Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

Asha

My heart’s racing for reasons I don’t understand. I’m sitting smack dab in the middle of two sexy shifters. One I’ve fed on before. A man who frustrates me and fascinates me at the same time. And another that I’d almost done some dirty things to this morning. Yet, none of that should matter. Clinton is in that apartment building. Instead of running to safety, he’s run right into danger.

More than that, his actions have led to this moment. Actions that are easy to see by the bodies flung about in front of the building. I want to talk to him. I want to find out what happened here. Some small part of me hopes it wasn’t him, that this is all some kind of mistake, but another part of me knows I’m being a fool.

“Asha,” Max whispers my name and my gaze goes to him. “I don’t want to rush you, but we need to get in there before anyone else is hurt. And before Grim and his crew find a way to get in.”

I nod, thinking about the creepy leprechaun. “Okay.”

Leaning away from Braxton, I try not to lock eyes with Max as I tilt his head. For a moment, I just stare at his pulse. I know vampires find pulses tempting. Mesmerizing. But I kind of look at his pulse like I’d look at a man’s cock. A cock by itself is nothing, maybe even a little gross when you spot the tiny, hairy ones or the crooked ones that seem to be saying, “Aye, Matey!” while you stare at them. But a cock on a man you want? It’s more than a little tempting. And, right now, I want to taste Max in more ways than just this.

But since that isn’t right, I lean in slowly, having to destroy any personal bubble I ever imagined having as my hot breath caresses his skin. Unable to help myself, I lick his pulse, and he makes a sound, like a groan being cut off. Which, fucking hell, turns me on even more.

Slowly, I feel my fangs elongate, and I lean forward and pierce his soft skin. The instant his blood enters my mouth, I’m lost. Fuck. Had I tried to forget the taste? I’m pretty sure I had. But now it flows through me, erotic, sensual, spellbinding. Max might as well be a warlock because I’m instantly under his spell.

Shifting, I move and climb on top of him so that I’m straddling him. This time, he does groan, pulling me closer, so close that I feel his erection.

His. Erection.

The stoic Max wants me. He’s enjoying this too, and the knowledge does something crazy to me. I feel my nipples harden, and I press them against his chest, loving how they feel against his muscular body. He adjusts how he’s sitting so his erection presses even harder against my core, and I want to fucking tear off his clothes and ride him to completion. It’s been so long, and for some reason, I need this man.

“Isn’t that enough?” Braxton sounds breathless beside us. “Don’t drink too much, Asha.”

Nothing else could have shaken me from my desire, but I pull fangs back out of Max’s throat. I don’t want to drain him too far. I don’t want to leave him weak in a dangerous situation.

“You don’t have to stop,” he growls, and yellow rings his eyes.

My wolf practically purrs inside of me. Or, at least, she would purr if she was a cat. But what she wants me to do with this man is as clear as day.

Braxton pulls down one side of his shirt as he moves closer to us, revealing his throat. “Feed.”

I don’t climb off of Max. Instead, I lean over and let my teeth sink into his brother’s neck. And if I thought I was hot before, I’m on fire now. His blood tastes sweeter than Max’s, not quite as smooth, but sweet, like a dessert. Between the two of them, I’m having a banquet the likes of which I’ve never had before.

Braxton wraps his hand into the back of my hair, drawing me closer, and then I feel Max’s hands close over my breasts. Max begins to slide against my core, rubbing his hard erection against me so hard that I feel like we’re trying to start a fire. But I can barely think. I just want to pull him out and ride his fucking cock while drinking from Braxton.

Their blood fills me, igniting my desire. And my power.

Damn it. I can feel it now. And it really is a fire inside of me, only a different one. A fire of magic. Blue and flickering inside of me. But I can sense more than that. I can sense within that power a desire for more. For destruction. For death.

It’s why I don’t like to use these powers the mages gave us. They’re trouble.

I break from Braxton’s neck, and both men are leaning back on the seat, looking content. No, not content, aroused. And while I’ve never thought much about the idea of having more than one mate, I think about it now. I imagine the three of us making a very delicious sandwich, a sandwich in which I’m in the middle.

A shudder rolls through me.

“Asha,” Braxton whispers my name, and I get the feeling he’s going to say something important. Something that might frighten me.

But then there are shouts from outside the SUV, and I launch away from them, scrambling out of the SUV. Outside, Clinton is standing on the steps of the apartment building, and he’s holding one woman against him, while he has his hands wrapped in the hair of another woman who is near his feet. His eyes are black, swirling in a way I’ve only ever seen from the Blood Mages who imprisoned us, and it makes me sick.

I start forward, pushing my way to the barrier. The barrier that the others hadn’t seemed to be able to see, but that I could see perfectly. It’s black, like a sticky spider web over part of the street and sidewalk outside the apartment building, and then over the entire building itself. That’s why no one could get in. It’s made with powerful dark magic—magic I can hear calling to me, singing to me like a fucked-up siren.

Reaching the edge of it, I lift a hand.

“Asha.” It’s Max, but I don’t look back at him. “Be careful.”

I nod, then reach my hand further and further. As I touch the black webbing, the voices in my head grow louder, asking, demanding answers from me. And so, I tell them. I tell them to let me through.

And they do.

The web parts in front of me like a curtain, and I step through as the curtain closes once more behind me. I move closer to Clinton, already knowing that he’s overwhelmed by the voices and by the magic the blood has brought him. The boy I know would never have done this.

“Clinton.” I say his name. I don’t whisper it, but say it gently.

His gaze jerks to me, but I can only see the black swirling.

“Clinton, it’s Asha. Remember?” My breathing catches as I try not to think about my last pack mate, who I failed to save. I need to try things differently this time. Keep him focused on something louder and more powerful than the voices and the dark magic. “Do you remember… the Fall Festival? How we’d decorate the streets, and everyone would dress up in costumes? You loved the Fall Festival more than anyone I ever met.” Something changes, the swirling in his eyes slows. “You would always come up with the most elaborate, most colorful costumes I’d ever seen. Even when you were little. I’ll never forget when you dressed up as a fall leaf. You wore that stretchy suit behind the leaf, but it ripped halfway through the parade. Remember? Everyone laughed, and I was worried you’d be embarrassed, but you just tore off that material and wore the leaf in your underwear. People applauded you. Your dad kissed your cheek, laughing.”

His eyes fade, slowly returning to normal. “I remember.”

And two words have never made my heart soar the way those do. “And you loved cutting hair. You said you’d be the town’s first professional hairstylist, remember? You’d watch all those videos and practice on all those dolls. Kids would bring you their dolls from every house to style.”

Clinton smiles, but a tear rolls down his cheek. “That was another life.”

One of the women at his feet sobs louder.

“It was, but this life can be good too.”

He shakes his head, and more tears rain down. “I just want to be that person again. The one who loved art, and makeup, and clothes, and doing hair. The one who was different… but no one ever cared.”

“You can be,” I say. “Maybe not exactly the same, but you can be all those things.”

“Asha.” His gaze locks with mine. “Tell me honestly. Honestly . I need to hear it. Is it too late? Has the darkness destroyed too much of me?” I open my mouth, and he lifts a hand. “Don’t answer quickly, or I won’t know if it’s true.”

I take a deep breath. I don’t know what I’m doing. Telling him everything he wants to hear right now is probably the smartest thing, but with everything he’s been through, I can’t lie to him. “It won’t be the same. We’ve lost a lot of the people we’ve loved. And the darkness is something we’ll always have to fight. But I believe we can be happy again. I believe we can be… good again.”

His eyes are wide, filled with unshed tears. “You think I can be good again? That it isn’t too late?”

I eagerly nod. “That boy, the Clinton I knew, he’s still part of you. It’s not too late. I know that deep in my heart.”

He stands there for a painfully long second before he releases the women. They’re sobbing as they race back into the building, but now they’re out of danger at least. Clinton takes several steps forward, lifts his hands, and brings the dark magic surrounding us down.

His gaze meets mine. “At least I’m not alone anymore. At least I have you. And I don’t think you’ll let the darkness take me again.”

I smile and hurry toward him, trying to find the words to tell him I feel the same way. That I need him as much as he needs me.

And then, he explodes. Explodes , his flesh raining down on me. Covering the sidewalk. Hitting my face and dripping in my hair.

I turn slowly around, in shock, my arms wide at my side as more flesh falls off of me. Behind me, Grim and his men stand. Grim slowly lowers his hand, and I can feel the power radiating off of him from the spell he’d used to kill Clinton.

Screaming, I dive toward him. Max is there in an instant, catching me and stopping my attack. But I don’t stop screaming, swearing, promising that I’ll kill Grim for this. Braxton and Max manage to pin me down onto the ground, where I lie, panting and crying.

“He turned himself in,” I sob. “He was going with us, willingly. Grim didn’t need to… he didn’t need to.” And I sound lost, heartbroken even to my own ears.

Braxton whispers, “I know, I know,” as he strokes my hair.

But at that moment, I don’t know if I’m any better than Clinton. Because if anyone other than Max and Braxton were stopping me, I’d kill everyone here.

I’d kill them all, just the way they killed Clinton. A boy. A child who was tortured. Who was lost.

A boy who deserved better than me, a person that basically turned him over for death.

I will never forgive myself for this.

Never.