She shrugs. “I know. And you have grown more powerful since then. More importantly, you have gained focus and discipline. If I'd been anyone other than myself, I'd likely be dead right now.”
Huh. That makes me feel a bit better—or worse. Basically, I'm getting too powerful to lose my temper. With emotions running high, that’s probably not a good thing.
Especially when I get hangry.
Ashria waves a hand and restores the stereo, leaving the sound off this time. “That is why I needed to teach you focus, Syxx. You are growing too powerful to be running on emotions. Instinct only gets you so far. You must temper that with calculation and strategy.”
“I suppose. I've never really been the strong, ruthless type.” I take a deep breath. I'm sweaty, and my hair has come out of the braid, sticking out in all directions. My face is hot from exertion. My arm has healed nicely, but I’m blotchy from crying. I hate how my skin does that. It's like a mood ring—blotchy and red means Syxx has been crying. That's about it, other than solid red when I blush. I guess there's no other color; I'd be a boring mood ring.
“So what's next?” I’m hoping I don’t have to do anything else for the day. I want to at least give the appearance of not being a snivelling baby-suck despite being emotionally tapped.
Ashria's eyes fill with pride, and I feel better despite myself.
“Wow. That was some effort.” The woman’s voice comes from the open doorway. “I have to say, Moondreamer, I'm impressed.”
I know that voice.
Oh no.
Oh hell, no.
CHAPTER SIX
Verica.
Or, as I like to call her, Succubitch.
I take a step toward Ashria, mostly to avoid looking at her. “What the flaming fuck? What is she doing here?”
“Verica is with us,” she answers calmly.
“The hell she is. Her only ally is herself.”
Verica comes closer. “Not true actually, though I can see why you might think that.”
I look her up and down, feeling small and grubby as I do so. Immaculately dressed in a deep red, tailored Japanese-military-meets-Chanel pant suit, and black stiletto heels, I feel even worse about my appearance. She's perfection on legs, if you're into the whole sex-kitten thing. Glossy jet-black hair and the same gorgeous, sex demon dusky skin and greenish-blue eyes as Draven's. She probably never gets blotchy from a workout like I am now. No, she wouldn't sweat; she'd glow and get dewy.
The last time I saw Verica, she'd freed her mate, left Draven in the Council's shackles, and taken off to miss the fighting while I'd freed our people. Well, I hadn’t done it singlehandedly, but at least I'd fought. While we'd won that fight, I'll never forget what she did.
Not to mention that the first time I'd met her, she insulted me, tried to seduce Draven in front of me, and then attempted to trap me in a nightmarish spell. So no, seeing her here does not make me feel like skipping around filled with glee, especially when I'm all scruffy, sweaty, and weak from training. I'm at my most vulnerable right now, as a warrior and as a woman. I cross my arms over my chest, wishing I was wearing something devastating that showed off my...okay, assets is overstating it. I wish my wardrobe choice was anything other than stretchy jeans and an old t-shirt. Verica's curves make me feel like an infant. Like fine, be hot, just don't gloat about it. Her favorite accessory is a smug expression.
Granted, she doesn't look all that smug right now.
Still. “Last time I saw you, you threw me under the bus and ran off into the sunset while I fought—”
“Syxx, that's not important now. Verica is an ally.”
My head might literally pop from all the blood rushing to it at the way my mother defends my nemesis. “Yeah, sorry Ashria, you don't even understand the whole reason why I don't trust her. After Draven and I pair-bonded, she—”
“—tried to trap you in a spell,” Ashria interrupts.
My mouth gapes unattractively. “You knew? You knew what she'd done, what she'd tried to do to me, and—”
“Of course I knew. Do you really think that I didn't feel you coming before you even entered The Sowing grounds? I knew you were there all along. Don’t worry, I gave you some privacy when you were with your Cambion, but I felt what Verica did. You got out of it.” She says it dismissively, as though it was nothing. “Verica is an ally and you will stop this. I won't hear another word about it. I've got to go follow up with a few things. I trust that you will be mature about this? The battle we face is far bigger than your petty grievances.”
It takes all the self-control I have to keep my mouth closed and nod like a good girl.
“Good.” Ashria nods at Verica and leaves.
A rage so deep it resembles calm sweeps through me. I've been through hell the past few weeks and today's just been the cherry on top of this fail sundae. I can't believe this is happening—my own mother taking the side of the psychotic, self-centred Succubitch, right after breaking every bone in my arm and burning my skin. Yeah, and I'm the one being selfish. “Why are you here, Verica?”
Her smile is tentative and shows her small fangs. “I'm here to help. Look, I know I didn't exactly pull my weight back there—”
“No shit.”
“I'm here now and I want to make amends.”
“Amends? You left me there to die, so don’t pretend we’re buddies. You left all of us.”
“And I'm here now.” Her lip curls as though she thinks I’m being ridiculous.
I need people I trust at my back. “Yeah, so are a lot of people. We don't need allies who are complete flakes.”
She hisses and takes a step toward me.
“Ah.” I smile. “There she is. I wondered when you'd drop the nicey-nice act.”
“Look, Tiny Bitch, I don't like you and you don't like me—”
“Oh, no, I liked you just fine when I thought I'd never see you again,” I say with a tight smile.
“Think about me a lot?” She grins. “You're not the only one. How is Draven?”
My hand twitches into a fist. I was never a scrapper; maybe my training since The Sowing has brought out another side of me. Or maybe it's that the sound of her speaking my love's name is so offensive I want to smack the smirk off her face. If she is an ally, I can't hit her. Ashria wouldn't be pleased, and after today's little demonstration, I don't want to piss her off. Though healed, my skin still feels tight and warm. Now's definitely not the time for healing, despite being bruised all over. I’d never be able to concentrate with this complete cow standing in front of me.
Succubitch's eyes gleam, knowing she's scored a hit. “Mmm,” she purrs. “Draven. Is he still—”
“He's still everything.” I smile. “Not that you'd know. Oh, I forgot—that was just a dream for you. You never did get to experience the pure pleasure of being in his arms. You can only imagine how it feels to be the one he focuses on with every cell of his being, whereas I taste the perfect reality of him every day.”
She takes a step forward, composure stomped to smithereens under the heels of her jealousy. Succubi aren't used to being refused by any man, especially ones they particularly desire. Before she pair-bonded with her Djinn, she desired Draven, though desired may not be a strong enough word; she'd have killed to be with him. I would know—it was me she tried to kill with a spell when he chose me instead.
He and I were meant for each other, and that fact saved my life that night.
Draven was the one man she couldn't have for the simple fact that he wanted me. Even before we pair-bonded, even though she’s moved on with her Djinn, Draven chose me over her that night and her ego must still be bruised.
And that makes me smile.
She smiles too. “Really, Tiny? Because that isn't what I've heard.”
I laugh. “Seriously? That's the best you've got? Pretty unoriginal, even for you.”
“Yeah? Where is your wayward lover?”
“He's out on a mission, and I saw him last night.” Not that it wa
s much of a reunion, ships passing in the night—or rather, the kitchen.
“When was the last time you...took care of him?”
My face flames, partly because it's none of her business, but also because it has been a while since Draven and I...These missions have run us ragged. We’re not able to communicate most of the time and the truth is I don't know where he spent last night, but it doesn't bother me for the reason she thinks it does. It bothers me because I worry about his safety. I worry about him getting hurt in the field, and me not finding out what's happened until it’s too late to do anything about it.
Not because I think he's out there with another woman. “He’s out on another mission right now.”
“Awww, poor, poor Syxxy. Is he on a mission to find a better mate? If only I'd shown up before he left, I could have given him a night to remember for the rest of his life. Something to think about when he's stuck sleeping with you.” She looks me from head to toe, and judging from the happy expression on her face, finds me underwhelming.
Well, hello, Rage. I wasn't expecting you today.
Her body language is deceptively casual even while jealousy makes her sloppy. “You are such a failure, Moondreamer. Even pair-bonded, you can't keep a hold on your man.” Her fingers curl into talons as a hazy spell forms in her hand.
There's no way.
Frustration and deep anger force a scream from my throat, powered by every bit of energy I have. All the glass in the room shatters and rockets toward the source of my anger: Verica. The pieces fly toward her face and I smile, stopping them an inch away from her, a shiny cloud of broken shards.
Her terrified cringe pleases me. She looks at me with fear in her eyes, realizing that when it comes to power, she’s no longer on top.
And she's just pissed me off.
I crack my neck. “Run.” The word is a hard, flat command. She runs.
The front door slams and she scurries by the window outside.
Repairing the glass is less satisfying, especially when all I want to do is smash everything into a pretty, glittery dust.
The charm of Verica. I've got to learn to block this effect she has on me and rise above it.
You rise above it.
Wow, snarking at my own common sense. Clearly last night’s sleep didn’t do it for me.
The adrenaline surge has evaporated, leaving only bone-weary exhaustion. The training today, followed by Succubitch's appearance, has wiped me out.
I'm going back to bed.
Despite the exhaustion, I stomp up the stairs—and run into Skortia, tying her white-blond dreadlocks back into a ponytail. “Ashria told me to come back and train with you.”
“No, it’s okay, you should get a day off too.”
She snorts. “Stop trying to get out of grappling. I’ll even let you skip the warmup burpees.”
Damn it. I decide to be honest instead of trying to bluff any more. “I’m exhausted, Skortia. Ashria just kicked my ass—with glass—and I could use some extra sleep.”
“Your enemies aren’t going to let you have a nap in the middle of a—”
“And Verica was here.”
Skortia’s sharp, beautiful features pull into a grimace. “Eww.”
I’d hug her if I had the energy to lift my arms. “Yeah.”
“I really hate her tacky ass. I’m not saying you can’t wear lipstick and heels to battle, but she’s really good at swerving the hard work. Maybe if she spent less time picking her outfit, she could join us in time for the actual fights.”
I laugh. “Yeah. So if we could do this later, I’d really appreciate it.”
Skortia squints and bites her lip. “Okay. I’m dying for a day out of this place, anyways.”
We walk up the stairs together, and she gives me a tight hug by the front door. “I’m sorry you had a hard session with your mom.”
I shrug a shoulder, downplaying the way it all flows back to kick me in the chest. “It was okay. I’m getting better.”
She pulls back and squeezes my shoulders. “Yes, you really are. And I’m sorry you had to deal with her highness as well.”
“People like Verica make me appreciate people like you.”
“Don’t think I’m going to take it easier on you the next time we train, Syxx.” She winks and dances out the door, and I groan and head upstairs.
Skortia’s become like an older sister, but like my mom, she never takes it easy on me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Darkness greets me when I wake up again. A savage yawn makes my eyes water, and while I long to drift back to sleep, I seriously can’t take my hair being this dirty for another minute. Sure, I magicked things to a fresher state, but it’s a psychological thing. Willing myself clean and scrubbing myself clean in a hot shower just don’t feel the same.
I head into the ensuite bathroom, stripping off my underwear and tank top on the way. The best part of making a house with magic is that everyone gets the luxury of their own bathroom. After taking care of business and brushing my teeth, I step inside the shower.
The hot water is pure bliss. The Witch's cottage was in the middle of nowhere and Ashria said using magic for the journey was out of the question in case another Moondreamer saw my spell signature, so the two day hike up a mountain to get there was a fresh hell on my muscles. I can’t believe people do that for fun.
The soap reveals all the tiny nicks and injuries from the training with Ashria, making them sting. Guess I hadn't healed my skin as well as I'd thought. Then again, the damage was extensive, so only missing a few cuts is pretty good, considering. Now that exhaustion hasn't tapped me dry of power and common sense, healing them is laughably easy.
After shaving, I scrub a bit too hard; after four days without a shower, it feels so nice to exfoliate under a stream of hot water that I stay until my hands start to wrinkle.
I emerge from the shower, pink-skinned and feeling more human. I dry off and lotion, staring down at my tank top and underwear lying in a tiny heap on the floor. There's no way I'm putting them back on, but I grab them to drop into my hamper. Wrapping my towel tightly around myself, I head back into my room, looking forward to more sleep.
This time I'm not alone.
The old bedding lies in a heap on the floor, and Draven is just putting the blanket back into place, folding the top sheet over and smoothing it, pulling a corner back invitingly. I shut the door with a deliberate bump. That’s an invitation I’m eager to accept.
“Thought you might like fresh sheets after your shower.” He speaks without turning around.
“That's so thoughtful.” I’m mesmerized by the way the muscles in his back are moving, distracted by the way he fills out his jeans. He's back, and he's safe, and I'm no longer tired. He turns and smiles when I lock the door. There's no way he is getting out of this bedroom any time soon.
I let my towel fall to the floor.
His eyes barely have time to flare before he's crossed the room in two long strides. He pauses briefly, standing so close his body heat radiates through his clothes. His warmth makes me shiver. The need in his eyes as he looks at me from head to toe makes me flush. He pulls me closer until I’m pressed tightly against the hard planes of his muscular body. We both gasp; it's been too long.
Then again, he could devour me every day and I’d always want more.
His mouth finds mine, and the kiss is deep, urgent, electric. My tongue eagerly explores his.
I've missed him so much.
I press my hand against the back of his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. He nips my lip, sending currents of heat straight to my core.
I want more.
His hands trail down my back, kneading as they go lower, until he scoops me up and wraps my legs around him. I throw my arms over his shoulders and kiss his neck, breathing in his scent. His hands continue to explore as he carries me over to the bed and sets me down gently on the edge, kneeling on the floor in front of me. He devours me with his eyes as I rip his t-shirt o
ff and throw it across the room, desperate to feel his skin against mine.
The sight of his body always steals the breath from me. Sex demons are built for making love as well as being aesthetically seductive. Normally I’d be admiring the strength of his arms, the perfectly chiseled abs and pecs, but I stop, noting the difference between now and the last time we made love.
He's more slender, and his muscles are even more defined than usual, like he’s barely got any body fat left. It's almost scary how defined his muscles are. Hasn’t he eaten at all in the past few weeks? I trail my fingertips down the ridges of his abs and trace the V lines. “Have you been eating enough?”
His hands burn their way up my thighs. “Is that an invitation?” His grin is absolutely wicked.
A surge of attraction burns through my blood, making me slightly dizzy.
Okay, I can see how what I said might have been taken out of context. The wave of desire overtakes me, and I crash forward into him, roughly claiming his mouth with my own. I slide my hands into his hair, over his shoulders and down his chest, unable to get enough of him. One of his hands continues up to my breast. The other hand...doesn't.
I gasp, and my hands involuntarily close, pulling his hair. He smiles, knowing exactly what he's doing to me with the hand between my legs. His lips burn a trail down my neck to my collarbone. His hot tongue lightly traces back up the path he kissed, and he gently blows as he moves back down again. The sudden cold breath on my neck makes me shiver with pleasure, yet all this tickly, feather-soft contact is so not enough.
Wrapping my arms around him, I pull him on top of me as I lie back. There.
His weight on top of me is one of the best feelings in the world, it's a relief; he's here, he's real, he's safe. I need him and I have him pressing against me. Finally. Weeks of worrying about him are being burned away by the heat of his skin against mine.
He kisses me deeply, slowly, until the frantic urgency storming inside us both fades into a slow burning desire. It's no less devastating. His kisses dissolve my bones, the world outside this room. All I want is to melt with him forever. His jeans are still on and are rough against my skin.
The Reaping (The Moondreamer Chronicles Book 2) Page 4