Chapter 9

SOREN

When her little flames lick against my flesh, my cock hardens so fast, I become lightheaded. I shiver in anticipation, almost desperate to feel her heated touch on my body. Sure, I can feel when others touch me, but the skin of my human body is muted, like being touched through a thick jacket.

But not my kitten.

The heat of her touch is like a brand, like my senses are waking for the first time since I ascended, and I feel alive instead of trapped inside a shell.

And I'm desperate for more.

The thought of my kitten brushing her hands over every inch of my body has cum leaking from my cock, and it's all I can do to bite back a groan. I reach down to adjust myself, barely keeping my hand from gripping the base of my cock to stop myself from coming in my pants like some teenager getting his first good look at a pair of tits.

My beast whines in the back of my mind, pushing against the underside of my skin with the demand to be set free, and I grit my teeth as I struggle to hold him at bay.

The distraction costs me.

The instant my beast touches my skin, her flames ignite. They burst over my hands and slowly trail up my arms, seeking to devour and claim.

Anita sucks in a harsh breath, panic widening her eyes. When she jerks her hand back, I latch onto her wrists before she can escape and hold on tight. Her flames heat, a lash of fire burning up my arms, and my grip tightens when she struggles to get away.

Long forgotten myths about my kind play in my head, and instinct warns me that if she breaks away now, something precious will be lost forever.

Unable to stand the idea of her retreating, I lean down and kiss the ever loving fuck out of her—something I wanted to do since I first set eyes on the little human.

She stiffens in my arms, bucking against me, and I pin her to the door, my cock loving the friction of her wiggling form just a little too much. When she tries to escape once more, my hellhound surges forward. A growl rumbles in my chest that usually freezes people to the spot, but not my kitten.

She just growls back at me, an adorable, cute little rumble that makes me want to pick her up and slam my cock home inside her. Claws slice through the tips of my fingers, but I'm so used to the sensation that I barely feel the pain.

While I love seeing her in my clothes, I mentally curse that it's keeping me from seeing her luscious curves. To stop myself from shredding the shirt, I sink my claws into the door behind her head.

The last thing I want to do is scare her more.

I know I should pull back and reassure her, but I'm unable to resist the delicious taste of her mouth. It takes almost a minute of her struggling against me before she settles, her tongue tentatively stroking mine, and damn if my knees don't weaken.

I do my best to hold still, encouraging her to take more, and she doesn't disappoint. This time, she kisses me, her mouth turning aggressive. She clings to my shirt, digging her little nails into my chest, and I fucking love every second of it.

The burn of her flames fades at her touch, and I settle my hands on her hips. When I lift her, she automatically wraps her legs around my waist, and I thrust against her pussy, cursing when my jeans prevent me from sliding home. My beast inhales the scent of her lust, and I thrust again, loving the way she rides me, the little whimper in the back of her throat driving me wild.

I lift her higher, ignoring her mewl of protest, and skim my hand down her ass. When I encounter her panties, I don't even hesitate—I incinerate the fuckers. A second later, my fingers are hovering at the entrance of her soaking core, and I thrust deep. She bucks against my questing fingers, moaning low, then shifts until she is fucking herself on my hand.

I adjust my fingers against her slick folds until my fingertips brush her clit. A shudder goes through her, and her breathing hitches. She breaks the kiss, her head tilting back, and she closes her eyes as she takes her pleasure. When she orgasms, her pussy clenches around my fingers, milking me as if it were my cock. My beast growls, loving the idea, and the vibrations hit her clit in a way that sets off a second orgasm even before the first one is done.

She clamps down on my fingers hard, her heat soaking my hand, and she screams my name. Satisfaction fills my chest at being able to give her pleasure. She burns so beautifully at my touch that I want to do it again and again, and I barely resist the impulse to demand more.

To demand everything.

Instead, I force my movements to slow, carefully easing her body down from her orgasms with gentle, leisurely strokes. Now is not the time or place. When I fuck her, I want to spend hours teaching her body how to react so it will only take the slightest brush of my fingers to make her come.

She slumps against me like a content kitten, and I reluctantly remove my hand from her pussy. Not ready to let her go, I lean down and brush my face against the top of her head, wanting to bathe in her scent.

A few minutes later, she stirs then stiffens when she realizes she's still in my arms. She pulls away, wiggling to be set down, looking anywhere but at me. I concede reluctantly, my arms feeling empty without her slight weight.

As soon as her feet touch the ground, she bolts across the room. Worried she'll run, I plant myself in front of the door, then lean against it for good measure. It's the only exit. If she wants to leave, then she'll have to go through me, and I'm not budging.

I cross my arms as I watch her pace, her feet practically stomping with every step. She threads her fingers into her hair, scraping the strands away from her face, and my eyes trace her delicate features. Her shirt is singed in spots, the holes playing peekaboo with her tan flesh, and I lick my lips when I catch flashes of her ripe nipples. When she turns, the shirt flutters, and I see the tears in the shirt where my claws sliced through the material, exposing the luscious globes of her ass.

It's not nearly enough and gone much too quickly for my liking.

How am I supposed to memorize her every curve when she only gives me teasing glimpses? No, next time, I want to spread her out on my bed, her body stripped naked so I can take my time and study every detail.

It will only take a day, maybe two for me to look my fill, then I'll do it all over again with my eyes closed, allowing my hands to learn her every curve.

It could take weeks, maybe even months, until I'm satisfied that I know every inch of her.

I tilt my head to the side as she strides across the floor, memorizing the beat of her heart and the way her breasts move as she breathes. Her sweet and spicy scent is already imprinted on my brain, and my beast loves watching the way she stalks back and forth in the small space like a predator locked in a cage.

I'm a patient man, allowing her to work out her frustrations. Bringing my hand to my mouth, I slowly lick the taste of her from my fingers, biting back a groan at the irresistible, cock hardening flavor. It takes all my willpower to resist the urge to stalk her, throw her onto the bed, and taste her properly.

My mouth fucking waters, and I press my back against the door to stop myself from giving in to my impulses. The last thing I want to do is frighten her off.

My kitten is skittish right now, and if I'm not careful, she'll run.

I don't think she's ready for me to give chase.

At least not yet.

That's a game I'll teach her to play once she becomes addicted to my touch, and my beast growls in agreement.

Her stride hitches at the sound, her lust perfuming the air, and I love that I have that power over her. She whirls toward me, her movements jerky with her agitation. Anita takes a single step in my direction, then stops just out of touching distance. My feet twitch with the need to go to her, my skin aching to feel her touch, even a casual brush of her fingertips or the warmth of her flames.

Her breathing is ragged as she scans me, starting at my feet and slowly working her way up as she inspects every inch of me. When her eyes linger on my cock, I bite back a snarl when the fucker swells even more, desperate to sink into her heat.

Down, boy.

When she sees me casually licking the last of her essence from my fingers, a wicked blush fills her cheeks, and her eyes reluctantly meet mine.

Finally.

I push away from the door, grabbing her chin when she would have dropped her gaze. When she tries to jerk away, I slip my hand to the back of her neck and hold her in place. I won't let her hide from me. I brush my thumb along her jaw, loving the way she unconsciously leans into the touch.

I can tell the instant her eyes lock on the marks on my arms.

The marks she burned into my flesh.

When she tries to pull away, I walk her backward until she hits the wall, then I use my weight to pin her. She's panting by the time she wears herself out. Her forehead comes to rest on my chest, and I run my hand down the back of her head, petting the curly strands of her hair.

"You said my flames wouldn't hurt you." It's an accusation, but the defeat in her voice is like a fist to my heart.

I glance down at the marks seared into my arm and chuckle. Her head snaps up, outrage darkening her face, and my smile brightens when I see that spark of fire back in her eyes. "Did you look at the marks?"

She blinks up at me, a cute little furrow between her brows, and I stiffen to keep from leaning over and kissing the spot. First, she needs reassurance, then we can play.

She searches my expression with narrowed eyes, then her gaze reluctantly drops to my arms, as if she's ashamed to face the damage she caused.

Oh, she burned me all right.

With her mark.

She claimed me for all to see.

I'm almost giddy as I admire the beautiful markings. The black lines resemble soot, swirling up the backs of my hands, across my wrists, then up my arms to my shoulders. The ornate lines are gothic in style, containing a combination of vines and thorns as they curl their way over my skin.

A giant lotus flower covers the inside of my forearm, the large bloom similar to the one I showed her with my flames. The edges of the petals are tinged black, then gradually brighten the closer it gets to the center of the flower, the colors blending to a deep teal. In the middle, bright red lights up the tattoo, reminding me of her stunning flames.

My other arm is almost the exact opposite.

Blood-red lines scroll up my arm. The ancient tribal shapes are drenched in color and heavily outlined in black soot to make them stand out even more. The red shimmers under the light, almost seeming to crackle and flow like molten lava, as if my beast were bleeding through my human skin, reminding me of his full Cerberus form.

While the tattoos are badass, I love them all the more because they mark me as hers. Magic is buried deep within the ink—her magic.

Anyone who gets close will sense it and know I'm unavailable.

I'm completely, irrevocably hers, and I'm fucking thrilled.

When she sees the bold marks on my arms, she sucks in a sharp breath, staring at them in wonder. Loving the feel of her gaze on me, I reach up and brush away the remnants of my shirt, burning the last of the material to ash until I stand in front of her in nothing but my pants.

I practically purr at the way her gaze runs over my body possessively. When she leans in closer, I puff out my chest, hoping to entice her to touch me. When her fingers hover over the lotus flower on my forearm, it begins to glow, almost like it's seeking her caress. My breath halts in my chest in anticipation, and I swear I can feel her warmth all the way to my cock.

As much as I crave her touch, I won't force her.

It has to be her decision.

Her surrender will be all the sweeter, and then all bets will be off.

The first chance I get, I have every intention of ravishing her. I'll imprint myself on her so thoroughly that when I'm not touching her, she'll miss the feel of my hands on her skin, my mouth on her body, and my dick in her pussy.

If I do it right, she'll realize she won't be able to live without me.

ANITA

Holy muscles, Batman.

I'm frozen, unable to do anything but stare at the delicious man meat standing in front of me. When my eyes sting, I realize I've been staring, and I give one long slow blink. The image in front of me doesn't change, I'm not hallucinating, and I lick my lips, hoping I don't have drool all over my chin, but I'm too busy gawking at him to investigate.

Because, fuck me, he literally just burned off his shirt.

I should run for the hills, but my body just melts in appreciation.

That's totally a skill I need to learn—the ability to burn the clothes off the man I want to fuck.

Soren stands still, allowing me to look my fill. I should feel self-conscious, but the view is just so spectacular that I feel no guilt as I plot the many ways I want to map his body with my tongue.

His muscles flex under my gaze, and I have to shake my head, blinking to clear my vision from the haze of lust that has fallen over me.

Who knew a person could fall into a daze of pure carnal desire?

Before today, I would have laughed my ass off. Now, I'm struggling against the need to lean forward and lick him.

Coming out of my lust fueled coma, I clear my throat…then nearly swallow my tongue when my gaze finally drops to the limbs he is holding out for me, and I see the gorgeous tattoos twining up and down his spectacular arms.

I'm not sure what captures my attention more—his muscles or the tattoos?

In a trance, I run my fingers over the markings, then halt when they brighten at my nearness. They almost seem to sway like flames, playfully seeking my attention and urging me to explore more of him.

The other arm is just as detailed, the dark red lines flaring brightly under my attention, giving the impression of liquid fire flowing down his arm.

And man, do I want to get burned.

I barely resist the impulse to continue my exploration of his body.

Thankfully, my brain finally begins working again.

"I don't understand." I drop my arm, curling my hands into fists in an effort to keep them to myself. My usually chaotic flames are oddly calm, as if pleased to see the marks on him.

When he steps toward me, I hurriedly sidestep him, practically diving to the side to avoid his touch. Something tells me I don't want to be distracted by his ability to turn my brain to mush right now.

A heavy sigh escapes him, and his shoulders deflate. He remains where I left him, but he turns toward me and keeps me in view like I'm a beastling who might attack at any moment. "Hellspawn are rare. We're half demon, half beastling…and many consider our ancestry evil."

"You mean like incubi and succubi?" My brows furrow, sensing that he's trying to tell me something without actually coming out and saying it.

"Exactly!" A brilliant smile lights up his face, and my breath catches.

I don't miss the way he casually takes a step toward me. The primal part of my brain is on alert, but the hussy in me is urging me to tackle him to the ground and have my dirty way with him.

"To say that demons and mages don't get along is an understatement." His excitement dims, his voice becoming gruff. "They are mortal enemies and stubborn assholes. Both believe they have the right to rule everyone else and think the rules don't apply to them.

"Thankfully, demons usually remain in their own realm, while mages stay in ours. Their magics are like trying to get two opposite sides of magnets to connect. A hybrid between the two usually doesn't survive past the fetus stage. If they manage to live, they typically combust when their magic first manifests. Their abilities are just too powerful to be contained in their human form, and it explodes out of them, consuming them."

My heart skips a beat in my chest, and I rub the spot, suddenly not wanting to hear more. "Why are you telling me all this? It's been several hundred years since demons have been spotted. We get a few possessions now and then, but they are usually gone after a few days of joyriding in a body."

He grimaces and runs a hand down his face. "Hellspawn are usually born from a union with a beastling and a demon. The few drops of demonic blood in our veins is what gives us a special affinity for fire or seduction or other dark arts."

Agitation has my own flames sparking between my fingers, and I cross my arms, quickly shoving my hands against my body to snuff it out. I suddenly don't like the turn of this conversation, and my voice is flat when I speak. "You think I'm one of your hellspawn."

"No, I think you're a rare hellborn—a cross between a demon and a mage. All the powers of a full demon and none of the weaknesses. You're able to walk both realms without harm." He takes a step toward me, but stops when I flinch. His expression falls, then his face smooths out and goes blank.

Part of me feels bad knowing that I hurt him, but I fear if he touches me, I might shatter. What he says makes too much sense.

"Your fire burns hotter and brighter than normal flames. You're not a level three mage—you have way too much power. If I'm right, your powers have been steadily growing over the years. Hellborns gain access to a few basic demonic abilities when they hit puberty, but they don't ascend into their full powers until they turn twenty-five."

Then it clicks.

Why my parents want me dead.

It has nothing to do with my inheritance and everything to do with my powers. The last thing they want is for me to be in charge, especially when I'd be too powerful for them to control.

So much of my life now makes sense, but I don't want to believe it. I tighten my arms around myself in a pathetic attempt at a hug and lift my chin up in challenge. "Do you have any proof? Maybe I'm just special and my power is a late bloomer."

Even as I say it, I don't believe it.

"We could have you tested again. Mages don't get a power boost after they manifest unless they are using spells and dark magic." His expression gentles, and he turns his arms until his tattoos are on full display. "But when you marked me, I got a taste of your magic. You are hellborn."

My shoulders slump, and my chest feels hollow, very much like my soul just exited my body. I turn, unable to face him with all the dirty secrets of my past so exposed. I press my hands against the wall, not sure I trust my legs to hold me upright. "I always thought I was a byproduct of an affair, but now I can't stop wondering if I was conceived for a reason."

The silence behind me is telling. My gut clenches with dread, and I wonder how much more fucked-up my life can get. I glance at him over my shoulder, then swallow hard. Apparently, I underestimate his sex appeal, and my eyes drop to his chest.

Too bad I can't enjoy the view after the bomb he just threw in my face.

I don't miss the way he rubs the back of his neck. The fact that he looks worried doesn't bode well for my future. He gazes at the floor, then heaves a sigh before meeting my gaze directly. "Demons often trade in curses. They don't make deals unless they get something in return."

It doesn't surprise me that my family would deal in dark magic. They would kill their own parents to get ahead and have done it plenty of times in the past. I go over the many things they could use to trade with a demon, but only one thing comes to mind.

"Me." My voice is barely above a whisper, but then my temper gets the better of me, and I throw my arms wide in exasperation. "What the hell could a demon possibly want with me?"

The bleak look in his silver eyes has my throat tightening to the point that it feels like a noose—possibly a premonition of what's to come.

"You are a rare prize. Very few hellborn reach adulthood. Those who do are incredibly powerful, easily surpassing the magical abilities of a normal mage." Soren gazes at me with a troubled expression. "If you are indeed the payment, then they will come for you when you turn twenty-five."

A bitter laugh escapes me, and my hands drop to my hips. "So much of my life finally makes sense, like why my parents want me dead but haven't outright killed me—they can't risk voiding their deal or damaging the goods. If I died in an accident, that would be different and out of their control."

Fear takes hold, and I lick my dry lips.

It's never a good thing when demons are involved.

It's worse when they've taken an interest in you.

Soren marches forward and grips my shoulders when panic threatens to drown me, his brutal grip the only thing that keeps me from totally losing my shit. "I'm a hellspawn. I won't let you go without a fight. Understand? How long do we have until you turn twenty-five?"

"Nine days," I croak out, then swallow hard.

If he's right, and I very much fear that he is right, then I have nine days before my life becomes hell.

Literally.