Chapter 17

Page Seventeen.

I told the sun about my husband's plan, and he can't help me. We both think he will destroy himself and it will all be over.

But what if he doesn't? What happens to us all then?

My stomach feels like it's being stabbed when I wake up, but it's more than the pain I'm used to with my monthlies. It feels like every inch of my body is on fire. I cry out, my back arching as I nearly fall off the chair in the corridor where we pulled them to a few nights ago. It was better than sleeping in the same room that Marcus died in. We train in the day, eat together, and then pretend neither one of us exists for the rest. "What is wrong?" Ziven questions from the other side of the corridor where his chairs are. I look over at him, blushing as heat builds between my legs. All I feel is a burning need that runs over me, and I grow wet. His eyes widen and he steps backwards, running his hand through his black hair. "Fuck, you've got to be kidding me."

I gasp as another wave of pain nearly knocks me off the chair. "I must be getting ill."

He replies through gritted teeth. "You're not ill, but you need to go into that bathroom and lock yourself in. Now!"

I barely manage to stand up alone, but his roar makes me move. I don't even know how I manage to make it to the bathroom, but the authority in his voice pushes me to hurry. I shut the door and step to the countertop, leaning against it as I clutch my stomach. My whole body feels like it's alive. I feel like I know the second Ziven is near the door, like he is drawn to it. "Did you not know you were going into heat soon? You should have warned me. That could have ended very fucking badly."

"What is heat?" I gasp, wanting to hear more of his voice. Needing it. "Deities, it hurts. It really hurts. Is this not the…"

"Fuck, you don't know what going into heat is, do you?" Ziven's voice is half groan, half understandable.

"No," I shout back at him, feeling frustrated.

"It's a way of mating for the fae. It's when you want nothing more than to be with someone else. Nothing more than sex, pleasure." The heat building between my legs every time he talks makes me believe him. "Sex or intense pleasure with another fae will stop the pain."

"I've heard of it," I moan as the pain gets more intense. "They don't call it heat outside; they call it the frenzy. Usually it happens around the age of twenty, but maybe mine is late because of my fucked-up body."

"You're locked in here with me, and you're affecting me." His head bangs against the door. "If I come in there, I won't be able to stop myself from having you. All of you." Waves of frustration flow through me. I've heard of the frenzy. I've heard fae giggling about it being the best night of their entire lives, how they can never get enough. How most people love the frenzy, but this is not the time or place when I'm trapped with only my enemy.

I glance at the door. "What if I want you to come?" A drawn-out silence drifts back. "You're my enemy."

"And you're mine." I can hear the tension in his voice. "If you tell me to open the door, I will."

My body clenches and I know my answer. I want my enemy. I need him. "Come in."

The door practically flies off its hinges as he comes in, grabbing me around the waist and kissing me. His lips are like molten fire against my own, hurried and intense, burning me up. His tongue thrusts into my mouth, and I moan around it as he picks me up, dropping me on the counter and stepping between my legs. His hands rip at my clothes, pulling them off, and I grab his, needing them off too. My leggings are the last thing to go, and I can't care about anything but having him closer. I've seen him without a shirt on so many times, but this is different, and looking at him like a lover has my body burning alive. Ziven looks at me, his massive hands holding my thighs that are covered in bites. The same bites that are littered all over my stomach, legs, and breasts. I go to cover myself up, but he kneels in front of me, tugging my ass to the edge of the counter. "Scream for me, Storm."

His tongue licks up my slit, and the second he touches my clit, I cry out in exhilarating pleasure. He wrings every inch of my orgasm out of me, and I immediately want more. He rises to his feet, his eyes darker than I've ever seen them. I reach forward, undoing his belt and tugging down his trousers. He is big and thick, very erect, and I softly caress my hand down him. He grabs my thighs, groaning as he closes his eyes. With circular motions, I run my hand up and down him, noticing how he reacts, how he groans, how evidence of his arousal coats the tip of his cock.

When he has had enough, he picks me up and carries me to the shower, pushing me against the wall, and I hook my legs around him. The pain is gone, and all I can feel is need. I want him so badly—I need him inside me. He sinks his hands into my ass, plastering his lips onto mine as he thrusts into me in one smooth glide. I moan at the thickness of him, how tight he fits in me and how I can't imagine taking any more of him until he pulls out and slams back into me, deeper this time until he is fully seated. "I love how you flush pink for me. Fuck, you're tight."

"Don't stop!" I moan. He groans, biting down on my lip and thrusting into me hard. Silver fire explodes around us, and Ziven slams the shower on, cold water spraying over us, but he doesn't stop, he doesn't quit slamming into me.

"Not a chance, Storm. Come on my cock," he commands, sinking his hand into my hair and arching my neck up to meet his mouth. Harsh, wet slapping of our bodies fills the room, and I'm so close. "Look at you taking me, so wet for your enemy. Show me how much you hate me."

I crash into a mind-blanking orgasm, tightening around his cock, and he roars against my lips, stilling and then shuddering as he comes in me, filling me until it feels like I'm impossibly full. Breathlessly he puts me down seconds later, and we stare at each other, the frenzy wearing off now it's got what it wanted. I think that was the best sex I've ever had in my entire life, but I would never admit that to him. He reaches out, his fingers running over my stomach and the thousands of scars. The water drips down his fingers. "Who did this to you?"

His voice is lethal, and I shiver. He runs his fingertips across the thousands of bite marks all over my stomach. My breasts, all the way up to my chest, and I hate how ugly he must think they are. "Storm, who?"

"A vampyre who owned and used me," I breathe out, and I can't read his expression as he steps out of the shower and leaves the room. If I were a fool, I'd believe he cared.