Setting down her chopsticks, Wynter briefly squeezed her eyes shut, hoping none of the other patrons were paying any attention to their conversation. “Hattie, can we talk about this later? Or maybe, like, never?”
Hattie let out a pfft sound. “Don’t be all prudish, just tell me what it means. If I’m going to get back in the saddle again, I should know these things.”
Xavier’s mouth slowly curved into a wicked grin. “George is gonna get lucky, is he?” he asked, referring to the old woman’s ‘gentleman caller.’
“At some point, yes.” Hattie notched up her chin, looking mighty pleased with herself. “He’s a very nice man, and he’s not past his prime yet. I don’t want to embarrass myself by looking confused when he makes suggestions in bed.”
Wynter massaged her temple. “I really don’t think he’ll suggest a spit roast.”
Hattie’s brow creased. “Why not?”
Jesus Christ, she was gonna have to say it, wasn’t she? “It would mean he’s also suggesting that you include a third party.”
“Oh, I see. So would be it two men and one woman, or one man and two women?”
Wynter took a swig from her glass of water. “The first.”
“I think I can guess where each man would position himself. Does the ‘spit’ part mean she’s not supposed to swallow? I don’t know why you’re groaning at me, Wynter, it’s a perfectly logical query.”
“I hate to interrupt your wacked conversation but can we please leave soon?” Rubbing at her upper arms, Anabel glanced around the restaurant. Located on the surface of Devil’s Cradle, it served supremely good ethnic food and was highly popular. “There are too many people here.”
Hattie lifted her glass. “We said we’d come out and get some D, remember?”
Anabel did a double-take. “Dick?”
“Vitamin D.” Hattie pointed at the sky. “From the sun.”
“It’s seven p.m.; the sun has set.” Anabel again scanned the room, paranoid. “We really should go home. I’m telling you, we’re not safe.” She started clawing at her nape. “I can feel—”
Delilah pointed her chopsticks at the blonde. “Do not start harping on about death’s breath again. I’d tell you to get a handle on your neurosis, but I don’t see that ever being possible.”
Anabel scowled. “I’m not neurotic.”
“You believe death pants on your goddamn neck.”
“Because it does!” Anabel looked at Xavier. “You believe me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” he assured her. “Now come on, girls, we’re supposed to be relaxing. Chilling. Celebrating how good things are going for us right now.” A charming smile graced his lips as a member of staff appeared to swipe the empty glasses. He looked at her nametag. “Mona,” he drawled in a deeply Southern accent. “Pretty name. I’m Colton—” He cut off as a male hand landed on his shoulder.
“You telling lies again, boy?” asked Elias, amused.
Stiffening, Xavier twisted slightly in his chair to toss a glare at the Alpha standing behind him. “Don’t call me ‘boy.’”
“Your infractions are building up,” Elias told him, lowering his voice. He bent and put his mouth to Xavier’s ear. “But that’s okay. Daddy won’t mind paddling that ass.”
Xavier stared at him like he was crazy. “You get high a lot, don’t you? It explains so much.”
Elias let out a rumbly chuckle, squeezed Xavier’s shoulder, shot Wynter a subtle wink, and then stalked off with some of his pack members.
Xavier met Wynter’s gaze. “Can I kill him now?”
Stifling a smile, she said, “He’s just trying to unnerve you, stop letting him.”
Hattie patted her chin. “I wonder if he’s any good with a paddle. Do you think he really is a Daddy Dom? He doesn’t strike me as the type to be interested in age-play.”
“What do you know about age-play?” Delilah asked her.
“I read about it.” Hattie sipped at her water. “I find the lifestyle fascinating. I can see the appeal in it.”
Delilah tipped her head to the side. “You’re thinking about being George’s Little, are you?”
Hattie adjusted her blouse. “If he’s partial to it, well, a person should try everything at least once. And, given my age, I’ll be in diapers soon anyway.”
“I tried the Little thing once,” said Xavier.
Delilah lifted her brows. “Really?”
“No, not really,” he replied.
She flapped her arms. “Then why say it?”
“Maybe your annoyance fills the empty spots inside me.”
“People, can we go back to relaxing, please?” Wynter cut in.
It really shouldn’t have been so difficult to do that, but with Anabel panicking, Delilah and Xavier bickering, and Hattie asking Wynter one uncomfortable question after another … yeah, there was no ‘chill’ vibe at the table at all.
Wynter excused herself and headed to the restroom. She was just finished doing her business in a stall when an otherworldly breeze fluttered over her skin, humming with warning. She tensed, her pulse—
The stall door flew open, and a burst of magick—thick, cloggy, dirty—backhanded her. Pain exploded in her cheekbone, her vision swam, and the world spun around her. Oh, she was gonna hurl.
Her monster’s head snapped up, and it would have taken control if that otherworldly breeze hadn’t returned, ushering it to bide its time.
Dazed, Wynter would have fallen if strong hands hadn’t caught her. Then she was being hauled out of the stall. A familiar male voice spoke to her. No, hissed words at her. She couldn’t understand them. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t really think.
She felt completely disconnected from the situation as the male huddled her against him like they were a couple, supporting her weight while walking out of the restroom and over to the side exit. She didn’t want to walk alongside him, but her legs moved without direction. She didn’t want to stay silent as he led her out of the door, but no words escaped her when she parted her lips.
Outside, he lifted her into a van and roughly dumped her on the vehicle floor before leaping into the van. Laying on her side, she saw someone further down the alley staring at her, looking stunned. Grouch.
Hope spiked in her chest, clearing away some of the fog in her mind. A smug little smirk twisted his mouth, and then he casually strolled through the side door of the nearby pub.
That motherfucker.
“Go!” ordered a voice, slamming the sliding door of the van closed, and then the driver peeled out of there.
Again, her monster went to rise in a fury. Again, the breeze urged it to wait.
Fuck waiting.
Wynter ground her teeth, anger coursing through her. Her ‘daze’ was wearing off now. She knew who’d taken her. Knew she was gonna rip off his cock and—
Hands rolled her onto her front, making her face scrape along the rough floor. Ow. Cuffs were snapped onto her wrists, and she felt power buzz against her skin. They were bespelled to keep her from using her magick, she realized. Fuck.
Again, hands roughly dragged and shoved until, finally, she found herself plopped on her ass with her back pressed against the side of the van.
Squatted in front of her, the male who’d snatched her smiled. “Hello again, Wynter.”
Blanking her expression, she stared at the man who looked so much like one of the boys who put her through hell. “Phineas.”
Her monster stirred once more, impatient to act. She didn’t really have a choice but to release it at some point. She couldn’t use her magick, so there was only one way she was getting out of this situation. The monster would easily escape the cuffs. But it wouldn’t move until the deity gave it Her permission.
“Your old coven thought you’d be hard to capture,” he said, cocky. “Can’t imagine why.”
Darkness fell over them, and she knew they were now driving through the tunnel that led out of the town. She stilled as she heard the rumbling of more engines and the screeching of tires.
“Those three vehicles you’re hearing aren’t driven by people coming to save you,” said Phineas. “Nah, they’re filled with people from Aeon. Each vehicle will head off in a different direction, which means anyone who tries saving your ass will have four trails to follow.”
Clever. Didn’t matter, though. It was really all for nothing. Because neither he nor the driver would live much longer.
“People will realize you’re gone soon, but they won’t find it so easy to track you. We’re going off-road and taking a little detour that’ll make it simple to lose whoever might follow. We’ve been driving around these parts for days familiarizing ourselves with the territory.”
Pausing, he cocked his head. “You’re remarkably calm for someone who’ll be delivered to the Aeons soon. They are pissed at you. Were you this calm when you killed my boy?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You think I believe you were really in some kind of shock-induced trance?” He sneered, his eyes blazing. “You killed him in cold blood.”
Her monster most likely did—Wynter truly wasn’t sure how it all went down. “That’s kind of what he and his buddy did to me.”
“And what does that matter? You’re nothing. A mere witch from a weak-ass coven. You can’t be easy prey and expect predators to not come sniffing around. That ain’t how it works. My son … he was meant for great things. You took his future from him.”
“He got overpowered by a ten year old girl, Phineas. Not so sure you can claim he was meant for greatness.”
The mage clenched his fist and raised it, but he didn’t slam it into her jaw as she’d expected. No, he just snickered like she was too pathetic to be worth the blow. “It was your dark magick that overpowered him. Not you.”
“It wasn’t dark until he did what he did. When you think about it, he instrumented his own destruction.”
He squinted. “I’m going to enjoy watching you die. That’ll have to wait a little while, though. The Aeons need you to fix your mess first.”
“They can’t even combat a little soil erosion, huh?”
“It’s not mere soil erosion. And only dark magick can fight dark magick. The Aeons’ power is too pure to counteract it.”
She let out a scornful chuckle. “Now if it were true that their power is pure, said power would actually be the perfect antidote for the decay, wouldn’t it? The Aeons aren’t truly so lily-white on any level. But you’ve already figured that much out for yourself, haven’t you? You knew Wagner would toss me over the falls.”
“What did you do to him?”
“I’m not entirely sure what exactly happened to him. I just know he’s dead.” She stilled as a breeze touched her face in what felt like a ‘right, you can reign fresh hell on the fuckers now’ message. “He never had a chance to do your dirty work, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she added, feeling her monster very slowly slink to the surface as it prepared itself to lunge.
“That’s all right. I don’t mind doing it myself. I won’t be dipping my dick in you—not inside the woman who killed my son. But everything else? Yes, I’ll enjoy doing …” He trailed off, his lips parting as black inky ribbons began to crawl over her eyes. “What in the hell?”
“You shouldn’t have come for me, Phineas. You see, this thing that lives inside me … it loathes you. It always has. I managed to hold it back over the years, but only because I promised that it could one day tear you apart if the time was ever right. This moment, well, this feels kind of right. And I’d be a twat if I went back on my promise so, yeah, you and your friend are now gonna die.” Her vision went black.
*
“I want to be able to shift,” said the male sitting opposite Cain in the parlor’s manor. “My dragon … I feel it inside me. I hate that it’s trapped. I want to be able to shift.”
Cain inwardly sighed. The majority of the time, those wanting to sell their soul requested something reasonable. Cliché, but reasonable—fame, fortune, power. But then there were those who really hadn’t thought the situation through; who hadn’t considered the downsides to having their desire granted. The male in front of him was one of those people.
“You have no real idea what you’re asking,” Cain told him. “Draconian mages were stripped of their ability to shift because they were too destructive. Once they turned dragon, the mage stayed in that form and lost their humanity.”
“I don’t believe that. It’s just a story told to scare us. Dragon shifters—”
“Are different. You’re a mage with the suppressed capability to shift. You do not have a separate entity inside you, whatever you might think. It is the bestial magick that is trapped. It has no personality, no wants, no likes, no dislikes. It is simply power. Once unleashed, it would destroy who you are. You would become a beast.”
He licked his lips. “You’re wrong. Look, I don’t even care what will happen. It’s my risk to take. I am offering my soul to you in payment.”
“You haven’t asked what exactly that would entail. It’s not a small price to pay.”
“It doesn’t matter, I—”
The door sharply opened, and Maxim stepped inside, his expression grim. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Sire, but it’s Wynter.”
Cain was out of his seat in an instant, assuring himself with one touch to her soul that she was in fact alive. Stalking out of the room, he clipped, “Tell me.”
“She disappeared from the ethnic restaurant above ground,” Maxim explained. “An unfamiliar black van was seen speeding out of town, so people are concluding that she was taken. Her coven are in pursuit, but they’re on foot; they asked someone to pass on the message to you. More of the townspeople have joined the search—”
Cain didn’t wait to hear more. He used the enhanced speed of his kind to rush out of the manor, through the town, and up to the invisible border a short distance away from the tunnel that would take him out of town … if only he could fucking get to it.
Vehicle after vehicle drove through the tunnel fast. He knew the people inside them would search for Wynter. Meanwhile, all he could do was stand in that very spot. It was as far as he could go. Literally.
Anger rumbled through Cain like a thunderstorm, and his hands balled into tight fists. Wynter was gone. Taken. And there wasn’t a single fucking thing he could personally do to bring her back. Nothing.
His creature went ballistic, thrashing inside him, wanting out; wanting to hunt and track and annihilate whoever took her. It took everything Cain had to contain the monster.
Azazel materialized at his side, his jaw hard as granite. “I heard what happened. She’ll be found, Cain. Whoever kidnapped her won’t get far with her. They don’t know this land like our people do, they’ll be caught.”
Cain didn’t speak. Couldn’t. A roar had built in his chest. He knew it would escape him if he opened his mouth.
“She’s not dead, right?” Azazel asked.
Cain only shook his head.
“Thought as much. In my opinion, her kidnapper won’t kill her. If that was their intention, they would have done it there and then rather than snatch her.”
But that brought Cain no comfort, because it meant they likely planned to take her to the Aeons, and those fuckers would eventually kill her if they got their hands on her. Azazel knew that as well as Cain did. If someone didn’t get to her before—
Movement caught his eye. He watched as Delilah and Xavier walked out of the tunnel, their faces hard as stone.
“I didn’t say it was your fault,” Delilah said to him.
“Well, it feels like you’re tossing the blame at my feet,” clipped Xavier.
“That’s not what I’m doing, I’m just saying I was distracted by you and Elias having yet another snarky encounter—that’s on me. I should have been more alert. We all should have been. Instead, Hattie yanked out a small paperback and got lost in the story, and Anabel started having a meltdown like—”
“Hey, I warned you we weren’t safe, but you wouldn’t listen,” ranted Anabel, walking out of the shadows of the tunnel … with a crow on her head and Wynter at her side.
Relief slammed into Cain, making him draw in a sharp breath. Then he frowned. She was covered in blood spatter, brain matter, and all manner of things. She should have looked a mess; should have seemed sheepish and awkward when she laid eyes on him. But no, she somehow managed to look regal as a queen.
“Hate motherfucking mages,” spat Xavier.
“I hate them more when they’re smart.” Delilah looked from Cain to Azazel. “Bastards came in four vehicles and took off in different directions to confuse anyone who might follow. Hattie here flew around until she spotted a van that had crashed into a tree and then she led us to it. Wynter had already taken care of shit by then.”
Wynter gave Cain a half smile … like she hadn’t just been kidnapped and evidently engaged in a battle of some sort. There were no cuts on her, no bruises, not a single injury. His creature settled slightly, but it wouldn’t be happy until she was in their den.
Azazel cleared his throat, staring at her. “I think you have bone fragment in your hair.”
Utterly dignified, Wynter swiped blood-soaked bangs away from her face. “It is highly possible.” She went to walk past them.
Cain slid into her path. “What happened, Wynter? Who took you? And where the fuck are they?”
“Mages from Aeon came for me,” she said. “They’re probably dead by now.”
“Probably dead? Why probably?”
She went to answer, but then the crow plucked brain matter from her shoulder and spat it on the ground. She offered the bird a smile of thanks and then both of them went to town on the bits of gore, dumping them on the ground.
“Long story,” Delilah answered on Wynter’s behalf. “She set them on fire.”
Azazel blinked. “That wasn’t a long story at all.”
“It was more that Wynter set the van on fire while the mages were inside it,” Anabel explained. “So, yeah, they’re most likely goners at this point. The screaming was dying down as we left the scene.”
“I still say we should have waited for them to take their last breaths,” said Xavier.
Wynter rolled her eyes. “Only because you wanted to reanimate their bodies.”
“And that would have been so terrible?” he asked.
“No,” replied Wynter. “But you would have made them chase Anabel at some point. You always reach that point.”
“She likes to feel death’s breath on her neck.”
Anabel whirled on him. “I don’t like to feel it, I just do. It’s a curse.”
“It’s a fucking delusion,” he said.
She gasped. “You said you believed me.”
“I lied. That’s what I do.”
