Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (8 page)

He’d be viewed as a savior. One the other Alexi would trust.

The very thought made Draven want to throw up.

Though, if he succeeded, perhaps the nephilim would help him with his own request: get Calla back—and God help his fellow Alexi and whatever twisted purpose they’d serve for Ryke.

* * *

Calla buried her face in the pillow.

Final moments of her dream played like a reel in her head:

“I won’t leave you here, Jake.”

A sharp inhale through her nose and she turned her head to the side, tears pooling in the silk sheet beneath her cheek.

Somewhere in Detroit, her brother lay frozen in the cold, winter ground—Draven never said where he’d buried him.

With no other resources, Calla had two choices.

One perfectly executed slice across her wrist could end it all; she stared down at the white scars reminding her she’d tried once before.

Or she could turn the sadness into hate. Hate and vengeance. Kill Draven. Kill the wolves.

Avenge her brother.

Adrenaline coursed at the thought of dragging her blade through the furry flesh of the beasts.
Yes
. And Draven, too. How gratifying that would be, to watch the last glimmer of life bleed with his wounds.

“No more tears, Jacob.” Long velvet drapes at the windows shielded any shred of sunlight, yet she caught the flicker of gold spindling on the walls, in the dimly lit room in which she’d spent the night strategizing a plan. “I promise I’ll find him and the wolves that hurt you. But no more tears.”

Sadness would swallow her whole, if allowed. Death had only delayed its grip the first time the wolves had attacked. If not for the motive of vengeance, no other attachments would keep her from surrendering herself to the reaper’s blade.

Why not go out with blazing guns instead of wounds that only spoke of a frail mind with no other answers?

Her gaze swept the room again, falling on the statue of Diana. What was it about the figure that she found so intriguing?

Calla rose from the bed. Someone had deposited clothing on the chair across the room at some point during the night, probably Annabelle. Black leather pants, T-shirt and jacket lay folded and draped over the arm of the chair—the same outfit Ayden always wore. Black boots had been slid beneath them.

It’d be nice to get out of the skirt she’d worn all week. Even though the maid had cleaned it once or twice, it still carried the grotesque memory of her mission, the one that sent her into that underground party to seek out the demon brothers and seduce them.

She shook her head.
Like some kind of cheap whore.

“Never again,” she vowed, pulling on the clothes.

Time to put her
face
on—the one she’d gotten so accustomed to wearing over the last couple of years. For Draven, when he asked about her nightly disappearances into Wade’s office; for Jake, when he’d ask if things would be all right; for random strangers she’d encounter, with their happy lives and families. The mask of smiles always hid the truth: shame, fear, the sadness that remained cloaked in the darkness of her soul.

Calla left the room and headed downstairs to the kitchen, where she found Annabelle polishing silver, while Ayden pulled food from the refrigerator. Their conversation ended the moment she approached.

“Good morning.” Calla gripped the back of a kitchen chair.

Ayden gave her a onceover. “Nice threads,” she said with a smile.

Calla returned the smile. “Thanks to Anna.”

“Just temporary, love,” Annabelle said. “At least until we get an idea of your style.” She winked.

“No. I like this. It feels good. ’Sides, I’m not … planning to stick around … forever, or anything.” Calla dodged Ayden’s quizzical eyes. “Ayden, I’d like to come tonight. On the hunt.”

Ayden paused in the midst of making a sandwich. “I … I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Calla. It’s dangerous. Not like casing a house, or anything, after an attack.”

“I can handle it. I’ve been through training.”

“It’s incredibly dangerous. I’ve risked my life—”

“Please. I need this.” Calla looked down to her hands, where energy burned inside her skin, desperate to take life. “I just need to get out and hunt again. I’ll be fine.”

Ayden nodded. Perhaps she recognized the desperation in Calla’s eyes. “I’ll talk to Gavin. If he’s okay with it, then it’s a go.”

“Thank you.” Calla turned back to Annabelle, as Ayden left the room carrying a tray piled high with food. “Say, Anna? When you get a chance, I’d love to read that book.”

Anna winked. “Absolutely love. Be finished up here in a moment and I’ll fetch it right away.” Over at the sink, Anna washed her hands then patted them dry with a nearby towel. “Sleep well in that room?”

Calla sighed. “Yes, much better, thank you.” She plopped down in the wooden chair.

The demoness hobbled across the room and sat beside Calla. “He can be quite fierce, can’t he?”

Calla studied her hands as she rubbed them together in her lap. “That’s an understatement.”

“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you that somewhere in that fierceness is a vulnerability that would crumble his walls to pieces.”

“Probably not.” Trying to imagine Logan guarding a vulnerability almost seemed laughable.

“Logan does a fine job of making himself difficult to reach. He is a violent one. Has been as long as I’ve known him.” She leaned forward. “It’s taken a great many years to get beyond his nasty remarks and, quite frankly,
crude
personality. But I’ve seen him sometimes. When he thinks no one is noticing.” She smiled. “Those moments when what’s inside of him flickers through for one brief moment. He’s mastered the art of keeping himself hidden behind a very frightening mask. Makes him rather hard to ignore, don’t you agree?”

“It’s getting easier for me.”

A chuckle had the plump female’s upper body jiggling. “With all due respect, miss, the two of you are more alike than you think.” She rested her head on her palm. “Would it be presumptuous of me to hope one of you might let down your guard to see the other?”

“Very.”

Anna let out a chortle and slapped the kitchen table. “We Gambis demons like to tread where we’re not wanted.” She shook her head. “Much as he can be a pain in my ass, I wish for him to know love and be happy someday. Forgive me.”

“It’s okay, Anna. I think I’m better off staying away from him.” Aside from that, Calla had much more important topics on her agenda than to be worrying about Logan. “If I had to guess, I’d say he’d prefer it that way as well. Sorry that puts caring for him back on you.”

“Ah, no worries, dear. Taking care of these boys is what I’m here for.” She sighed. “Though, I must admit, they don’t make it an easy task.” Anna folded her arms, resting them on the table. “May I ask, what is it about this book of Lady Artemis that has you so intrigued?”

Calla cast her gaze toward the table, the tug of a smile curving her upper lip. “I’m just curious, is all. Seems like such a strong female goddess.”

“Very brave. Master Gavin always likened her to Ayden.”

“I’ve always admired Ayden’s strength, too.” Calla glanced up to see Anna’s eyes, fixed on her. “She’s so hardened. Like nothing can touch her. She keeps her emotions hidden well.” Thoughts of sobbing the night before resurfaced and turned Calla’s stomach.
The mask
, she reminded herself.

Anna’s eyes softened with a smile. “Sweet child, wherever did you learn that hiding your pain makes you strong?” She tipped her head. “If you ask me, it takes incredible strength and bravery to reveal your true self to others. Vulnerability and weakness are two separate entities, Miss Calla. Where one
exposes
you to pain, the other allows you to be consumed by it.”

“Thanks, Anna, but I’ve come to consider them one in the same.”

“Perhaps in time.” The demoness winked and leaned in. “Let me go find that book.”

* * *

Logan’s muscles seized as the bedroom door opened without any introduction.

Zayne.
If there was one brother who made Logan feel on edge, it was the Goth-brooding S.O.B. who always wore black—a drug-addicted time bomb since his mate, Shey, had died. Yeah, Zayne was Logan’s brother, like any of Wrath’s bastard sons, but anyone who walked around as miserable as he did over a dead female deserved to have the bitch slapped right out of him.

Like a storm cloud, Zayne strode over to the bed, the silver piercings of his eyebrows, lip and ears glistening like a warning. “How goes it?”

Logan’s lip tightened. “Fucking peachy. Hey, can you tell me if I still have a cock tent going on down there?”

Zayne’s jaw twitched like he tried to stifle a smile. Couldn’t even laugh if something seemed remotely funny. “I’m not here to dick gaze. Perhaps I should fetch that blonde for you?”

“No!” Logan cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”

Zayne cocked his pierced brow. “Touchy.”

“She’s the reason I’m laid out like a goddamn pig on a spit.”

“You look pretty comfy to me.”

“Piss off, Zayne. What do you want?”

He scratched his jaw before folding his arms over his chest and sitting on the bed edge. The tired blue in his eyes struck like a shot of depressants straight to the system. “I want to know what it’s like.”

“What?” All Logan could summon from his body was a frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“To die. What was it like?”

“If I could kick your nuts up into your throat right now, I would.”

Zayne tipped his head. “Was there anything on the other side?”

“Yeah. Yeah there was. A dozen virgins who wanted to ride my cock. And Elvis. Pretty sure he wanted to ride my cock, too.”

Zayne’s jaw flexed. Glowing red swallowed the blue in his eyes, sending a rush of adrenaline through Logan’s body, until the glow softened back to blue. He offered a slight smile and rose from the bed. “Elvis.” He leaned forward and gave a light punch to Logan’s arm. Damn the numb sensation. “Glad you came back,” he said before he trod out of the room.

A frigid sensation traveled down Logan’s spine, like ice, and his body shivered.
Cold?
Hairs on his arms bristled and Logan raised his hand. “I can move. Thank gods.” While sensation seemed to have returned to both arms, his legs remained stiff and numb when he tried moving those. “Motherfucker, come on!”

Logan froze at the sound of rustling beneath the bed. Head snapping back and forth, he searched for the source, a red haze filtering into his vision as he hissed a warning. To the left, something black emerged from beneath the bed. Darkness obscured its form, until it came into view—a black cat.

It prowled toward the center of the room, where it turned and sat. Lifting its paw, it licked the fur.

What the …
“How the hell did you get in my room, cat? Blondie let you in?”

The cat lurked toward him and leaped up onto his legs.

Logan waved his hands to shoo it away. “Get off of me, shithead, before I slam you into the wall.” He’d have kicked the damn thing across the room if his legs’d obey.

The dumb feline remained perched on Logan’s shins, yellow eyes following the wave of the demon’s hand before it batted a paw toward him.

Logan stretched down as far as he could but his stupid hands only reached his kneecaps—still too far away from the cat that licked its paws as if mocking him.

Throwing himself back against the headboard, he crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

A graceful nature about the animal, very feminine, yet wily, accompanied its steps as it pranced along his shins and curled up on the sheets covering his feet.

Logan rubbed both hands down his face and scratched his head, catching sight of the glass of water Anna had brought him on the nightstand. Moving only his arm and fingers, he lifted the glass and tossed it at the cat.

The cat hissed and leaped from his lap like Logan’d struck its ass with electricity.

“Ha! Take that, fucker.”

The black figure shook the water off before prowling across the room toward the window, where it jumped onto the curtains. The sound of tearing piqued Logan’s ears.

“No, no, no!” He leaned to the side and swiped an arm to grab at the cat, but the sheer black curtain behind the heavy drapes tore away, and a glaring blaze of sunlight blasted through.

“Ah, shit!” Logan jerked back and flung an arm up—toppling over the mattress to face-plant the floor.

Logan pushed up onto his elbows, his legs twisted beneath him, and sent a growl in the direction of the cat, but the stupid animal just stared down from the windowsill as if it hadn’t a care in the world.

Groaning, he glanced down at himself. Only a pair of black boxer briefs covered his lower half.

Where the hell are my clothes?