Chapter 8

PORTER

Despite the urgency pushing me to hurry, I slow my pace when I see Anita clinging to Darby's back, the girl barely able to keep her eyes open. She's been through a lot over the last twenty-four hours.

Being blown up.

Arrested.

Depleting her powers.

Going on the run.

I curse myself for not being better prepared, but the last thing I ever expected was to find a woman in our midst. We're a rough group, all sharp edges and lethal claws. When our baser urges hit, we each seek the fairer sex for a quick fuck, but we never bring them home.

And we never go back for seconds.

We avoid attachments at all costs, unable to afford the luxury of caring about anyone else, not wanting to give anybody ammunition to use against us.

Against all odds, Anita has been more than capable of holding her own against each of us. I don't know if I should admire her stubbornness or curse it.

What I do know is that it will eventually come back to bite us on the ass.

Yet, against my will, I'm impressed by the girl. Though she's only wearing a shirt in the middle of the night and blindly wandering the borderlands, she doesn't complain. Most women would be in tears from the lack of clothes alone, not to mention screaming obscenities about being dragged into such rough and dangerous territory, but she doesn't say a peep.

In fact, Darby practically had to coerce her onto his back to get her off her abused feet, the lucky prick, but I quickly shake my head at that foolishness. The last thing I need is to be distracted by the thought of having her in my arms, pressed against me while wearing close to nothing. It would only take one slip of my hand to touch her where I want most.

I swallow hard, the urgency to get her off the streets like an itch between my shoulder blades. I want her clothed and safe and away from prying eyes. I send her more of my shadows, wrapping them around her tiny form, and a pleased hum fills my chest at being able to provide for her. Instead of panicking at being smothered in darkness, she trustingly relaxes into it.

Even the guys hesitate when dealing with my shadows, knowing exactly how menacing they can become when riled.

But not her.

As soon as they wrap around her, Anita sighs and falls asleep.

My shadows are like a sixth sense, able to pick up smells, sounds, and tastes of whatever they encounter. Her touch is unlike anything I've ever felt, and damn if it's not fucking addicting. Her heat rubs against my skin as my shadows share every sensation with me.

I can feel every fucking inch of her in my head. My hands ache to touch her skin, and my mouth waters with the need to taste her essence.

Her presence is driving me and my shadows fucking crazy.

They seek her out without my permission, like they've claimed her as part of us, which is both fucking ridiculous and troubling.

My shadows are usually cold, an icy sensation that often seeps into my bones. Most of the time, I take comfort from the insulating chill, a cushion against the brutal world of emotions. With her, I don't want to hide.

In fact, I want her to notice us.

I want her to see that we can be a fierce protector.

If anyone saw her with her skin practically glowing in the darkness, despite my shadows trying to conceal her, they wouldn't hesitate to slit our throats and take her as a prize for their own.

No one will touch her on our watch.

A level three mage, my ass.

Something about her sings to my senses, my shadows urging me to protect her, and I'm unable to fight such a primal instinct.

Looking at the other guys, I see the same battle.

Well, except Soren. From the second the hellhound saw her, he was lost. I've never seen the big man so docile. He's like a little puppy following her around, begging for attention. Darby resisted her for a few hours before he caved as well, and she has him wrapped around her little finger.

She almost broke him with her words, but less than an hour later, when I thought we might have lost him to the system forever, she miraculously fixed him.

In fact, I've never seen him so alive and animated.

Even Cass, the biggest asshole of our group, who never let anyone close, is unable to stop glancing over his shoulder to check out the little waif. My shadows listen almost obsessively to their whispered conversations. Her complete lack of fear is throwing him off. A slow hiss, like air escaping a tire, vibrates from him like he and his basilisk are arguing.

What's worse, the girl isn't wrong.

Cass went through some shit when he first ascended into his beastling form. It fucked him up, and he never got over it.

As much as I want to comment on what the girl said, I keep my mouth firmly shut. Cass doesn't know how to handle someone who calls him on his shit. While he might allow Anita to get away with it out of fear of hurting her, the basilisk won't hesitate to beat my ass for shoving my nose in his business.

I wouldn't blame him.

We work as a group because none of us push the others past our boundaries. As long as everyone keeps their shit locked down, I keep my mouth shut.

I'm not saying it's healthy, but it works.

Now, the little slip of a girl is poking holes in our armor at the worst possible time. While MID might seem like they are the law, it's just as corrupt as any government institute. If they get their claws into her, they'll never let her go.

It's how we ended up in their clutches.

Each of us is powerful in our own right, which drew their illustrious attention in the first place. When we not so politely refused their generous offer to join their ranks, they manufactured crimes that we allegedly committed—or not so allegedly, depending on who you ask. We faced the choice of joining them and working off our sentence or experiencing an all-inclusive lifetime stay in their renowned detention center—a place where they would bind our powers and leave us to die a slow death.

No one ever comes back from MDC.

If I'm right, they were going to do the very same thing to Anita—until her family name was discovered. MID won't take her disappearance lightly, and they won't let her go without a fight. It's only a matter of time before the director connects our disappearance to when Anita vanished and puts two and two together.

I give us two hours tops before they put out a warrant for our arrest, and then bounty hunters will be on our asses. Also, because fate has never been on our side, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that they'll want us more dead than alive.

We're fucking screwed.

ANITA

Sunlight warms my face, rousing me from my first good slumber in what feels like ages. I curl toward the delicious heat to my right, the scent of sulfur and flowers teasing my nose, and I snuggle closer with a contented sigh.

A slight rumble vibrates under my chest, almost like a purr. My body tightens with lust, the need to rub up against the source of that smell almost irresistible, and I clench my legs together to stop the ache.

Then reality kicks me in the lady balls, and my fantasies slowly dissolve.

I'm not at home, alone in bed.

Air saws in and out of my lungs as panic threatens to overwhelm me. My control is hanging on by a thread as delicate as an arachne's web, and my whole body heats with the need to light up the fucker who thought to take advantage of me while I slept.

Before I have a chance to put my thoughts into action, though, arms wrap around me, and I'm pulled against a wide chest. A face nuzzles the top of my head almost affectionately and…someone sniffs me?

That sparks a memory, and the events of the previous day slam into me like a sledgehammer—being blown up, then getting arrested.

The images of four sexy men who have invaded my life flash through my mind in vivid detail.

Tall.

Muscular.

Sexy as sin.

And deadly as fuck.

Despite the guys' rough edges and asshole behavior, I find their gruffness charming.

My body sparks with awareness, and it's all I can do not to arch against the man holding me. My eyes open wide at that shocking revelation, and I lean back, peering up at the person I'm plastered against.

Soren.

Instead of leaping away like I should, the tension drains from my muscles, and I sigh in appreciation. His dark red hair is tousled, his striking black and silver eyes full of mischief, while the man himself looks very much like the cat who caught the canary.

From this angle, I swear he actually has fangs.

If I were a normal person, it would freak me the fuck out. Instead, the sight of his fangs sends a shiver down my spine, and the skin on my neck tingles at the thought of him nibbling on me. I rip my eyes away from the delicious package of his ruffled, freshly fucked look and notice we're in a small, nondescript room about the size of a car.

If I stretch, I could practically touch the four walls…not that I would want to touch the walls.

Even from a distance, I can tell they are covered in mold and…yeah, we'll go with water stains. I grimace, refusing to look closer. The ripe odor of stale sweat and desperation permeates the room, the sour taste lingering at the back of my throat. The bed is nothing more than a mat, but Soren keeps me tucked close, so I'm not touching anything but him. I'm grateful that I don't have to see the state of the mattress.

The disrepair should put me on edge, but I've seen worse.

Hell, I've lived and survived worse.

Soren trails his fingers up and down my spine with a light sweep of his hands, easily distracting me. Goose bumps spread in the wake of his touch, and my oversensitive skin has me squirming against him. I'm unsure if I'm trying to get closer or escape his attention. I'm not used to people touching me, and I don't know if I like the emotions he invokes.

With his arms around me, I feel safe, and that's more unsettling than our run-down surroundings. Instead of feeling comforted by the sensation, my skin crawls.

Every time I ever felt safe, shit would hit the fan and my life inevitably went down the toilet.

Not wanting to study my emotions too closely, I pull away and sit up. Now that I'm no longer touching him, my head clears and I finally notice what's missing from the room. "Where is everyone else?"

I shouldn't give a crap, but a knot of anxiety tightens in my chest at not having them in view. While they are big, tough men, they don't know how the real world works in the borderlands. How cutthroat people can be when enough money is involved.

My family will offer a small fortune for my head—literally.

Anyone standing in their way will be considered an acceptable casualty. To my cousin, anyone who isn't part of the main ten mage families are just servants and beneath consideration anyway.

I push to my feet, heading toward the door, my heart banging hard against my ribs. The urge to seek the guys out is like a compulsion, and I yank the door open, ready to sprint into the hall in search of them.

Soren reaches over my head with his massive hand and shuts it with an ominous thud before I can take a step. When I would have turned to confront him, he presses close, smooshing me between him and the door.

The man is a giant, sucking up all the oxygen in the room. His heavy weight should be crushing and claustrophobic, I should be screaming for help, but something about his nearness and the weight of his big frame pressed tight against my back makes me feel cocooned in warmth, and I just melt.

Once again, that weird feeling of safety wraps around me, and I press my forehead against the door to bask in the sensation for a second of peace.

I'll be strong again in a moment.

He shifts closer, pressing more of his weight against me, then lowers his hands until they are on either side of my shoulders, caging me in his arms.

And damn if I don't feel his cock press against my lower back.

A hum catches in the back of my throat at his massive size, and I'm not in control of my body when I go up on my toes and press back against him, desperate to feel his cock where I need it most.

A rumble vibrates from his chest, seeping into my body. My breath catches, and my lady bits flood with the need to take him hard and fast. "Do that again, big guy, and the fun will be over before it starts."

A chuff comes from him, a husky laugh that has my nipples begging for his touch, the rough texture of the door doing nothing to soothe the aching need to feel his hands on my breasts…until tiny wisps of smoke rise from the door underneath my hands.

It's like being doused in ice water, sobering me so fast that my lust evaporates, and I nearly whimper at being denied.

"You need to step back," I warn him, staying completely still, trying not to trigger my powers. Something about him calls to me, making my fire want to come out and play, and my chest tightens with panic.

If I lose control, he will literally turn into a crispy critter. Though my family hasn't been able to break me, no matter what torture they inflicted, I very much fear if I hurt him, even accidentally, I will shatter and never be able to put myself back together again. There is just too little of me left. I'll never find all the jagged pieces.

I bow my head, struggling to keep my breath slow and even. Curling my hands into fists, I press my knuckles against the door, using the pain to ground me.

I focus on my breathing—in one, two, three then out one, two, three.

I wait for Soren to leap away and curse at me, wait for his screams of pain as my fire ignites and eats away his flesh. I usually have more control, but something about him calls to the embers that burn in my soul.

Almost like they are seeking him out.

Only the big lug doesn't retreat. In fact, he does the opposite—he leans in closer, chuckling darkly in my ear, the delicious rumble sending shivers down my spine. Fury ignites inside me at his cavalier attitude regarding his safety, and my eyes snap open.

How dare he put himself in danger!

I whirl in the tight space and glare up at the stupid man.

I allow fire to spark inside me just enough for my brown eyes to glow amber, tiny specks of red beginning to shimmer in their depths. Most people would have the common sense to run, but the asshole's grin only spreads. He leans in closer, pinning me to the door, and I swear his cock is even harder and heavier as it presses insistently against my stomach.

My breath catches in my lungs at his sheer masculinity. My breasts are heavy and aching, and my core clenches in need.

Bad pussy, I chide, but it does no good.

The bitch always had a mind of its own.

"Kitten, you couldn't hurt me even if you tried." The rumble of Soren's low voice practically vibrates my against clit, and I bite my lip to stifle a groan.

"I'm trying my best not to fry you, you idiot." I'm panting now as the fire under my skin continues to rage. I shove at his chest, trying to get the asshat to move, but the fucker doesn't budge. On the third shove, I yank my fingers back when the tips start to glow like hot coals. I curl my hands into fists, but my damn breathing exercises do nothing to cool the growing heat.

It's like he's the match, and I'm the tinder, ready to burn at his touch.

"Watch." Soren leans back slightly, bringing his fist between us. He turns his wrist, then opens his hand, and the most gorgeous blue flame simmers to life. As I watch, it dances and twists, changing until it's a white and blue lotus flower.

The center of the bud glows white, the petals slowly unfurling. Tiny veins stretch through the petals and pulse like miniature flames licking up the outsides. The closer the flames are to the edges, the darker the blue, and I can only stare in awe.

I'm not aware of reaching out until my fingers hover over the stunning creation. I glance up, silently seeking permission, and he nods. When my fingers lightly brush a petal, I almost expect to be burned, but the flower feels like silk.

The blue flame wavers, then bright reds and pinks slowly skim down the petals, the three colors blending in a beautiful dance. My heart feels full at the beauty, and the backs of my eyes sting.

All my life, I was taught that the ability to use fire is a curse, that those who have it deserve to be punished for their wicked ways.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think it could be so beautiful.

"How did you do that?" My voice is hushed with awe, afraid that if I speak louder, I might disrupt the magic.

"Not me—us." He flicks his fingers, and the flower evaporates in a shower of cinders, then falls to the ground like ash. "I'm a hellspawn. While most of us can withstand fire, my beast allows me to harness it. Your little flames won't hurt me, not unless you infuse your fire with the command to harm, and even then, it's doubtful."

My mind is completely blown, and I'm barely able to string two thoughts together. "Hellspawn?"

His eyes dim a little, his expression shutters, and tension creeps into his wide shoulders. "I'm a hellhound."

He stares down at me and waits. He's so still that I'm not even sure he's breathing. The silver in his eyes swirl, like his beast is pushing forward, and tension practically shimmers in the air.

My reaction is important to him for some reason. Some people say that words can't hurt, but that's a fucking lie. Hateful words can destroy a person's soul if they are allowed to fester.

I've done my best not to listen to my family, but I bear the scars from their abuse, both physically and mentally.

As I gaze up at Soren, my gaze skims over his masculine features. His brows are heavy, his face broad, his jaws strong and square. Tiny nicks and faded scars decorate his face and body. He's not classically handsome, but I find the combination stunning. He doesn't fuss with his appearance, completely at home in his own body.

He is unapologetically Soren, and I like that he's not trying to be anything but himself.

"Hellhound, huh?" As I scan him from head to toe, he stands straighter, his shoulders going back, and his chest puffs out. I nod, then give a hum of approval.

Excitement pings through me as I imagine what his beast must look like. My mind immediately conjures the image of a giant, wolf-like creature on fire, lava flowing through his veins, and my flames spark with interest. The beast stands tall and confident, the flames flaring bright under my gaze, and a smile curls my lips at his proud bearing. "Fierce. I like it. Hellhound suits you."

Tension leaves his spine, his shoulders easing, then the most gorgeous smile breaks across his face.

I can only blink and gape like an idiot at the full display of upper and lower fangs.

Whoa!

The sight should be off-putting, but self-preservation has never been my strong suit. In fact, the thought of him nibbling on me has my lady bits begging for his touch, and I swear I'm having a heat flash as I practically burn with the need to feel his hands on my body.

"How about we test your theory?" I thrust my hand out between us and call my flames. They are not as pretty as his flower, but the fire burns bright and hot under his attention. I lift my brows in challenge, ignoring the way my heart betrays me and thunders like a jackalope in my chest. "Prove that you can withstand my fire."

It's both a dare and a plea.

I refuse to take his word for it.

I won't be responsible for hurting him.

A smirk twists his lips, the silver in his eyes swirling in anticipation and something else that I'm not ready to name yet. Holding my gaze, he confidently reaches forward and doesn't hesitate to slip his hand into the heart of my fire.

When he doesn't scream or writhe in pain, when his flesh doesn't drip from his bones, something inside me relaxes.

A second too soon.

My flames have absolutely no chill, because an instant later, they leap onto his flesh and set him on fucking fire.