11.The Funeral II
1375 Words
My body jerks and I instinctively reach for the pistol in the back of my pocket, but I am stopped by the fingers catch my wrist with shocking speed and I am shoved forward, my torso pressed against the counter with bruising force. “I don’t think so, wild cat.”
I try to twist my head to get a glimpse of the bastard but his vise-like grip only tightens and if I move even a little, my arm will f*****g dislocate from its socket. Cursing under my breath, I hold still.
“Good girl,” he says in a deep voice that appeals to all six senses of mine, erotically. All of them have that effect. All the vile creatures of Avallen. They speak to you and the first thing you think of is having s*x with them. Even if I am appalled and angry, my body begins to grow hot at the feel of his breath against the shell of my ear. “Friend of yours? She looks delicious.”
My gaze jerks up to find Grace who’s making her way over to us, worry glinting in her eyes. My heart slows. “No,” I breathe. “I don’t know her.”
I stare at Grace, hoping to get the message across. Don’t come any closer, goddammit. How can she see what’s behind me, feel all of that malevolent energy he’s throwing off and still approach me?
“Liar,” he croons. “Convince her I am a friend of yours and I won’t find a reason to follow her home and paint her walls with brain matter.” His grip on me relaxes a little. “You move wrong and she dies.” A tentative pause. “Or maybe I’ll kill them all and leave a bloody trail to your wardens. Must have taken quite the bribe to hide those bodies.” Wardens—Police, and yes, it cost a lot.
My stomach twists and I shove down the urge to vomit. His hands leave mine and he saunters around me, leaning against the counter. I look at him then and I understand why I didn’t see him. Or sense him.
He is wearing a human form, dressed as a paparazzi. His camera hangs oddly around his neck, like it doesn’t quite fit there, and though, his eyes are a dull brown, I see something unearthly shimmering underneath those pools.
“Can I have a glass as well?” Grace says, plopping down on the stool on the other end of the counter. She’s eyeing the man beside me skeptically, her frown deepening. “Hello.”
I clear my throat. “Grace, I think Mik is looking for you.”
Her gaze slides between us. “Mik didn’t attend. He’s caught up in a meeting at Istanbul.” Reaching for my glass, she turns her head. “And you are?”
The male smiles and I catch a glimpse of pearly white teeth. Human teeth. “Josh.” He stretches forward elegant fingers and I snatch his wrist back before Grace can touch him. Black eyes narrow at me and something inhuman swims in them at his obvious displeasure of me ruining whatever s**t he thinks he wants to do with Grace.
I force a smile. “We have to talk. Come on.” Incline my head towards the stairs.
He grins, flicking his thumb over my pulse point in a way that makes my insides turn to marshmallows, and it takes a lot of willpower to hide my revulsion as he purrs, “Of course.”
Grace starts to argue but I’m already leading Josh upstairs, my heels clicking on the black marbles. I feel the heat of his gaze searing into my back, but I look ahead, scanning the floors for servants. Anyone at all who might witness what I’m about to do. When I’m sure there’s no one, I spin around, reaching for my gun, only to find Fake Josh dangling it before my face.
He isn’t smiling anymore and his eyes have changed. His irises are molten gold, like the sun, and a ring of fiery crimson encircles it, pulsing like a heartbeat, expanding, contracting, and I stumble a step back as fear becomes a living thing in my bones, forcing them to quiver. Fae. Those eyes are undeniably Fae. How the f**k did I get so unlucky?
Holding the gun from its bottom, he motions to the nearest door. “Get in. Now.”
I don’t remember moving. I don’t remember my fingers wrapping around the doorknob. I don’t remember taking off my shirt and pants, or sitting on the bed. Or parting my thighs. All I know is him. I want his hands on my skin. I want him inside me.
“Do you know who I am?” he whispers, his fingers drawing a line along my jaw.
I stare up at him, entranced. “No.” And because I cannot help it, I add, “You’re beautiful.”
His rough thumb rest on my bottom lip, caressing the soft width of it. “More so than your mates?”
Something tickles the back of my mind. Something I should remember. Four men. But I can’t remember their names or faces. I don’t remember why they are important, or why I despise them. I don’t remember why thinking of them makes the marks on my skin tingle. Soon, they’re nothing but thoughts, overshadowed by the magnificence of the being before me. I smile brightly. “Yes. Will you kiss me?”
He chuckles deeply and the sound makes me want to reach between my thighs. “No, wild cat. Not today. I’d f**k you if I wanted. Put my seed in you and make you forget it ever happened until it is too late. But ridding you of your clever, wicked mind would be such a waste.”
I shudder. Fear rises inside me, but I don’t know why. I want him to f**k me. I want him to do whatever he wants to me. I don’t care if he takes my memory. Or my mind. I want him to soothe my ache. I tell him this. But he laughs at me and lets his hand fall away from my face.
Only, the moment he does, the lust disappears, leaving nothing but a chasm of emptiness behind. I feel like I have been doused with freezing water. I scramble back, blinking, trying to understand why I’m so wet, my panties are dividing my folds. How I’m in my lace bra and panties, seated in a way that gives the bastard a good view of me.
I look up with contempt. “What did you do to me? Who are you?”
He turns his back to me, walking over to the tall desk, and I sight my gun lying forgotten, on the other end of the new mattress in my father’s guest room. I start to reach for it when something else catches my attention. His body is morphing. Growing. Contorting. The human skin he wore is suddenly ripped away, and in its place stands a golden angel.
“My goodness,” I breathe as I struggle to find where to stare at. His silvery blonde hair. Or the onyx black wings hanging off his back, tall enough to drag across the floor as he walks.
But when he turns, leaning back casually against that desk, my mind turns to mush at the sight of his face. Words cannot quantify his beauty. It is savage, rough, cold, hot, devastating. My eyes begin to itch as I stare, but I cannot seem to look away. It’s like looking at the sun. My eyes are getting burned, but it is of little consequence. His too high, too sharp cheekbones seem to move as he clenches his jaw. “Look away. Your eyes bleed.”
It’s an order and my eyes fall in my lap, red drops falling from my cheek as I blink severally to rid myself of the aftereffects of staring too long.
“I am Fionn, Lord of the Fae, and I have come to cut you, Scarlett Montgomery, a deal.”
- Writer
