jacket and cuffs, ignoring Harlo’s unspoken threat. “He’ll heal from that.” He glances at Samael’s prone form and chuckles. “Eventually. I have no intention of actually killing him.”

  God, he’s so casual and smug. Fuck. I’m not like that. Am I?

  His fathomless black eyes lock on Harlo. “Not yet, anyway. Unless you give me a reason to change my mind.”

  Is he seriously threatening my Destined? I mean, my other Destined? Holy fuck me. I have two Destineds, or however the hell I grammar out the plural form.

  Yeah, I’m not dealing with that right now.

  I growl as fangs and scales poke through my human suit. Fire licks down my arms. If I’m not careful, I’ll transform again, and that would suck donkey balls. No, elephant balls. No. No, wait. Dragon balls.

  Shifting into my full dragon form was like being run over by a tractor after being set on fire. Then twenty of your closest enemies piss on you to put it out, but with pure grain alcohol as urine. It fucking blew ass. Not something I want to repeat anytime soon. Or like, ever.

  Dhamyan turns his I’m-better-than-you-and-everyone-ever stink eye on me. Damn him. He’s got the look down. I’m such an amateur.

  I suck in a shaky breath, partly because Samael strangled the shit out of me and my throat fucking hurts, and partly because holy hell. Dhamyan Dharkstar is every bit as intimidating and dangerous-looking as the leader of a bunch of wild-ass dragons should be.

  Short, gelled black hair frames his chiseled, angular face. A sharp nose, strong jaw, and deep-set eyes make him look fierce. If he wasn’t my deadbeat dad, I’d think him handsome as fuck. Everything about him screams expensive indulgence, from his two hundred fifty dollar haircut all the way down to his Ferragamo shoes.

  “Dhru?” Creed’s voice breaks my dragon’s momentary idol worship stare down with my father. Shaking off the damage Samael did to him, he takes me into his arms and squeezes the ever loving shit out of me. My blood sings at his touch, and my full, complete soul rejoices.

  God. It feels so good to be in those arms, mostly because I thought I’d never be in them again. When Samael attacked, I knew we were as good as dead. The Fae part of me manipulated as much energy as I could summon to protect him, but it wasn’t enough. That’s when Daddy Dearest stepped in, and screw him for making me grateful the prick actually showed up in my life for once.

  The scent of Creed washes over me. Musk, heat, and the distinct tang of Fae magick. He smells like blood, too, mostly because he’s covered in it. That some of it’s his makes me want to kill those angels all over again. And kick Samael right in his double cock.

  “Creed,” I manage to croak out against his massive chest. “Thank fuck, you’re okay.” One arm snakes around his waist. The other reaches for Harlo, not wanting to let go of her, either. I settle into Creed only when her fingers tangle with mine.

  Creed pushes the hair from my face and takes my mouth with his. In front of God, dragons, and my father. None of those assholes say a thing, and fuck them. They can suck a giant Fae dick if they don’t like it. Creed’s mine. My Destined.

  “Mine.” The word echoes my thoughts.

  “Yours,” Creed answers back, and kisses me like I’m the first breath after almost drowning. “Always yours.”

  “Not Lyra’s,” I say, because, well, I can’t help it. I’m still hurt from the shit he pulled.

  Creed winces like I hit him. “Not Lyra’s. I’ve never been Lyra’s, Dhru. Not ever.”

  “But . . .” I argue.

  Creed kisses me again, and for once, I shut the hell up. “You misunderstand our relationship. Lyra is like a sister to me. I’ve protected her for centuries, and her me. I’ll continue to protect her, but I don’t want her. She isn’t mine. You are.”

  Damn straight, I am. Or not straight, because I’m Harlo’s, too.

  “Wow,” I say. What else can I say to that? “I’ve been a real dick.” And childish. And stupid. And wrong. But mostly a dick.

  No wonder the gods or fate or whoever gave me two Destineds. There’s no way any one person can deal with my shit.

  “You’ve definitely been a dick. But so have I. I’m sorry I left you without protection. With them.” Creed spits on the nearby body of a fallen angel. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Then you shifted, and I thought—”

  “I know.” I try to soothe him. The look of pain and helplessness on his face breaks both my hearts. Truth is, they almost did lose me. My dragon side went full-out primal. The rest of my psyche was all too willing to follow. But Creed and Harlo weren’t about to let me go. I’m here because of them.

  I stroke the back of Harlo’s hand with my thumb as I smooth the lines in Creed’s forehead.

  Creed kisses me again, gentler this time, then glares at Dhamyan. “Leaving you with the angels was your father’s plan. We needed dragon help.”

  “I should’ve known you’d never actually leave me,” I mutter. “I was such a bitch.”

  He raises an eyebrow and chuckles. “Was? Does this mean you’re swearing off it from now on?”

  “I’m fucking swearing, all right.” I kiss the smirk from his lips. When I finally pull away, and can focus on something other than him, I become painfully aware of the eerie quiet around us. That wasn’t there before.

  Looking past the immediate drama standing before me in the shape of my father, I glance around the club. Body parts, gore, and who knows what else, cover the club floor like a hellish, marshy swamp. I don’t envy the cleanup crew for this fucktastic disaster of a birthday celebration.

  Six dead dragons. Twelve dead Powers. If the angels didn’t hate us before, they will now.

  “Where are the cops?” I ask no one in particular, just now realizing that SWAT hasn’t stormed in. Typically, LVPD is quick to a call, especially when gunfire is involved. The club cleared out at least ten minutes ago.

  “The same energy net that kept you from teleporting is keeping the humans out,” Harlo says.

  Oh yeah. The fucking net. Goddamn those angel pricks.

  Gripping Harlo’s hand, I pull her toward me. She takes a knee. Succubus on one side. Fae on the other. They regard each other for a moment. Neither says a word.

  Finally, Creed breaks the awkwardness. “Thank you for saving her.” His words are low and forced, almost like he’s choking on them. “And for protecting me.”

  Harlo nods once in acknowledgment. “I always will,” she says.

  “So will I,” Creed answers, and awww. This kind of mushy shit melts my hearts. Both of them.

  “Hey,” I say to Harlo, because the situation with her dad and mine is fucked right the hell on up. “Are you okay?” I jut my chin at her father’s limp body.

  She shakes her head. “No. I’m not okay. I’m far from okay.” Her hateful glare locks on Dhamyan.

  They have so much history between them, from long before I was born. My father killed her brother. He’s probably known her secret this whole time. So why hasn’t he outed Samael, her mother and aunts, and all her siblings to the Council? I mean, I’m glad he didn’t, but from what I’ve gathered, my father’s a ruthless, vindictive, narcissistic asshat. Also, a powerful asshat. If he hasn’t fucked them over, then it’s only because he wants something from them. He’s just waiting for the right opportunity to take it.

  “I won’t give you a reason to hurt Samael,” she says to Dhamyan, answering his threat from before, “if you swear not to kill him.”

  “He won’t,” I answer, with zero fucks to giv
e about Dhamyan’s opinion or approval on the matter. As much as I hate that fuck Samael, and owe him a thorough ass-kicking, I’m not going to let him die. Not if that’s what Harlo wants.

  “Don’t worry, Named. I won’t be killing your father today,” Dhamyan says to Harlo, ignoring me. His tight, professional smile doesn’t touch his eyes. Hell, it barely reaches his cheeks. “He hasn’t served his purpose yet.”

  “But my brother did?” she spits, body shaking.

  My father’s eyes cut to me, then back to Harlo. “So it would seem.”

  Murderous rage flares hot in Harlo’s eyes. For a second, I think she’s going to attack Dhamyan. I can’t blame her. Hell, I’d probably even help her. But I need answers before I let her kill him. As much as he’s a fuckwad, I can’t deny we need his help.

  “He isn’t worth it,” I whisper, begging her to listen. I don’t know if she hears me. I don’t know if she can.

  Dhamyan says nothing. He watches our exchange with a stony, blank expression. He doesn’t fool me. If we’re anything alike, he’s a churning, volcanic lava pit on the inside. I hope he burns.

  Fuck him. I don’t care about him right now. I care about calming Harlo.

  Taking a page out of Creed’s book, I hum the song he sang when my world fell apart. Tapping into the warm energy inside me, I send it through our linked hands and into her. Creed, sensing my plan, joins me in soothing our Succubus. He lends me healing energy of his own, not that Creed has anything of his own left. We share a soul. I’m pretty damn sure that means we share everything else. And somehow, that includes Harlo.

  Like taking a valium, Harlo’s body relaxes. Her shoulders droop. Her jaw muscle gets a break. She sighs with a deep body shudder. I respond with one of my own.

  Fuck. Fuck. I need her. Right now. I don’t want to wait any longer.

  Sensing my need, Harlo’s storm-gray eyes churn with heat. I glance at Creed, not that I need his permission to want her. Harlo’s my other Destined. But I’ve treated Creed like shit, and I don’t want him thinking this is more of that.