8. Cav

Chapter 8

Cav

THE PUPPETEER

B lood. So much blood.

It coats my skin, the sheets, the air—a metallic perfume I can't escape.

I suck in oxygen, pain ripping through my body with each choked breath.

What happened to me?

Who did this?

I blink, struggling to focus.

Three shadowy figures hover nearby, their hushed voices urgent. My brothers. They did their best to patch me up, but this is beyond them.

We're in danger. All of us.

I have to remember what happened.

Who attacked me.

Why.

The room spins slightly as I try to piece together the fractured memories of what brought me here.

Sovereigns.

The knife plunges into my flesh, carving agonizing sigils of worship meant for the Sovereigns, not me.

Do the Sovereigns' talons now have a permanent grip on my soul?

I trace the fresh cuts, hot and swollen under the bandages, the ridges forming a map of ancient insignia across my chest that seem to dance and shift under my touch.

I've been here before, trapped in this cycle of torment. How much more can I endure before their perverse faith consumes me completely?

The Sovereigns' monotonous chant during our constant rituals creeps into my thoughts—rhymes uttered by candlelight, marks that bind, and curses that follow bloodlines.

My eyes sting with a mercurial rage I can't quell. "What have they done to me?"

My voice sounds foreign, clogged with the dust of defeat.

But the pain is almost welcome in its intensity. It's a reminder that I'm still here, still fighting, even when my soul screams for surrender.

The boys may not believe in the dark magic the Sovereigns like to tease or the ravenous beings the Sovereigns are beginning to serve and covet, but I do. They've made me believe in dark things, writhing things, terrible creatures that will hunt and hunt and send you to madness if you don't fulfill their orders.

I groan, wincing as my fervor tightens my body, tensing the sliced muscles and prodding me to beg for mercy.

How does one fight an enemy that brands your flesh and leaves you destroyed in the darkness of your room? How do you combat a curse that has torn through generations, leaving nothing but ruin in its wake?

The symbols on my chest throb in response, sinister heartbeats mimicking my own.

The moment dawn peeks through the gap in my curtains, I push myself up, ignoring the protest of my battered body.

The ruby Heart—this is the key. It has to be.

Sarah Anderton's legacy, this curse, has clung to the Nightshades through centuries. But now, with each throb of the symbols etched into my flesh, I feel it—an urgency that borders on madness.

To find the Heart is to break these chains.

The door swings open, followed by several pairs of skilled, stealthy footsteps, as well as a singular, lighter pair, darting in the lead.

Elara's hooded face appears in my vision, her amber in her eyes piercing through the gloom coating her face. She pushes back the hood of the cloak and presses a hand to my forehead. "How long has he been like this? He's feverish."

She doesn't falter at the sight of me, half naked and wounded. Her attention rakes over my bandaged chest, blood leaking through where the marks cut the deepest, the Sovereigns' symbols seeming to glow beneath her gaze.

They want to hurt her. The Sovereigns want her.

"Damn, Cav, you look like hell," Kaspian quips as he slinks to the foot of the bed, clutching his left shoulder tenderly while his left arm is in a sling, his posture stooped.

"No worse than you," I slur, pushing to rest higher against the pillows, but my eyes are on her , capturing every detail. The way her chest rises with each breath, the honeyed fire in her gaze that burns brighter than any ire within me.

"Sit down, you stubborn ass," Wilder chides Kaspian as he wanders in last, pointing at an armchair near the fireplace, but still where I can see them.

"Elara," I murmur. "Come here."

She huffs like she's reached her limit on taking orders tonight but obediently perches on the edge of the bed, close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating off her. My eyes roam over her appreciatively before returning to hers.

A villainous grin tugs at my lips.

She slants her eyes at my study. "What?"

"I want you."

The words slip out effortlessly, and a startled silence blankets the room.

Her eyes widen slightly, then quickly harden again. Elara's lips part to say something?—

But I beat her to it.

"I mean it. I want to fuck you, right here, right now."

My hand shoots out to grip her wrist, my fingers curling around the fragile bones there.

She makes an annoyed sound in her throat but doesn't yank herself free from my grasp. Instead, she asks the room, "When was the last time he's had his fever treated? Or drugs?"

"Mmm. Drugs and partying and fucking. That's what I like to hear," I purr back at her, staring deep into those fiery orbs as if they hold all answers to this fucked-up world. "That's what normal college assholes do. Let's do that instead of … instead of …"

The memory of what happened, what I endured, starts to leach into the edges of my vision.

"Axe," Wilder says sharply from across the room. "Grab some ice water in case we need to cool him down."

Axe's mouth tenses grimly, but he leaves the room without protest, leaving the four of us remaining in uneasy, I dare say worried , quiet.

Well, if I'm good at one thing, it's breaking the silence. I glance over at Elara again.

My smirk deepens. God, how I long to trace every inch of her skin with my fingertips.

"Now," I murmur, my thumb gently stroking her wrist, "let's deal with this fever the right way."

My attention shifts from her flushed face to my own aching body. The pain is a distant, dull throb as I guide her hand past my angry chest to the large tent of my cock beneath it.

Elara's gentle hand on mine pulls her wrist away, her fingers tracing lightly over the blood-soaked bandages. Her touch is careful, but it's enough to set my nerves on fire. I hiss through gritted teeth but make no move to recoil.

"Easy," she murmurs, her fingertips moving from the bandages to ghost over my skin, leaving trails of delicious tingles in their wake.

My vision tunnels with need as I watch her every movement. The way her lips part slightly as she concentrates on refreshing my bandages and treating my wounds under Wilder's guidance and how her strawberry lips purse with concentration. It's fucking thrilling.

Wilder clears his throat, shifting his attention from my cock to my face with a look that says he's seen far too much for one evening. Kaspian merely smirks from his spot by the fire, his eyes flicking between Elara and me with the kind of amusement that tells me he was recently in a similar situation with her.

Axe returns with a pitcher of water, refreshing the untouched, room-temperature one on my bedside table. He takes in the sexual tension in the room with suspicious eyes, keeping the pitcher aloft like he's willing to douse me in it should I get too out of control.

I beam at his discomfort before returning my attention to Elara.

"Did you miss me while I was cooped up in the basement?" I ask her, my voice dropping lower, something ominous lurking beneath my tone.

Elara rolls her eyes, but not fast enough. I catch the lash of pain my question causes her as she comes face-to-face with my mutilated chest before she retorts, "You wish."

Ignoring the twinge of my consciousness at the utterly destroyed look in her eye, I return my focus to Elara's touch as she applies the ointment to my wounds. Her hands are cold against the fevered skin of my chest, but they bring relief—a sweet torture I can't get enough of.

I lean in closer, ignoring the sharp stab of pain that shoots through my ribs from my wounds. "I want to make you blush so hard, your pussy turns a different color, too."

My voice is barely a vibration, but she hears me.

Her fingers hover for a moment over my body before her defiance comes back in full force. "You'd have to try harder than that, in the state you're in."

A challenge. Fuck, how I love a good challenge.

"I don't try," I point out, noting her shiver, "I conquer."

"All right, that's enough, big guy," Wilder says, approaching my other side. He holds up a bottle of pills and shakes it. "Time to go night-night."

I wince as Wilder shakes the pill bottle, the rattle piercing my skull. Elara resumes her ministrations, applying salve to my wounds with a gentleness I don't deserve. The sensation unravels throughout my body like satin ribbons, desire and pain intertwining until I can barely distinguish one from the other.

"Open up," Wilder commands, holding out two white pills. I glare at him, rebellion at the forefront, but Elara's touch on my jaw draws my attention back to her.

"Take them," she murmurs. "I'm worried about you. You need to heal."

I want to refuse, to pull her down onto the bed and lose myself in her, but the throbbing ache in my chest reminds me of my limits. I open my mouth but snarl until it's only Elara who can place the pills on my tongue. Axe hands her a glass of water, which she brings to my lips, and the cool liquid soothes my parched throat.

As the medication takes effect, my eyelids grow heavy, the room blurring at the edges. Elara's face swims in my vision, her features softening with concern. I fight the pull of unconsciousness. The meds aren't working yet, but my efforts to fuck her are certainly taking their toll.

I snake my arm around Elara's waist, pulling her flush against my bandaged chest. The movement sends a bolt of agony over the need, but I welcome it with the pleasure of having her at my mercy.

She gasps, hands splaying over the bloodstained fabric as if to prepare herself.

Wilder grimaces. "You're going to feel that tomorrow, brother."

I don't care.

My fingers dig into the supple flesh of her hip under her shirt, a promise and a claim. Elara's breath stalls, her pupils dilating with a heady mix of annoyance and arousal. "Cav, stop. You'll hurt yourself."

"Fuck my injury," I snarl, capturing her by tangling my fingers in her hair at the back of her head. "I want to feel something other than this goddamn curse."

Kaspian chuckles from his seat, the sound low and knowing. "Better give him what he wants, beastie. You know how obstinate he gets."

I grind my hips against hers, my hardness evident through the thin fabric of the sheets. Elara grits her teeth, her lower back arching, unconsciously seeking more contact.

Axe shifts to the side of the bed. The tension in the room changes, morphing into carnal hunger.

Elara's denial is on the tip of her tongue, but I silence her by yanking on her hair until we meet with a bruising kiss.

I pour every ounce of my frustration, my pain, my thirst into the clash of our mouths. Her resistance is fleeting. She melts against me, her fingers relaxing against my chest.

I break the kiss, panting, "I wasn't about to pass out until I showed you what you were missing by stomping off last night, butterfly."

I'm pretty sure the grin stays on my face as I lodge her against me and, at last, allow the nightmares to claim my mind.

Refusing to let her go.