Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (40 page)

No.
She mentally willed those thoughts away and replaced them with Logan’s. The acts of pleasure stamping out the pain.

Let it go.

Mounting. Mounting. The heat inside of her building, swirling, threatening to boil over.

“I trust you,” she murmured.

Her head couldn’t keep still against the bed. Her muscles turned rigid with the effort of resisting the climb. Higher and higher.

His tongue probed her one last time.

Oh, God! Oh, God!

From her core, a ripple of ecstasy zipped through her body. Heat spread like fire, tingles trailing and making her dizzy.

Hips rocking, she called out his name. Over and over with each wave that crashed, arching her back, breasts jutting forward, erect nipples brushing against the satin sheets with each swell that passed through her.

She ascended on a high—a suspension of her existence—and laughter burst forth on the fall. Down, down. Her head rolled against the bed like a cat drunk off catnip, the need to collapse beckoning her weakened muscles.

Logan’s tongue slowed to long, maddening licks, suckling her sensitive bud as he teased the last of her orgasm.

Her body curled inward from the tickle and his hands released her thighs.

Holy hell, this is what it feels like?

Calla wanted to laugh and cry at the agonizing beauty and relief in the final release. Sexual therapy. He’d done that to her. Somehow, his tongue summoned a sexual firework finale—a detonation that overrode years of pain.

The exquisite sensation of something Wade could never claim from her—absolute pleasure.

And it felt damn good.

Bottom slamming against the mattress, she lay on her side, completely sated, trying to catch her breath. Laughter purred in her throat as she slapped a weak hand to her face and smiled. In her moment of rapture, she caught a glimpse of him at the foot of the bed.

A voracious hunger stared back at her, his eyes red, mouth glistening, arms braced. His fists gripped sheets like he prepared to pounce.

What the …?

Exhaustion weighing down on her, she perked up.

He leaned forward, hiked up a knee and crawled toward her. The lean muscles in his arms and chest like a cage she’d never escape as his massive body advanced closer.

“What are you …”

The look in his eyes prompted Calla to push herself backward, out from beneath him. His gaze wasn’t that of a man’s beneath the red, but a demon brimming to the fore.

Oh, no.

Had the act awakened something inside of him? Would he hurt her?

Her head smacking against the headboard halted escape. His expression tugged at the hairs on her skin.

Still, he approached.

Their foreheads touched.

“You got off easy that time, kitten.” His intense gaze fell away from hers, down toward his hand stroking her thigh, then back again. “That’s how a woman
should
be touched at her most vulnerable. From now on, your pleasure is mine. All mine.” He kissed her jaw then nipped her earlobe with his fang. “I did this to you and I intend to do it again. I’ve got one objective tonight: to hear you beg for release and make you feel so fucking good that you’ll damn near sell me your soul for it.”

His words cast a chill through her body. Frightening, but at the same time, she couldn’t deny the longing to fall into the dark places where his wicked promises tugged at her desire.

“I’m wrong for you Calla, on more levels that you can even imagine, but tonight I’ll make everything right.”

He lifted himself away, pried her knees apart and wedged his big body between them. His head disappeared behind her thighs and Calla arched off the bed.

Oh. Yes.

CHAPTER 30

Two orgasms.

Successively.

But
only
two over a course of three hours.

Exhaustion blanketed every inch of Calla’s body. Staying true to his word, Logan had kept her sweat-drenched and hungry for climax a few times. How wickedly his tongue and hands fed dark desires.

Calla lay against Logan’s chest, staring up at the ceiling, as if mentally discussing with the gods painted across, a recap of the last hour. The sheets, damp with sweat, carried the heady scent of sex—a scent she inhaled with a smile.

Logan’s arm beneath her head clutched her in a protective grip. His breathing slowed.

Sleeping.

He hadn’t even penetrated her. Hadn’t even
tried
to. When she’d attempted to return the favor, his tongue had just worked her fantasies faster than she could mount an argument.

He’d gotten himself off during the acts, only apparent to her when she’d sneaked a glimpse of him and noticed his bicep curled in beneath him, flexing in time to the laps of his tongue, his heightened moans echoing her own.

She smiled at the visual as the steady drum of his heartbeat in her ear lulled her to join him, but panic still managed to force through and seize her easy breaths—the alarm ringing in her head a reminder that things never lasted.

This happiness. This feeling
.
All chimera
.

Women came and went in the demon mansion, and she’d be no exception to the temporary. Why shouldn’t she be?

Careful not to disturb him, Calla propped her head on her palm, and studied his face. How peaceful he looked, those furrowed grooves in his brow softened to contentment. Those hard warrior lines that made him appear so mean and untouchable seemed to disappear, leaving smooth, flawless skin that glowed in the darkness. His parted lips, so kissable, though she didn’t attempt to kiss them.

Calla stared at him while the ebb and flow of good and sad emotions tore at her heart.

Logan was fierce. Cruel and, sometimes, heartless—but hidden beneath all of that, a gentle male, one under whose watchful eye she felt protected.

Protected against the nightmares—past and present.

Lying back down against his chest, she allowed his heartbeats to stamp out those twisted thoughts, until all other sound drifted to nothingness.

* * *

Hidden behind a copse of bushes, Draven watched the deformed troll he’d encountered once before hobble back inside the demon mansion.

From beside him, the beastly thing Ryke had sent as escort heaved in the cold air, its mist hitting Draven’s neck and raising his hackles. A black carapace covered its body and the most intimidating weaponry he’d ever seen hung from holsters.

Draven stood up but was yanked back down into the snow. The demon’s cold black eyes bore into his.

“I … I’ll be in and out. I’ll bring her back.”

A chuff from the cocksucker left spittle on his face, and before Draven could wipe it away, the beast threw him back to the ground.

Scrambling to his knees, Draven stood quickly and brushed the snow from his pants, collecting himself as he gathered his thoughts.

The plan was simple. Flash inside the mansion, find Calla, and flash back out. Not back to where he sat, though, as Ryke had instructed, but somewhere they couldn’t be found.

As a result, Draven’d be hunted. By Ryke. By the hunter.

Draven ran his fingertips over the bands at his throat.

Better than the fate that awaited Calla. Soiled, or not, she didn’t deserve what the sick fuck, Ryke, had in mind for her.

Draven caught a glimpse of the wicked curved pick, where it hung off the beast’s belt and still carried the blood of his last victim.

Not Calla.
He would save her from that.

Just as Ryke had shown him, Draven closed his eyes and concentrated. Apparently, he could only flash to places he’d been before. That’s how the shit worked.

The ornate foyer inside the demon mansion materialized in his head: dark wood tones, gold trim, gods painted across the walls—every detail clear in his mind.

Heat scorched his body.

His stomach fluttered.

He opened his eyes to the marble staircase before him, winding upward to where he’d first seen Calla the last time he broke inside the mansion.

As he took a breath, a metal prong pierced his neck.

“Gotcha.” The voice carried an icy chill.

Draven brought his hands to his throat and his fingers located the cold steel throttling his windpipe.

“Gauntlets. Fashioned with the metal of gods. Designed for your kind.”

“Who … are …”

A slow twist brought him to face whatever held him.

An enormous male, with stretched, black wings, stood with head tipped, clutching Draven’s throat. Black straps crisscrossed over his bare chest and supported two silver daggers. He pulled one from the holster and ran his thumb along the blade. With a heaving breath that sent his bulging chest outward, he cracked a grin. “Human flesh is so … very fascinating. That
pop
before the blade sinks into its thickness and the first bulbs of blood that gather at the wound. I could watch it for hours. Over and over again.”

Draven clawed at the gauntlets. “Who are you?”

“I’d say I’m your worst nightmare, motherfucker.”

CHAPTER 31

The tugging of her body woke Calla. She startled and felt arms grip her tightly, settling her back into a relaxed state.

Logan rolled over and rested his face in the curve of her neck.

Her heart fluttered, and she smiled before curling into his body, crossing a leg over his. Opening her eyes, she traced her fingertip along the edges of his face where his short-cropped hair met smooth skin. She measured his mood as she continued across his solid, chiseled jaw, his soft lips, the perfect slope of his Greek nose and up along the deep creases in his furrowed brow. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“Everything. Nothing.”

“Zeke?” she asked, her tone softer.

“I have to find him.”

“You will.” She continued tracing her fingers along his skin.

He drew back a little until his eyes met hers. “I like that.”

“What? This?”

“It’s been a while since I knew touch.”

“Have you been …?” She shook her head. “God, it’s none of my business.”

“What?”

“Have you ever been in love?”

He shook his head. “The L word and I don’t get along.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means I don’t believe in the word.”

Calla frowned. “The word, or the meaning behind it?”

“There is no meaning behind it.”

“So, what would you call the feelings you have toward your brothers?”

“There are no human words to describe what I feel for my brothers. All your terms are ephemeral.”

“Is there a demon term for it?”

“Amec. It’s stronger. Humans have to place the word
unconditional
before love to define what kind it is. Ours comes without conditions.” His jaw hardened, eyes focused, indomitable like a warrior’s. “It’s loyalty through and through.”

Calla half-smiled. “You feel that about your brothers?”

“Yeah.”

“I always thought it was odd that all my memories were erased, and yet, the love for my brother Jacob never disappeared. As if all of our childhood was locked somewhere inside of me and I just couldn’t reach it. Do you have any good memories of your childhood?”

“No.”

“I just wish I had
any
memory. Jacob used wake up nights and he’d be frantic with a dream about our parents. Our house. He said he
remembered
them. I was afraid for him. Afraid that if Wade even thought he remembered anything, he’d send Jake out onto the streets.” She smiled and shook her head. “He was so insistent, like he was trying to convince me he’d seen them.” She blinked to hold back tears and cleared her throat. “I used to tell him to write the memory down. As many details as he could possibly remember. He even drew my mother’s face once. We’d tear the paper into tiny scraps and burn them in a trashcan. I told him the flames carry the messages into the world and they forever become a part of us. The air we breathe. Never lost or forgotten.”

“That’s interesting.”

“What?”

“I’ve always considered flames a destructive element. You make it sound almost
poetic
.”

Her smile lapsed. “My brother was all I had. He was my only reason for staying a part of this world. I always thought that, if I lost him, it’d be like snipping my only lifeline.”

“And now?”

“Now my purpose in life is to avenge him.”

“What happens when you kill Draven?”