37. Cav

Chapter 37

Cav

THE PUPPETEER

T he decadent, forgotten study inside Elara's family manor should have felt like a respite after our night's barbarisms, but the plush Persian rug does little to absorb the stench of blood and offal still clinging to Wilder and me like a second skin.

We'd strolled in when Rossi was finishing up re-stitching Kaspian's bullet wound in his shoulder. As soon as Kaspian shoved him off and stormed out of the room, Rossi took one look at Wilder's gore-streaked face, matted hair, and the jagged edges of scorched flesh peeking through the multiple tears in his shirt, and pointed to the scarlet fainting couch while I reclined in an armchair near the hearth, sipping on bourbon and thinking about what we'd done.

"You know, Cav," Wilder rasps once Rossi finishes up, "When you described peeling away the High Sovereign's eyelids, I didn't quite appreciate the artistry until I experienced it myself." An ugly, satisfied grunt punctuated his words despite the obvious strain. "The way the screams evolved ... absolutely exquisite."

I shrug, rolling my shoulders to loosen the knots of tension. Even now, with the High Sovereign's life having fled his mutilated husk, I can still perfectly recall the crescendo of his death agonies.

Rossi rises, Tempest pushing off from the wall and muttering, "Thank fuck we're done," before shoving his half-full bottle of whiskey at Wilder and striding for the doors.

I'd express my appreciation for their assistance, but know that it's wasted. The Vultures trade in favors, much like the Court does, and Rossi will call in our debt soon, I'm sure.

Rossi dips his chin in farewell, his impassive expression hiding any exhaustion he must feel after dealing with three extremely rabid animals. His focus switches from surgeon to mafia don searching for his woman in an instant, the doors clicking shut behind them.

Bottle in hand, Wilder rises to a sit and kicks aside a viscera-stained fragment of the expensive rug. ""Did you have to leave quite so much of the High Sovereign on the study's imported silk Aubusson?"

"What, and rob you of the chance to lick it up later?" I shoot back.

The room falls silent but for the crackle of flames in the hearth. It's a quiet moment between us, fractured warriors each nursing our demons.

"Do you have any regrets?" Wilder breaks into my thoughts, nursing the bottle of whiskey.

"None."

Wilder runs his free hand over his stubble-covered jawline. "This is what I was born to do. It's what you were born to do."

A smirk tugs at my lips, the taste of the High Sovereign's defeat still fresh.

"Fulfilling our bloody destinies?" I muse.

"But what now?" Wilder becomes engrossed in cleaning the blood caked under his nails. "With the Sovereigns gone and us holding the reins…"

I consider this while swirling the amber liquid in my glass. We'd spent so much of our lives, sacrificed so much, only to unseat monsters just to become them ourselves. The irony isn't lost on me, but neither is the opportunity.

"No more Sovereigns," I declare firmly.

"Won't that be a bit like letting a dog off its leash?" Wilder's brows come together in contemplation. He carefully rests his back against the couch, grunting through stiffness and the residual ache of Rossi's stinging disinfecting techniques.

"Not if we change its nature." I propose, staring into the dancing flames inside the fireplace.

"And how do you suggest we do that?"

"We remake it." I sense Wilder's gaze on me, but keep my own locked onto the mesmerizing swirls of orange and blue. "Reforge it into something harder, leaner, than those depraved Sovereigns could have ever conceived."

"You sound awfully sure that turning boys into swords will end any differently this time."

I tilt my head in minute acknowledgment.

"I'm counting on it not ending the same. That's the whole point."

Wilder barks a harsh laugh. "Isn't it, though? Years of the Sovereigns breaking us down, remaking us in their grotesque image ... and for what? So we could put our own fresh brand on the stock?"

"Have you already forgotten the first obligation we owe?" My voice is pitched low, gravitational. "We control the herd, not slaughter it remorselessly."

That seems to give Wilder pause.

"You expect we can just … temper ourselves?" Wilder scoffs. "After all the depravities the Sovereigns slashed into our bodies?"

I lean back in my seat. "We have Elara now."

Wilder stiffens, eyes narrowing. "Elara is not a tool to repurpose our darkness, Cav."

"No," I agree, shifting my gaze from the fire to him. "But she reminds us of what we are underneath all these layers of blood and grime. Men with hearts that still beat for something other than violence."

She is the end of my curse.

Wilder takes a long drink, eyes never leaving mine. "She's our saving grace, then?"

"She's our hope," I correct him quietly.

Wilder's gaze turns distant then. An emotion flickers in his eyes before disappearing as swiftly as it came—regret maybe? Guilt? Remorse? No doubt thinking about Teagan, his lost love who fell prey to this savage competition we're all caught up in.

"Do you think…" Wilder trails off.

"We'll make it right," I assure him before finishing my drink in one swift gulp. "Part of that means swearing our devotion to her, vowing our protection. Nothing will happen to her with the four of us surrounding her, Wild."

His rugged features soften, the tension along his jaw easing slightly.

"Thank you, Cav," he grinds out, his voice low and gruff. "I'll hold you to it."

Before I can lighten the moment, the door swings open and Elara walks in, the soft glow of the fire casting a warm shimmer across her face. Her approach brings a halt to our argument, capturing our undivided attention as we both straighten up, instinctively trying to diminish the effects of our recent injuries.

"What are you two arguing about now?" she asks playfully, taking a seat beside Wilder.

I give her my best smirk while Wilder counters with an easy grin. We know this dance all too well; the subtle battle for her approval, a silent contest of flirtations where Elara always emerges as the victor.

Elara raises a brow at us before her attention drops to the bandages covering Wilder, then my dirtied, bloodied clothes I'd refused to remove so Rossi could take a look at me.

"You two should be resting."

She says it as if she's requested it multiple times before.

I suppose she has. She would've passed both Axe and Kaspian on the way downstairs to us.

I laugh humorlessly. "Resting? Wounds are a part of the life that we live, butterfly. We'll be all right."

Wilder joins in with a wry chuckle, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a semblance of a smile. "Yeah, we're as tough as they come."

An odd quiet descends. Wilder's mock laughter fades away as quickly as it started.

Elara seems to sense the shift in mood and reaches out tentatively to touch Wilder's bandaged arm.

"John," she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the crackling fire.

His hazel eyes snap to hers, and for a moment, all I see is a man laid bare. Not the wild child of Titan Falls, not the rakish enforcer of the Cimmerian Court, but John Wilder, the boy who lost his first love too soon.

"Sweetwitch."

His tone matches hers.

I mean to say something casual, maybe downplay the heavy moment with another witticism. But Elara's stern glare in my direction stops me mid-thought.

She can see through our deflections, our worn defenses crumbling under her scrutiny like brittle autumn leaves.

"Cav," she says.

Elara's eyes are golden pools of worry and challenge, an unspoken demand for sincerity that somehow tugs at the hardened armor around my heart.

"God help any man who tries to hurt you," I say. The sentence comes out in a quiet exhale, our gazes unbroken.

She looks startled, taken aback by the unfiltered confession in my voice. No deflective jest or charm-laden pretense. All minefields cleared and walls crumbled. A man ready to die for her.

"I don't want you to be okay because you're tough." Elara's focus drifts to Wilder, then back to me. "I want you to be okay because you're loved."

Her words hit me square in the chest, a punch worth more than any physical blow.

I blink at her. It's all I can do.

Wilder stares at Elara with the same expression, his hand buried in his hair, looking younger than I've seen him in years.

He reaches for her hand resting between them and lifts it to his lips. Wilder's kiss upon her knuckles is tender, achingly intimate. It's a side of Wilder few truly get to see.

I stand, then extend a hand out to her. She eyes me, her gaze alternating between Wilder and me before slowly reaching out and slipping her other hand into mine. The softness of her fingers sparks a surge of emotion in my chest.

I pull her up and towards me, our bodies flush. Wilder rises as well, wrapping an arm around Elara's waist and pulling her back against him while I hold her from the front.

"Both of you," she breathes out, looking at each of us in turn, her voice shaking with emotion. "I want you both."

Her declaration is bold as the bloodstained altar room Wilder and I strolled out of, but tender as a kiss.

We're filthy, but Elara makes us clean.

Wilder brushes his lips against her neck. I lean down to capture her lips with mine. She tangles her fingers into my hair, pulling at the strands as Wilder nuzzles into the crook of her neck.

Her taste is sweet, tangy, and mixes with the blood on my face, our bodies. Wilder's hand trails down her front, tracing a path over her top, then her shorts. She visibly shudders, as both Wilder and I find that tender spot beneath each of her earlobes as our hands continue to explore.

I tighten my grip on Elara's waist, pulling her closer until there's no more room between us—until she's consumed by us.

Wilder hooks the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head, revealing my butterfly finally out of her cocoon. It's then I notice the bite marks, one on her chest, and one on her shoulder, and I recognize the patterns immediately.

Axe. Kaspian.

We all are laying claim to her.

Wilder cups both her bare breasts, drawing circles around her nipples before capturing and pinching them. Elara moans, arching her back while her nails dig into my shoulders.

My name is a tattered gasp against her lips. I release her mouth and Wilder takes over, his tongue sweeping in as he teases her breasts.

The thought of Wilder tasting me on her lips makes my erection form a heartbeat. I trail my fingers down her stomach, dipping under the waistband of her shorts.

Elara squirms as my digits discover just how ready she is for us.

"Cav," she moans, turning away from Wilder's kiss only to have him latch onto her pulse point with a low growl. The sight of his teeth grazing against her skin ignites an insatiable hunger, spurring me on.

My thumb strokes over her swollen nub, drawing a strangled cry from her as I push down her shorts. Elara's bare underneath and so damn wet, it makes my head spin.

Wilder lifts Elara onto the coffee table, scattering whatever drinks, bottles, and first aid items lay there. He parts her thighs wide, settling between them. His eyes find mine over her writhing form and an unspoken understanding passes between us as we take in the sight of Elara—our woman—spread for us.

Wilder dips his head to kiss down her stomach and Elara arches upward with a low cry. Her fingers tangle in his hair while I lean forward and maintain my rhythm on our butterfly's most sensitive spot. His tongue circles around my ministrations, swirling through her folds, drinking all of her.

My cock throbs, begging for a turn with this beautiful creature. As if reading my mind, Wilder looks up over her pussy and smirks before standing and guiding Elara to her feet.

I take the lead, returning to the armchair and pulling out my cock while Wilder helps Elara position herself to straddle my lap. She gasps when she feels my hard length pressing against her wet entrance and without any hesitation, I give into my greed.

Elara cries out when I bury myself inside her but moves in sync with me, just as ravenous, her tits bouncing.

And then there's the sight of Wilder behind her, his hand on himself, watching us ferociously.

"I want in," Wilder grinds out, his meaning sending a shudder through Elara's body that I feel deep within her.

He drops his pants and steps forward, positioning himself at her back entrance.

Elara sucks in a breath as I pause and she feels Wilder pressing against her, but doesn't protest, instead spreading her legs further apart for him.

I get to witness Elara's eyes widen when Wilder breaks through, stretching her in ways she's never felt before. But she takes him all, moaning in pleasure while wincing with the sharp, sudden pain.

Every nerve is alight within me, because I feel him coming close to me inside her, and I have a front row seat on what we're doing to her.

Slowly, Wilder's buried as deep as I am. He sets a torturous pace, slowly pulling out and pushing in while I thrust up with increasing urgency.

Wilder's strong hands grip her hips, guiding her movements, matching mine. His head falls back, his eyes closed tight as he mutters something unintelligible under his breath. I wrap my hands around Elara's waist, holding her tightly as I increase the pace. Each thrust gets harder, deeper.

Elara tenses, her breath catching. She's close.

Wilder and I share a knowing glance: we won't last much longer either—how can we when the woman between us drives us to insanity? Her eyes flutter shut and she bites down on her lower lip to keep from crying out. But there's no way in hell I'm letting her silence herself.

"Let go, butterfly," I tell her. "We want to hear you."

Wilder rumbles his agreement from behind, lowering to swoop her hair to one side and place a kiss on the back of her neck.

The tenderness in the act makes me realize how much things have changed between us—how we care for her like she does for us.

And only her.

I'll carve into my future with ruthless precision, but at her altar, I'll always kneel in devotion.

"I'm ... I'm..." she gasps out a warning before going over the edge.

Her release triggers ours and we are lost, my cock emptying into her in powerful spurts, Wilder's groan tearing from his throat as he buries himself fully, his own climax pulsing through her.

When our breathing slows and our heart rates return to normal, Wilder pulls out, leaving Elara to collapse against me. My butterfly is exhausted, but she's wearing such a sated expression that I can't help but smile, brushing a strand of hair off her sweaty forehead. When I also pull out slowly, she winces a little at the sudden emptiness, but doesn't complain.

Elara sighs deeply, sinking into my chest while she reaches for Wilder. He moves closer and wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a tight hug from behind.

We sit there in silence for a while, lost in each other's company. Bound together in a way we never thought possible, while the darkness outside starts to fade into first light.