Demon Chained (Shadowfae Chronicles) (9 page)

I don't remember lust being like this. Maybe I'm into weird shit now I'm dead. Or maybe it's just Gavain, with his tight horny ass and his crushable hair and his suckable berry-red lips and now he's sliding that swelling mouth around my cock and shit damn holy crap what was I thinking about anyway?

He takes me in, sucking as he moves down. Deadly heat spreads in my balls like poison. When he withdraws, his lips leave a reddish fairy stain. I shudder, my cock straining even harder, and pull him down onto me, knotting his hair around my fingers. He wraps his tongue around me and sucks harder, deeper, until the sweet wet softness of his throat enfolds me. Damn, it's good. But it feels distant, remote, like he's doing it through a condom. I want it raw, painful, so hard I scream.

Gavain grins around me, his teeth scraping me playfully as he backs off. He presses his tongue into the dimple, sucking out shining fluid. At the same time his hand disappears between my legs. He massages my balls, mashing sweet delight through my guts, and twists one long wet finger into my ass.

Nerves dancing everywhere, the slow burn sinking deeper under my skin. I groan, my muscles convulsing around him. He searches with his fingertip, rubbing slowly back and forth, and hot pleasure coils deep inside me, tighter, firmer, spreading. And then he sinks his mouth back onto my cock, and it's heaven, hot, hard, relentless. Christ. This isn't going to take very long.

My balls clench, and a burning knot of pressure unravels at the base of my cock, dragging desperate pleasure upwards. My breath hurts my lungs, hot and abrasive. God, I want it. Want to come inside him, watch him swallow.

But this is so wrong. He doesn't understand. It isn't fresh, the mess I'm going to make.

I bang my head back against the bathtub, cracking my teeth together, but the pain only makes it feel better. I grab his hair to pull him off me, but he won't budge. He just takes me deeper, swallowing. "Stop, Gavain. Back off or you'll get a mouthful."

He just flicks his ruby gaze up at me, lust-glazed, and there's nothing I can do.

My orgasm boils to the surface and erupts, and he clamps down and sucks it out of me, hard, painful, exquisite. Blood slides away from my head, blinding. God, if I wasn't dead already, he'd kill me. Cramp rips my muscles, and I can't move, only let him pleasure me, let him drink what feels like a massive glut of my liquid, and I know it's full of blood and water and flesh but he doesn't gag or spit. He just swallows, and watches me as I come.

When I'm done, and gasping to catch my breath so I don't drown, he licks me clean, calmly climbs out of the bath and shuts the water off.

Just like that.

Fuck. Suddenly, I'm cold. Mortified. What have I done? What have I let
him
do? Gavain's just a fairy-mad kid, with half his wits gone walkabout. He's not thinking straight. And I've smeared his beautiful body with my filth.

I've violated him, and he's too fucking crazy to care.

And with that grotesque truth, I can't do this anymore.

I wipe water from my face, and my hand's shaking. I clench my fingers to make it stop. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? That was fucked-up. I didn't mean . . ."

Gavain just stares at me, with those bitter, sorrowful eyes. He's drenched, of course, his jeans soaked onto him like a dark wet skin, and if I had any more questions about the dimensions of his hard-on they're answered now. But he adjusts himself, and flushes, and says nothing.

I've just come so hard in his mouth I nearly blacked out and he's not angry. He's not ashamed, or disgusted. He's not even
oops, ha ha, let's pretend that never happened, okay?

He's looking at me like a lost dog that followed me home.

I wrench hot water from my hair with a brutal twist. Yes, I am totally the asshole in this sordid little scene. That doesn't mean he can stare at me like it's all my fault.

"What the hell do you want from me?" I slam my palm against the bathtub, a hollow clang.

He doesn't speak.

"Don't you get it? I can't be responsible for you. You know what happens, if there's even an inkling that I give a shit? The next time Kane or Joey or any other bad-ass fucker with a grudge decides I need to be taught a lesson, you're a red smear on some back-alley wall. Is that what you want? Huh?"

He swallows, his long throat bobbing. Silently, I beg him to speak. Come on, Gavain, take a chance. Kiss me. Hit me. Say
Screw you, Tam
or
use me like that again and I'll tear you a new one
or even
stop being such a selfish prick and let's fuck, okay?

Say anything. Do anything. Just don't act like a whore. Don't fool yourself that this is a fair trade. Don't offer yourself for something I can't give.

Don't ask me to take care of you. Because I can't.

He just fiddles with his wet clothes, and his gaze slides away. Like he's scared to talk.

Reproachful bile splatters into my mouth, and my shame only makes it sting harder. "Just fuck off, okay? I didn't ask for your goddamn sympathy."

His delicate face pales, and his mouth quivers like a child's. My heart scorches, and already I'm sorry for what I said, but he closes his eyes and flits away.

***

Chapter Eight

On the landing, Gavain stumbles, his vision blurring in sheets of bloodstained tears. He catches himself on the rail, pain lancing into his shin. He smacks his wet head against the banister, and stick-legged bugs drop onto the carpet and scatter.

Stupid, timid whore.

His blood still scorches with Tam. That delicious skin, his dripping hair, the silky slide of his lips, that gorgeous scarlet taste, wrapping around Gavain's hot fae senses like velvet, drowning him in salty, messy, forbidden bliss. And then emptiness, void, the silent blackness of doubt. Nothing left to do but walk away.

The foil-wrapped lump in his jeans pocket digs sharply into his butt, accusing. Could have used it on Tam, made him want. Didn't dare. Too fucking scared and weak and useless. Frustration boils up inside Gavain's chest, and he crushes jagged teeth into his bottom lip, the pain dragging him back from the edge of screaming.

Tam looked at him, see. He stared, with that black disdain bleeding from his beautiful dark eyes, and it choked Gavain's throat like a wasp sting and he couldn't say a word. What was there to say? Gavain's only good at one thing. He's got nothing else to impress Tam with. That was his chance. He wasted it.

Truth: Tam is everything Gavain's ever wanted. Gavain is the last thing Tam wants. Delilah was right.

Gavain squeezes his stinging eyes shut, but it's no use. He knows the bag is right here, on the banister, and he knows what's in it, and the urge to take it and run hacks his nerves with jagged glass.

Choice: steal the lamp, run to Delilah and beg, take a chance that she's telling even an inkling of truth.

Or leave without it, walk away, knowing Tam will never look him in the eyes again.

Creeping back to the bathroom isn't even an option.

Woodenly, he squishes water from his shirt and drags it on. He wipes his face, smearing bloody tears, and tugs the bag open. The lamp is warm in his palm, smooth, inviting, and before he changes his mind he folds stealthy fingers around the handle and flits down the stairs in silent shadow.

***

I don't get out of the bath until I know he's gone.

I collapse onto my bed and drag the quilt aside. My wet hair soaks damp warmth into the crumpled sheets. Outside, brown rainclouds scud inland, and the moon shines through, casting dusty shadows on the floor through the open window. Humid air wafts in, sharp with ozone and the smell of wet road. It's glorious, and I breathe it in, tasting it just because I can. All that sensation has woken me up, sparked life into my cells, reminded my body it's meant to heal itself.

It won't last, I know that. In a few days, the rot will return. But it feels damn fine for now.

My muscles twinge with fatigue, but they're strong and my joints don't pop or creak. My mouth feels fresh and cool, and when I swallow, I don't taste bad flesh. I can even hear properly again. Hell, I haven't felt this good in months.

But I'd give it all up to rewind an hour or two, run back to the street outside Unseelie Court and smack myself over the head, tell myself to pay attention, forget the smoke girl and save myself a beating, as well as Gavain and his nasty bleeding heart.

Damn him, for being such a screw-up. For needing me so hard, for wanting me to protect him when I can't, for insulting me with his charity when all I want is one honest word.

My heart still aches from giving him the fuck-off he so richly deserved. Still, it's for his own good. I promised Katie I'd never let anyone hurt her. I'm not making that mistake again.

But grasping need slithers in my blood, and a sick ache threatens my guts. Despite Katie, some fucked-up part of me
wants
to protect Gavain. Wants to be the one who drags him out of vampire dens, and kicks crap out of guys who want to rape him, and slaps his face until he snaps out of it and jams the cork back in the hellsauce. And then I think of Katie's little bloodstained corpse, and I want to leap out the window and run in case he comes back.

Giving a shit used to be the one thing that made my gutter-muck life respectable. Guys would clink their retsina glasses together at my wake and say
yeah, he was a thieving, lying little asshole with rotten dress sense, but he cared.
But Joey Di Luca and his sick sense of humor ruined that little fantasy. I can't afford to care anymore.

God, that's such a rotten excuse. I wouldn't believe a line like that. Good thing I've got such a suave and dispassionate exterior, right? No one'll ever know.

I stare upwards, watching the shadows creep across the cracked plaster. Teams of crickets rasp outside, fighting each other to see who can make the rudest din. What sounds like the world's fattest possum scrabbles left to right in the ceiling, thumping its tail.

I wriggle in the wet bed, sheets sticking to my legs. My hair clings to my back and around my elbows, and I drag it free and twist it up on the pillow. Rudolph lights up onto the bed, purring, twitching his fat white tail. I push him back onto the floor. Weird anxiety whispers over my skin, jabbing my nerves awake. I should sleep, let my body heal, but I'll surely never sleep like this. Maybe I should give up, just get out of bed and take Kane his damn lamp.

But eventually I drop off. I toss in slick sweat and dream, and it's not the usual ones of scrubbing Katie's blood from the floor or slicing Joey DiLuca's rubbery fins off with a blunt hacksaw.

It's of the smoke girl. She wanders in warm white mist, barefoot and slender in her sweet black dress. She's lost, but she smiles, pale blue lips glowing. I'm there, watching her meander by, and I'm not dead but alive, agile, strong, my skin fresh and sleek like it used to be.

It's like I know her, but I don't. I call to her, but she doesn't hear. I shout louder, my pulse quickening. Something's chasing her, hidden in the mist, dread footsteps thumping closer, and I know that if it catches her she'll die. I want to run to her, get between her and her enemy, keep her from harm, but for some reason I can't move. I yell again. This time she sees me, and her inky pupils blossom with terror. It's me. I'm the one chasing her to her death, and in my bed I shudder and bury my burning face in the damp pillow and scream her name.

***

Chapter Nine

"Tell me your name, girl." The Moorish sorcerer, Shazad, stretches to his full seven-foot height. Olive-green braids beaded with rubies hang slick on his dark cheeks. He clenches his fist around his twisted blue glass staff, and cold fear grips my throat like invisible fingers of evil.

Chilly shackles grip my wrists, binding me to the icy stone wall. Sharp frost crusts my thin white dress. My lamp gleams on the bluestone floor, moisture condensing on the brass. Beside it, my dusky fire sprite sprawls, broken and bleeding. My master. My lover. The only man who ever cared for me.

"No." I choke the word out, my breath frosting. I can barely breathe. But he can't have my name, this ancient fiend, wielder of black magic and hellcurses. I'll die before he takes me.

"No?" Shazad jabs the foot of his staff into my fairy's delicate temple. His voice resonates deep in the rocky chamber. "Then maybe he will. Tell me her name, fairy, or she dies."

I splutter as Shazad's magic grips my throat tighter. Javier squirms, black wings jerking against the stone. Dark blood puddles from his mouth, and he chokes out a few dim red sparks that fade and die. He twists his bleeding neck to look at me, his bruised eyes shot with scarlet. Unbelievably, he smiles, his frozen indigo lips fracturing.
"La perla,"
he whispers, ice crackling on his breath.
"El zafiro. La reina de diamantes . . ."