The Wicked In Me

“I prefer the seats we had last time,” said Hattie as they waited for the celebration to begin. “They were comfier.”

Anabel sighed. “They were exactly the same, simply in a different section of the arena. You’re just moody because you had to come away from your book.”

“The hero was about to declare his love for the heroine. It was about damn time. He hesitated for too long. How hard is it to admit that you love someone?” Hattie patted her hair. “I said it to all my husbands.”

Anabel’s brow puckered. “But did you actually mean it? I only ask because, well, you killed them. In cold blood.”

“I warned them I don’t handle betrayal well.”

“I don’t think they knew that meant you’d poison them.”

“They did seem surprised when they were dying.”

Beside Wynter, Xavier rolled his eyes before leaning toward her. “Cain is staring at you again,” he said. “He’s not the only one who’s been sliding glances your way. Except she’s not so much glancing as glaring.”

Wynter felt her mouth flatten. “If you’re referring to Ishtar then, yeah, I’m aware.”

“I heard some whispers that she’s been trying to seduce both Cain and Seth ever since she woke from her Rest,” said Xavier.

Ignoring the way her gut twisted in what suspiciously felt like jealousy, Wynter frowned. “Is she imagining some kind of triad or something?”

He shrugged. “Actually, I thought maybe she had her eye firmly on one of them and was hoping that flirting with their brother would spur them to make a move on her. But it might be that she has her heart set on a triad. She seems like a person who’d get off big time on having two men worship her like that.”

“She probably could have that kind of relationship. I’ve seen enough guys eat her up with their eyes.” Cain wasn’t one of them, though.

“But she doesn’t seem to want the easily attainable ones. I suppose if you’ve lived as long as she has, you’d need challenges to keep the boredom at bay. And you’d have to keep the boredom at bay unless you wanted to go stir crazy.”

Wynter nodded. Merely an hour of boredom could drive her insane. Eons of it would fuck with her mind for sure.

“How do you feel about the Ancients all knowing you were exiled from Aeon?”

“Now that I know for sure that they won’t side with the Aeons, I’m not too worried about it. But … I feel like there’s something they’re not telling me.”

“Really? About what?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. It’s just … you should have seen the way Azazel’s eyes lit up when I told them everything. Seth seemed just as revved about how badly the Aeons want me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any Ancient or Aeon look like that. They’re not easily moved by anything.”

“How did Cain react?”

“He was a little more introspective than the other two, but I sensed some extreme satisfaction wafting from him. They’re all loving that the Aeons want something they have.”

Xavier’s brows dipped. “There’s a lot of bad blood between the two camps, right? Maybe it’s simply that.”

“Maybe,” conceded Wynter, recalling Cain explaining their craving for revenge.

“What are you two whispering about?” demanded Anabel.

“Your weird foot fetish,” replied Wynter, straight-faced.

Hattie frowned at the blonde. “You have a foot fetish?”

Anabel jerked back. “What? Ew, no.”

Xavier chuckled.

Just then, Delilah plopped into the seat that she’d earlier vacated in order to use the bathroom. “Seems like I got here just in time,” she said as Ishtar stood.

Like the previous night, the Ancient thanked everyone for coming and all that jazz. She also passed on her gratitude to Azazel for organizing this particular celebration, though said gratitude was stiffly spoken—something that seemed to amuse him. Wynter got the sense that the two Ancients didn’t get along so well.

In no time at all, the action began. And it was action. Azazel had arranged for Olympic-like games to take place in the performance space. All were dangerous and death-defying, especially the crazy-ass chariot races. A lot of gasping and cursing came from the spectators.

During the interval, food and drinks were given out. Wynter barely tasted her meal, far too conscious of how closely she was being watched by both Cain and Ishtar. The other Ancients often looked Wynter’s way as well … as if it wasn’t rude to idly observe someone like they were a damn zoo animal in a cage.

Finally, the interval was over. A lone male waltzed into the performance space. She’d never met him before, but there was something familiar about him.

“Does anyone know who that is?” she asked.

“His name is Bowen, he’s one of Azazel’s aides,” replied Delilah. “He’s a berserker.”

And then it clicked. “He’s got to be related to Grouch.” Wynter would bet good money on it. “The resemblance is there.”

Delilah’s brow furrowed. “Grouch as in the smithy who pissed you off earlier?”

“Yeah, that Grouch.”

“I did hear that he followed some of his relatives to Devil’s Cradle. They didn’t all seek refuge here at the same time.”

“That would explain why he’s in Azazel’s service while Grouch and Annette are in Cain’s.” Wynter stilled as a rumble of power split through the air.

In the performance space, a portion of the floor shimmered and rippled. The sand dispersed, and a grating sound rang through the arena as a stone platform rose to the surface. Bordered by rope, it resembled a boxing ring.

Using a microphone, Bowen addressed the spectators as he said, “Now for our next event … This is the battle square. As you can no doubt see, there is magick embedded in the stone. It is spelled so that any injuries people receive while within the square will immediately heal. But the wounds will not feel healed to whoever receives them. More, the injuries will not look healed. In fact, they will seem so real and will hurt the ‘injured’ so much that it will play tricks on their mind. They will believe they are wounded, bleeding, weakening—maybe even dying.”

Well, how delightful was that.

“The ropes are also spelled,” he went on. “They contain any magick, energy, or power that’s released within the square.” He flicked his hand, and then a rack of swords came into view. They were all pretty basic—long, straight blades attached to a hilt. “So … do we have any volunteers?”

It was almost amusing how quickly people snapped up the opportunity to engage in a fight. No one particularly cared who their opponent was—they just wanted the release that came with violence.

The brawls probably shouldn’t have been so entertaining, but they were. Especially whenever one of the fighters was someone who’d laughed when she asked for a job—then Wynter became really invested in the duels.

Pretty much everyone was disappointed when the stone platform returned to the sand. But then the weirdest thing happened. Power again rose in the air, and then a lengthy ditch appeared, stretching from one end of the performance space to the other. It was surrounded by ropes, just like the battle square.

“This here is the gauntlet,” Bowen announced. “Like the square, it is spelled so that injuries immediately heal but don’t seem healed. This time, we’re not looking for volunteers. The participating groups will be chosen at random.”

He paused as another male strode toward him holding a glass bowl. “The names of every pack, lair, nest, coven, etc. is inside this bowl. For whichever groups are chosen, the objective is for them to battle their way through the gauntlet. This will not be easy, since soldiers will soon fill the ditch. They will not be real soldiers, but they will look real, and they will move to kill.

“Any participants who ‘die’ will be spat out of the gauntlet while the remainder of their group continues to fight. Participants may shift shape, use weapons, fight with magick, use any preternatural ability, or even adopt a combination of all. Whichever group finishes the gauntlet in the fastest time will receive a cash prize.”

Bowen dipped his hand into the bowl and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. He then read out the name of a mage conclave. A demon lair was called out next. Then a fey court, and last but not least … “The Bloodrose Coven.”

Motherfucker.

Wynter exchanged solemn glances with her crew. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Dutifully, they slid out of their row and began to make their way to the performance space.

Delilah sidled up to her. “Seems awful convenient that our coven was chosen when Bowen’s related to a person who said you’d regret not taking the job they offered you.”

Behind them, Xavier made a sound of agreement. “I’m thinking this is fixed.”

“Cain threatened they’d pay if they fucked with me,” said Wynter.

“Yeah, but berserkers are spiteful bastards,” Delilah reminded her. “They don’t know how to back down. And this isn’t something that can be pinned on them, is it? Seems totally random. Seems.”

Finally, they all reached the performance space. At this point, several aides had joined Bowen. It was Maxim who indicated where Wynter and her crew would stand.

“This is your fault,” she said to Delilah.

Frowning, Delilah put her hand to her chest. “How is it mine?”

“They couldn’t have done this if you hadn’t declared us a coven.” Wynter felt Cain’s eyes on her, but she didn’t look up. She was all business right then. This was about her and the people under her protection, no one else.

The other participants all looked eager as hell to get going. They also seemed tremendously cocky, certain they had this in the bag.

The Shaman of the mage conclave gave Xavier a look of false sympathy. “You really should have taken us up on our offer and joined our conclave.”

“I prefer to be on winning side,” said Xavier, his voice even.

The fey Lord grinned. “Oh, now that’s cute.”

The Shaman shot the Lord a derisive look. “You lot have no chance of coming out on top either.”

“Neither of your little tribes do,” the demon Prime cut in. He didn’t even look at Wynter or her crew, as if he’d discounted them as no threat.

Anabel turned to her, her mouth tight. “We can’t allow any of those groups to win this.” If there was one thing she disliked, it was being dismissed. Probably because she was fucking brilliant. “I know you wanted us all to keep a low profile, but we won’t be doing ourselves any favors if we let these people believe they’re right to underestimate us.”

“I agree,” said Xavier. “Respect is everything in a place like this. Fear? Even better.”

Delilah nodded. “It’ll mean people are less likely to bother us, and so you won’t be forced to demonstrate how powerful you are to keep us safe.”

“Which would be for the best,” Hattie added.

Wynter sighed, knowing they were right. “Okay, we can give it our all. Mostly. I can’t let out my … you know.” Her monster couldn’t be unleashed here and now.

Understanding, the others nodded.

“I know you’re all about me sticking to the right-hand path,” Xavier said to her, “but you can’t get mad when I use magick to—”

“I won’t,” Wynter assured him, anticipating what he’d say. She cut her gaze to Anabel. “You’re sure you want to be part of this fight? It will mean you’ll have to take a mental backseat for a while.”

“I know,” the blonde assured her. “It’s fine. Clearly these people here need to see that we’re not easy targets.”

Delilah leaned into her. “And you want Diego to see that you’re badass.”

Anabel frowned. “I’m not badass, I’m just the reincarnation of—”

“Whatever,” Delilah interrupted, her hand up. “He’ll be wowed, trust me.”

“Bloodrose Coven, you’re up first!” Bowen called out.

Of course they were.

Wynter led the way as they crossed to the berserker, who looked far too entertained at the moment.

Delilah promptly shifted into a sleek black cat, her pretty gold nail polish still intact. Bowen snickered at the dainty sight of her, and she shot him a look so cold Wynter could swear the air temperature cooled just a little.

Maxim appeared and cleared his throat, his brow creased in concern. “Um … are you sure you want to do this, Hattie?”

The old woman patted his hand. “Don’t you worry about me, dear. I’ll be just fine.” She shifted into a crow and then settled on his shoulder. He froze, looking adorably unsure what to do all of a sudden. Much like Delilah, she hadn’t needed to strip off her clothes because she wasn’t an actual shifter; it was her magick that forced the change.

Xavier conjured his rapier bone sword and swiped it through the air.

“What bone is that?” asked Maxim.

Xavier smirked. “Angel bone. This baby could cut through dragon scales like butter.”

Wynter turned to Anabel, who’d conjured her broadsword. “You ready?”

The blonde nodded, standing tall. “Ready.”

Wynter put her mouth near the blonde’s ear and quietly sang the few select words that would call to the alleged part of her soul that liked to come out and play. “Mary, Mary, please come out.”

Anabel did a slow blink, and then her eyes … they were the same pale blue, but now a hint of madness swirled in their depths. Her posture lost its stiffness, and she gazed around with avid interest, no doubt planning to stir some shit.

Wynter put a hand on her shoulder. “Stab to kill.”

“They’ll all fall,” Anabel/Mary promised.

Anticipation thrumming through her blood, Wynter called to her own sword. It appeared in her hand, dark and shiny.

Bowen gave it a long look, surprised. “You may step into the ditch. Note that the gauntlet will not end until every one of you has crossed the finish line … assuming any of you will reach it. Remember, those that ‘die’ will be spat out.” He jumped when Hattie squawked in his face, and a round of laughs came from the spectators.

Wynter exchanged determined looks with her crew. They each slid under the ropes and hopped down into the ditch. Whoa. She felt the power in the ground beneath her. The slight vibration purred against the soles of her shoes.

Her monster stirred, not quite sure it liked the situation. She tried communicating that all was fine and that this was a mere game. But the intensity of the foreign power unnerved it. A subtle breeze came, carrying a hint of assurance that eventually made her monster settle.

That was when the soldiers appeared.

There were dozens of them up ahead. Some held swords while others raised a hand that glowed with magick.

“Begin!” yelled Bowen.

The soldiers swarmed them mega fast.

Wynter and Xavier both whipped up their swords and parried the blow that came their way. Delilah lunged, shifting from a domestic cat to a huge monstrous feline and knocking a soldier down, digging her iron claws into his chest. Hattie raked her talons on the face of another soldier, making him stagger backwards and crash into his compatriots. Anabel/Mary … well, she just laughed like a loon and beheaded the nearest soldier.

The five of them battled their way through the gauntlet. Wynter, Xavier, and Anabel/Mary sliced, feinted, parried, ducked, and twisted. They moved fast. Fluid. Smooth. Flowed with the fight. Like it was a dance.

At the same time, the crow and cat pounced and bit and raked at the soldiers like savages. The two animals dodged swords, fists, and feet. While the cat also needed to evade any magickal blows, the crow had no such need. Any such hits bounced right off her and rebounded back at her attacker—Hattie negated magick with her very being whenever she was in her crow form.

Wynter impaled one soldier on her sword while Xavier slit the throat of another. The men collapsed to the floor. He knelt and slammed his hands on their stomachs as he began to chant. Their backs arched, their eyes flew open, and then they were up … running at the soldiers.

Her body balanced and her muscles loose, Wynter fought on. Like Xavier and Anabel/Mary, she also lashed out with her magick—dazing, burning, whipping, or knocking people down. Of course, she was careful not to go full throttle. She couldn’t slam her foot down on the magickal pedal here and now.

The air whistled as the swords slashed through it again and again. Blades clanged. Voices cursed. Magick crackled. The cat roared. The crow shrieked and flapped its wings.

Wynter hissed as a blade caught her side. Jesus fuck. She didn’t make the mistake of angrily lunging and thrusting her sword. She didn’t need to anyway—he drew back as the crow dipped down and stabbed an eyeball with her beak, yanking it right out of the socket.

His cry of agony died an abrupt death as Anabel/Mary disemboweled him. The woman was in her element as she hacked through the soldiers, giggling and dancing and high-fiving thin air. Her newest victim, like most of the others, was soon back on his feet courtesy of Xavier and then joined their rapidly growing army.

It wasn’t long before Wynter and her crew were approaching the finish line. Which was a goddamn relief, because the throbbing wound in her side was deep, and the blood loss was not helping matters.

The sight of the finish line seemed to fuel the others, because they charged with renewed vigor. The soldiers backed up under the pressure of the assault. One by one, they went down until only a single soldier remained. He hit the ground hard as Delilah landed on his chest with a roar. Wynter brought down her sword and sliced off his head … before promptly kicking it out of the ditch. It sailed through the air and landed at Bowen’s feet, splattering the sand with blood. The head then winked out of existence.

Pure silence fell as everyone simply stared at Wynter and her crew. Then came the applause.

Panting and sweating, she turned to the others and said, “Let’s get out of this goddamn ditch.”

“Yeah, let’s.” Xavier severed whatever connection he had to the soldiers he’d raised from the dead, and they fell to the floor like sacks of spuds.

The moment she slid out from under the ropes, her wounds disappeared, her pain faded, and the blood and mess cleared from her skin and clothing. She glanced at the others, realizing it was the same for them … and that one of them was missing.

Wynter looked down into the ditch, sighing. Anabel/Mary had put the hilt of her sword to a dead soldier’s mouth as if it were a microphone and was singing, “Man down, man down, man down.”

Calling out ‘Anabel’ earned her no response, so Wynter shouted, “Mary, leave him.”

The blonde’s head snapped up. She looked about to object but then pouted. “Fine.” She casually hacked off a soldier’s leg as she made her way out of the ditch.

Back in her human form, Delilah smiled at her and said, “Night, night, Mary.”

The key phrase made the blonde pout again. “No fair.” Her blue eyes cleared so that they were once more normal, and Anabel went stiff as a board. “Is it over?” she asked, glancing around her.

“It’s over,” said Hattie, now human.

Anabel bit her lower lip. “She didn’t drink anyone’s blood again, did she? I don’t taste any.”

Xavier shook his head. “No, she didn’t do it this time.”

Hattie smiled. “That was fun. Haven’t plucked eyes out in years. Nice to know I’ve still got it.”

Wynter ‘sent’ her sword back to the cottage, and the others did the same with their weapons. Together, they all strode back to the start line of the gauntlet, sure to make eye-contact with the other participants.

Delilah smirked at them. “And that’s how it’s done.”

The demon Prime looked at Wynter, his mouth curved. “Nice to know you’re not a dainty, fragile princess who leaves the bulk of the fight to her knights.”

Wynter gave him a bright smile. “Hope I can say the same for you.”

He only laughed.

All interest, the Shaman tried catching Xavier’s eyes. “Impressive, um …” He winced. “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”

“Seamus,” Xavier said in an Irish accent, managing to look sincerely affronted that his ‘name’ had been forgotten. “Now feck off.”

Inwardly shaking her head, Wynter met Bowen’s shocked gaze head-on. “You know, there’s a reason berserkers are low in number these days. It’s that you all have a seriously bad habit of judging people by their appearance. It means you don’t always see the danger coming. Which is bad, really. Even fucking rats sense danger coming.”

His face darkened. “I—”

“Need to really rethink your idea to use me and my crew as ‘entertainment’ like we’re a fucking joke,” Wynter finished. “That’s all.” With that, she headed back to their spot.

Maxim stood there, fighting a grin. “Quite the dark horses, aren’t you?”

Hattie beamed. “Indeed. And I’ll be damn surprised if the other groups beat our time, because I know we were fast.”

Wondering what she’d see, Wynter let herself look up and meet Cain’s gaze. There was no shock. There was pure heat. Oh, she was gonna get fucked tonight all right.

*

The breath left Wynter’s lungs as her back hit the wall. Then Cain’s mouth was on hers, devouring her as his body caged hers. The man had wasted no time in getting her upstairs to his bedchamber when they arrived at the Keep, and now he was wasting no time in stripping her. Aggressively. Like having anything concealing her skin from him somehow offended him.

Her tee went first, then her bra. He swooped down and latched onto a nipple, suckling hard, while his hands tackled her fly. With a growl, he shoved down her jeans and panties, and she kicked them aside.

Planting his hand either side of her head, he pulled back a little and raked his gaze over her. Slowly. Thoroughly. As if it was his right. “Nice,” he said, his eyes tracing one of the rune tattoos on her abdomen. She had many such tattoos here and there.

“Thanks. Now do me.”

Holding her gaze, he closed his hand around her breast, blatantly proprietary. A darkness rippled behind his eyes … almost as if something else looked out at her for the briefest moment. Which had to be her imagination—

She hissed at the pinch to her nipple, the small pain shooting straight to her clit.

“You liked that,” he sensed. “Good. Because tonight, you’re gonna hurt for me a little.”

She had no idea what that meant.

He effortlessly lifted her and carried her to the four poster bed. The chamber carried a hint of ‘old.’ Tapestries hung on the walls. Candles were scattered here and there. Long, draping curtains were positioned just right.

He lay her on the mattress. “Don’t move.” He shed his clothes. His body … shit, it was a fucking masterpiece. A little too perfect. There was much hard, sleek, perfectly defined muscle to be seen. And Jesus, his tattoos were impressive. There were so many. Symbols, totems, runes, codes, and ancient writings that she didn’t understand.

The perfect V of his hips was another tick in his ‘hot’ column. As was the thick oh-so long cock that she badly wanted to take for a ride again. It stood loud and proud and rock-hard, tapping his belly.

He knelt between her legs and pushed them wide apart. “Such a pretty pussy you have.” He snaked his hands down her inner thighs and brushed his thumbs over her folds. “Sit up for me.”

Um … okay. She did as he asked, curious.

“Give me your hand. The one that wears my mark.”

She held it out to him, surprised it wasn’t trembling with the anticipation thrumming through her.

He took it and held it up, his eyes tracing the brand. She was about to ask why a snake was threaded through the triangle that sat within the C, but then he spoke.

“I like seeing my mark on you.” He licked along the C, and Wynter nearly jumped out of her fucking skin. She stared at him, her eyes wide. Because that tongue … she felt it licking her slit, warm and wet.

“Let’s get you nice and slick, shall we?” He traced the C again.

Once more, she felt a tongue swipe between her folds. The sensation was so much more intense than a physical touch, as if she was ten times more sensitive than usual. And oh God, it was amazing.

Wynter slapped her free hand on the mattress to support herself as his tongue did wicked, wicked things over and over and over. Honestly, she was so swept away by sensation she could have forgotten he was there if the bastard didn’t begin taunting her with words between licks.

“I could do this anytime, anywhere,” he rumbled. “Whether we were alone or surrounded by people.”

She gasped as he lashed a particular spot—it was like a wet flick to her clit. He licked at the center of the mark over the little triangle, and she almost came off the fucking bed. It was like he’d stabbed his tongue deep inside her—something he did again and again, until she was so desperate to come she’d have done anything he asked. Anything. So it was terribly fortunate that the only thing he told her to do was come. Oh, she could do that.

Her head fell back as her orgasm washed over her, heating her skin and causing her inner muscles to ripple around mere air. Fuck, she needed to be filled. Badly.

Cain released her hand and slipped his finger deep into her pussy. “Soaking wet.” He withdrew the digit and sucked it clean. “Lie back. Move your hair away from your face, I want nothing obstructing my view. That’s it.”

Staying on his knees, he gripped her thighs, raised her hips and tilted them to line up his cock with her entrance. “Come when you want.” He thrust hard, forcing his way deep, stretching her without mercy.

She’d barely had a moment to register the sting when a warm, electric wave of pleasure washed over her soul, wrenching at her body so her back bowed almost violently. It was different this time. Held an edge. It was like when her scalp prickled from having her hair pulled, or like the burn from a hand coming down sharply on her ass—the pain complemented the pleasure and gave it a dark, addictive feel. The sensation came again, so fucking intense, and she cried out.

“Shh, you can take it.” He pulled back his hips and then slammed his cock home just as he sent another wave of pleasure/pain sweeping over her soul. “That’s it, hurt for me.”

Cain began powering into her hard and deep, just as he’d been aching to do since he’d watched her in that gauntlet. There was something very feral about Wynter Dellavale when she fought, and that appealed to him on a fiercely sexual level that was entirely primitive. Just the same, the predatory elegance with which she’d moved had intensified his monster’s need to own her.

Driven by a similar insanely intense need to possess her, Cain took her with thrusts of his cock and strokes to her soul. He wanted her fucking addicted to him. To this. Wanted her to need him like she’d never needed anyone else. Wanted her to come back to him again and again, unable to help herself.

So he fucked and wrecked and dominated her—overwhelming her body and soul. He wanted her mind as well, greedy for every part of her. She was becoming an obsession and he knew it, but fuck if he could do anything about it.

She came hard, fracturing right before his eyes, so beautiful she gripped his gut. Not done with her yet, he kept going; kept brushing her soul with pleasure/pain while brutally hammering into her pussy. And then he sensed another orgasm building fast.

He growled. “That’s it, break for me.”

She screamed, her spine snapping straight, her inner muscles clenching his cock, her eyes wet with tears.

Cain groaned, slamming harder and faster. “Love it when you cry.” He shoved deep and came so hard his vision went black for a second.

She was trembling beneath him, her eyes shut, her lips parted. He draped himself over her and brushed away a tear with his thumb. She didn’t move. Didn’t respond when he feathered soft kisses down the side of her face that he often found his gaze drifting to. And he quickly realized she’d passed out.

Cain felt his mouth curve. She’d be annoyed about that tomorrow, but he had no intention of waking her. Instead, he rolled onto his side and drew her close, surprised when he sensed that his creature planned to stay awake and watch over her.