The Wicked In Me

As he, Seth, and Azazel waited in Inanna’s drawing room the next afternoon for the other Ancients—including Inanna herself, who’d been woken by both Lilith and Ishtar—to arrive, Cain told the two males of the incident last night.

Azazel leaned forward in his seat. “She what?”

Cain lifted his brows. “I really need to repeat myself?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you do. Because she should be dead.”

Cain flexed his fingers before splaying his hand on the sofa’s armrest. “I’m aware of that.” It was his creature, having woken from a light doze, who’d alerted him that she was gone. “When I realized she was in the garden, I expected to find her swarmed by so many snakes I’d barely see her.” And he’d felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—panic.

“None of them harmed her?”

“No, not one of them even so much as touched her. Nor did they hiss in warning or get in her way. They just slithered along the path either side of her. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought they were following her to protect her.”

At the other end of the sofa, Seth shrugged. “Maybe they somehow sensed she was yours. They wouldn’t harm anything that belongs to you. They might even go so far as to protect it.”

Azazel’s eyes narrowed. “You’re sure she was sleepwalking?”

Cain felt his brow furrow. “What else would she have been doing out there?”

“I don’t know,” replied Azazel. “But you’ve got to admit it’s weird that she’d go to the one place she’d find uncomfortable truths if she knew where to look. So I’m asking, are you certain she was sleepwalking?”

Cain thought back to last night. “She was moving like someone in a daze. Slow and awkward, not with purposeful strides. She only snapped out of it when I touched her, and then she looked freaked out. Wynter’s got an amazing poker-face, but I don’t think she was faking. She went pale. Started trembling. She seemed disoriented and confused.”

Seth scratched at the side of his neck. “You don’t think … No, there was no way he would have called out to a random witch even if he was awake.”

“He isn’t awake. I’d sense it if he was.” Cain ran his tongue over the front of his teeth. “She’s been to the garden before. She likes it. She isn’t fussed by the snakes. It’s not strange that she’d go sleepwalking to a place she likes. But you know what is strange?”

Azazel gave him a pointed look. “A lot of things are strange lately.”

“Exactly,” said Cain. “And it all started with Wynter’s appearance. Yet, Demetria didn’t see her coming. Nor did she foresee the appearance of Wynter’s old coven, or that the Aeons would suddenly turn their attention our way. In fact, she’s had no visions whatsoever since shortly before Wynter came here.”

Seth blinked. “None?”

Cain shook his head. “Demetria came to me the day after Wynter moved here. She said that for a few days she’d had a gut feeling that something was coming, but that no vision had accompanied the feeling. I had another brief conversation with Demetria earlier. She still isn’t having visions, and she still feels that she’s being blocked.”

Seth frowned. “Wynter can’t be responsible for that.”

“No,” agreed Cain. “She’s powerful, but she couldn’t block any attempts that a deity might make to contact their Favored. Demetria maintains it is a ‘presence’ that is causing the interference.”

Azazel’s head twitched to the side. “What kind of presence?”

“She isn’t sure,” said Cain.

Azazel rubbed at his jaw. “A deity could do it.”

“We’d sense the presence of a deity,” said Seth.

“Only if they wanted us to.”

“True enough,” allowed Seth. “But why wouldn’t they want us to?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Azazel twisted his mouth, resettling his gaze on Cain. “I’m guessing you’ve had a good, long look at Wynter’s body naked?”

“Every inch,” Cain confirmed.

“She has no marks to declare that she’s Favored by a deity?” asked Azazel.

Cain shook his head. “We wouldn’t need to see a mark to know a deity had their eye on her. The Favored are easy to recognize. They’re all the same. Arrogant. Overconfident. Superior. You’d think they were deities themselves the way they act. That isn’t Wynter.”

“No, it’s not.” Seth stretched his legs out in front of him. “I don’t know her, but you can tell a lot about a person by the way others treat them. Each member of her coven seems to respect and care for her. They see her as their Priestess, even if she doesn’t. They’d follow her anywhere.”

“I haven’t spent much time around them,” said Cain. “Maxim has, however. He told me that they’re more like a family—dysfunctional though it might be. There’s no hierarchy, no politics, no power struggles. Wynter is more of a guiding, protective force than a leader demanding respect and obedience. The others might not be entirely sane, but she gives them room to be who they are.”

“A person like that would make a good consort,” Seth chipped in ever so casually. “Don’t even try to tell me you haven’t considered it.”

Cain didn’t object to having done so, because it would have been a lie. The idea of making her his consort had wormed its way into his head and seemed intent on staying there. He’d tried ignoring it, but it pushed for mental space often.

He’d never claimed someone as his consort before. He’d never been possessive enough of a woman to care to. Likewise, though his monster had taken a shine to certain females over the years, it had never had any solid interest in a woman. Until now.

“Seth’s right,” said Azazel. “You thought your creature would grow tired of her. But she’s still sleeping in your personal chamber, which tells me you were wrong. Is it even beginning to lose interest in her?”

Cain pulled in a breath through his nose. “No. But that doesn’t mean it won’t at some point.”

“It doesn’t mean it will.” Seth paused. “I don’t think you’re at risk of losing interest in her either. Around Wynter, you’re different. As if she takes up so much of your focus that it doesn’t leave room for any dark shit to come along and sweep you under.”

Azazel nodded. “I’m guessing the black moods have stopped taking you, because you seem more … balanced. Positive, even. And I know that’ll be partly because our freedom seems close. But it’s not all about that. She’s good for you. So keep her.” He said it as though she was a wallet he’d found and liked the look of.

Cain arched a brow. “Even though I’m not good for her?”

“Even though,” said Azazel.

Cain briefly tipped his head to the side. “I did warn her I’m not.”

“And?”

“And she didn’t seem bothered by it.” Which hadn’t whatsoever surprised his monster—the creature didn’t believe she had reason to be bothered, since it considered his and Cain’s secrets to not truly be so bad. For the creature, it was simply their nature.

“So keep her,” Azazel repeated. “Or at least give it some serious consideration.”

Seth opened his mouth to speak, but then they heard voices coming.

Moments later, Lilith and Dantalion arrived. They briefly greeted Cain, Azazel, and Seth before returning to their conversation about whether humans served any real purpose. Shortly after that, Inanna and Ishtar entered, linking arms and smiling brightly at each other. Inanna was literally the only person Ishtar truly loved.

The sisters shared the same cornflower-blue eyes, pale blonde hair—though Inanna’s was straight rather than curled like Ishtar’s—and highly feminine air. But Inanna carried herself with a regal grace unlike her sister, whose every move was sensual and aimed to seduce.

Each person greeted Inanna and welcomed her back.

“How do you feel?” Seth asked her as they all took seats around the room.

“Like I woke too early, but I could not have woken to better news,” she replied. “If there is to be a war, I wish to be part of it.” Her gaze slid to Cain. “Tell me about the witch. I understand you have spent much time with her.”

There were many things he could say about Wynter. But he didn’t want the other Ancients to know her as well as he did. He didn’t wish to share her in even such a basic way. “What is it you wish to know?”

“Mostly, I want to be assured that she will not flee in terror if war breaks out.”

“It’s not in her nature to flee. It’s in her nature to avenge.” Cain loved that. “She harbors a deep hatred for the people of Aeon—so much so that she’s prepared to pay the cost of the dark curse she placed upon the land.”

“Yes, but Priestesses are generally happy to step back and have others do their dirty work.”

“If you ask Wynter, she will tell you that she isn’t a Priestess. She has no interest in a position of authority, only in protecting and guiding her ‘crew,’ as she refers to them. The coven is more like a family, which is as it should be. They are a tight group, and they fight like a well-oiled machine, but not so much with technique as with sheer ruthlessness.”

Azazel nodded. “They went through the gauntlet, and they completed it in under a minute—beating every past and present record. Their focus wasn’t to get to that finish line, or even to beat the times of others. They were enjoying what they did, and they kept moving forward so fast because they were eager to make the next kill.”

Inanna’s mouth curved. “I think I could like these people.”

“From what I have heard and seen, they’re not the sanest of individuals,” said Dantalion. “But then, neither are we.” He paused. “I agree with Cain. Wynter isn’t someone who would flee. If anything, she would run toward a war. She would want blood. And her coven would be right behind her.”

“Just because they were confident during the gauntlet does not mean they would be so confident on a battlefield,” said Ishtar, her voice clipped. “The two circumstances are very different. During the gauntlet, they had the comfort of knowing they would not truly die.”

Lilith let out a tired sigh. “Must you let your personal feelings about Wynter’s involvement with Cain color your opinions about her?”

Ishtar’s back snapped straight. “I have no feelings about their ‘involvement’ one way or the other.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Lilith dryly. “My mistake.”

“I merely think that—”

“Ishtar,” Inanna cut in. She said no more. She simply looked at her sister, her eyes soft. But whatever silent message she passed on made Ishtar leave the room in a huff. Inanna was more of a maternal figure than a sisterly one. But then, they had been born a hundred years apart.

Inanna exhaled heavily. “I sometimes wonder how different she would be if our father had not made her feel so insignificant growing up. I wonder if she would have been happier in herself; if her own sense of self-worth would not only come from what others think of her; if total adoration would not be the only thing that made her feel complete.”

“Not even pure adoration makes her feel complete for long, though,” said Seth. “The effect is only ever temporary.”

“Yes. It saddens me that my sister will never really know true happiness.” Inanna returned her gaze to Cain. “Your witch will need to watch her back. In Ishtar’s mind, you have chosen someone else over her. It reminds her too much of our father’s rejection of her. He truly was a bastard,” Inanna added in a low mutter. “I have warned her not to do anything stupid. We need Wynter alive, unharmed, and on our side. She assured me she would not do anything to risk changing any of that. But her fragile ego can often overrule her good sense.”

Cain felt his face harden. “I’d advise you to ensure that she doesn’t let that happen. Because if she harms Wynter, she will pay. And we both know how badly I could hurt her.”

Inanna studied him closely. “The witch is not simply a bedmate to you.” She gave a slow nod. “I will keep a close eye on Ishtar, but you should still keep a close watch on Wynter.” She pushed to her feet. “Now I wish to get a few things done before the celebration tonight. You arranged it, Seth, correct?”

“I did,” Seth confirmed.

She smiled. “Then I know it will not be tedious. Oh, and please do not throw any celebrations for me,” she said, addressing every Ancient. “I know it is tradition, but I would much rather save it for when we are finally free of our cage and the Aeons are dead. Just the thought warms my black heart. They will regret what they did, but not quite as much as they will regret not ending our existence—that was the worst mistake they ever made.”

*

“Can I kill him?”

Wynter sighed at Xavier. “No.”

“Why not? He’d deserve it. You reap what you sow in this world.”

“Explain how Elias could possibly deserve it. Without lying.”

“So, what, you think it’s fine that he keeps pestering me to have a threesome with him and his boyfriend?”

“I wouldn’t say he’s pestering you. I’d say he’s so amused by how much his first offer annoyed and flustered you that he now keeps repeating his offer to mess with you. That’s not a criminal activity.”

Huffing, Xavier looked down at the arena’s performance space, which was beginning to fill with entertainers now that the interval was over. “You’re not even really listening to me.”

“Of course I am,” she told him. “But we’ve been over this. You can’t kill a person simply because you don’t like them. It’s not a reason for someone to die.”

“You choose to focus too much on logic.”

“Well, aren’t I strange,” she said, her voice dry. She raised a hand when he went to argue. “No, you’re not allowed to kill him. He’s in the service of an Ancient, remember? They’ll never permit you to end his life over such a trivial reason. Your request would only succeed in pissing off Elias’s boyfriend and pack. And let’s be honest, you don’t actually dislike him. You’re attracted to him and unhappy about it. For you, this situation is a very weird version of ‘you only hit the one you love’ thing.”

Xavier glared at her. “I don’t love him.”

“No, but you’re into him. Reluctantly. That’s what this is all about.”

“I’m not into him. He’s a dick. He said I was a ‘naughty little liar’ and needed a Daddy to keep me in line.”

“You are a bad little liar, and you do need someone to keep you in line.”

“Again, you’re choosing to focus on logic.” He raised a finger. “And excuse me, I need no one. Except you, Delilah, Anabel, and Hattie.”

“It’s good to expand your circle.”

Sitting on Wynter’s other side, Delilah leaned in with a frown. “What’re we talking about?”

“I want to kill Elias,” Xavier declared. “Wynter says I can’t.”

Delilah’s brow creased. “What’s wrong with Elias?”

“He annoys the hell out of me,” said Xavier. “He keeps coming to my tent for ‘readings.’ But then all he does is grill me. I had to tell him about my past just to get him off my back. Though I didn’t tell him much except for how I originally came from Montana and that my parents were ranchers.”

“You were born in Chicago,” said Wynter. “And your parents were both teachers.”

“I didn’t say I told him the truth about my past.”

Delilah rolled her eyes. “At least you’re aware that you’re bullshitting.”

Yeah, that was the thing about Xavier. Unlike many chronic liars, he didn’t believe his own tales. He didn’t invent fictional pasts to avoid speaking of something painful. He didn’t present different faces to different people because he was uncomfortable with who he truly was. Nope, it was simply his way of keeping people at arm’s-length. The world tended not to trust liars or attempt to bond with them. That suited Xavier just fine.

When he did let people in, though, he wasn’t a half-assed friend. He was loyal and protective and accepting.

Sensual music began to play as the performers resumed their show. Acrobats, dancers, jugglers, and illusionists showed off their talent, but it was no circus-like performance. Nope. There was a BDSM undertone to the whole thing. Artists dressed in leather or PVC. Whips, canes, handcuffs, and crops were mingled into the routines. It should have been weird, but it was actually quite fun and creative.

“You know,” began Delilah, “given that the rumor-mill says Seth isn’t fond of Ishtar, I figured he’d throw a celebration she’d be bored by. But look at her, she’s loving this. So is that woman I’m guessing is the sister who rose from her Rest yesterday.”

Wynter had noticed the new face. The woman was just as pretty as her irritating sister. Though the siblings were similar in looks, they each possessed a different ‘air.’ Ishtar came across as sultry whereas Inanna was more poised.

“Yeah,” began Wynter, “I’m getting the sense that Ishtar respects talent, even if she doesn’t necessarily respect people in general.” She certainly liked seeing her sister happy and entertained. Ishtar seemingly wasn’t quite as one-dimensional as she might come across.

“Plus, there’s a sexual theme going on here,” Delilah went on. “It could be interpreted as Seth flirting with her in a roundabout way.”

“I’d agree, but look at how enthralled most people in this arena are.”

Delilah glanced around. “Huh. He did this for the masses.”

“That would be my guess,” said Wynter. “Throwing something boring as a dig at Ishtar would have made everything about her. To me, this says he doesn’t care enough about their past to bother with digs.”

Delilah pursed her lips. “I never thought of it like that, but yeah, I see it now.”

Feeling eyes on her, Wynter looked to see Cain staring right at her, his usual promise of sex glittering in his eyes. That easily, a jolt of need surged through her. It was like his ability to touch her all the way down to her soul—something nothing else had been able to truly do since before she died—had trained her very being to respond to him. Sometimes, it felt like her body knew he was the only thing that would ever make her feel that way; sometimes felt like it would always crave him.

“So … how long are you going to ban me from selling karma potions?” asked Delilah.

Wynter looked at her. “Oh, for, like, ever.”

“Why do you have to overreact?”

“I’m overreacting by wanting you to avoid activities that would put your life in jeopardy?” Wynter slammed up a hand. “No, I’m not going over all this again.” She’d already reamed Delilah’s ass over it this morning.

“Acting as conduits for karma is what my family has always done—all the way back to Annis.”

“Who was a child killer and cannibal, so forgive me if I don’t condone the ‘path’ she put your family line on. And let’s be honest, none of you are truly interested in acting on behalf of karma. No, you all use that excuse to justify the crap you do to people.”

“That’s not true.”

Wynter lifted her shoulders. “True or not, the situation we have here remains the same—you cannot keep selling those potions if you want to live a long life. The demon could have killed you, Del.”

“But instead, he bought cock-lengthening potions. His girl sent me flowers for teaching him a lesson and improving her sex life. I provide a service to the community.”

“Service my ass. And it might have worked out all right this time, but if there’s a next time, you might not be so lucky. Plus, as you’re already well aware, I’d rather we didn’t make enemies here.”

“Says the Priestess who pissed off berserkers, made a bitchy Ancient all green-eyed, and kicked a severed head at Azazel’s aide.”

“I’m not a Priestess.”

“That’s what you’re gonna focus on right now? Really?”

*

Standing at the foot of his bed later that evening, Cain watched his cock disappear into Wynter’s mouth again and again, riveted by the sight in a way he couldn’t explain. Seeing her soft lips stretched tight around his shaft … it did something to him. Brought out a primitive satisfaction in him every single time.

The pleasure went beyond mere physical stimulation, because this wasn’t just a convenient mouth. The woman propped up on her hands and knees on his bed wasn’t simply a convenient body. Wynter was … more.

He tangled his fist in her hair as a dark wave of possessiveness rose up inside him. It was too dark. Dangerous. Unstable, even. But he did nothing to fight it.

She sucked harder, faster, and a growl rattled his chest.

“That fucking mouth,” he gritted out. “My fucking mouth.”

Her eyes snapped to his, glazed over with a hunger that gripped his balls.

“Hand,” he demanded, holding out his own. “The one wearing my mark.”

She hesitated, unsure.

“I won’t let you fall. You know better than to think I would.”

Careful not to lose her balance, she lifted one hand and gave it to him.

“I didn’t tell you to stop sucking, did I?”

She shot him a narrow-eyed look but went back to sliding her lips up and down his shaft.

He pushed at the center of her palm, knowing it’d feel like he’d plunged his thumb into her pussy, and felt her breathing stutter around his cock. He did nothing other than that. He didn’t want to make her come yet. He just wanted her to feel him everywhere. If he could have given her that same sensation in her ass, he would have.

She kept taking him in and out of her mouth, instinctively trying to throw her hips at the ‘thumb’ filling her, as if desperately needing the friction. Still, he didn’t give it to her. He kept on enjoying the feel and sight of her swallowing him down again and again … until he fucking had to be inside her.

“Enough.” Tightening his fist in her hair, he wrenched her head back and swept his thumb over her swollen lower lip. “Don’t know what I love more. Seeing you suck me off, or feeling you do it. I could watch you swallow my dick for hours. But right now”—he tugged on her hair, urging her up to her knees and guiding her closer—“I want to bury my cock so deep inside you you’ll never get it out.”

Cain kissed her, licking his tongue inside her mouth, swallowing her little moan. He tapped her delectable ass and released her hair. “Turn around. I want you on your hands and knees again.”

More than ready to be fucked, Wynter didn’t hesitate to do as he’d asked. She arched into the hand that stroked its way from her nape to the base of her spine. That same hand dipped a finger inside her.

“Ready for me. Good.”

She felt her lips part as the broad head of his cock slid inside her. Pleasure danced along her soul, as electric and consuming as ever … but the touch was light. More like fingertips than a hand. It came again, and again, and again. The bliss was immense—making her body sing and ache for more—but each touch was too soft. Too slow … much like the cock lazily making its way into her pussy.

After another fluttering sweep of soul-deep pleasure, he was finally buried inside her to the hilt. And then he began to thrust. Gently. Carefully. So sluggishly it was agonizing. The waves of pleasure he delivered to her soul were just the same. Every featherlight wave was as amazing as it was frustrating.

Soon she was trembling, whimpering, dazed with sheer want. “Cain,” she croaked.

“What do you want? Tell me, pretty witch.”

She swallowed. “To break.”

“Hmm, and how do you want me to touch your soul? Like this?” He sent out a firm wave of pure spine-tingling pleasure. “Or like this?” The second wave was a crackly charge of dark bliss that held a sting—and there was no hiding that her body responded more intensely to that.

He let out a low, velvety chuckle. “You like it when it hurts.” Then he was slamming into her. Hard. Fast. Deep. Ruling and ruining her, just as he always did.

She floated, out of her mind with pleasure/pain as he subjected her to an overload of sensation. The drag and thrust of his cock, the bite of his fingertips, the slap of his balls, the surge after surge of darkly decadent pleasure to her soul that electrified her nerve-endings … It all flooded her body with endorphins and totaled her control so that she was an absolute slave to the moment.

Still pounding into her, Cain curled his body over hers and splayed one hand around her neck while the other gripped her hip a little too tight. He growled low into her ear, squeezing her throat. “I want my fingerprints all over you. I want them imprinted on your bones. I want them stamped on your fucking soul.”

Another squeeze to her throat, and she shuddered as her orgasm came hurtling toward her.

“Look at me.”

She twisted her head and met a pair of menacingly dark eyes just as her release whipped through her very being like a lightning rod, striking her from the inside out.

He groaned, his cock swelling. “Those fucking tears.” He rammed harder into her pussy, bit into her shoulder, and exploded while her inner muscles milked him dry.

Finally, her orgasm faded, and she blinked away yet more tears as her breaths sawed in and out of her lungs. Jesus, he’d kill her one day.

“If I killed you, I wouldn’t be able to fuck you anymore. People tend to frown on stuff like that.”

Wynter snorted. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. “Since when do you care what people do or don’t frown upon?”

“Since never. But don’t worry, your corpse would be safe with me. Necrophilia isn’t my thing.”

“That is a comfort.”

“I had hoped it would be.”

She let out yet another snort.

Once they’d both cleaned up in the bathroom, he helped her slip on one of his shirts and began to button it for her. This had become a ‘thing.’ Unlike him, Wynter didn’t like to sleep naked. He didn’t complain purely because she didn’t fuss over his preference for her to wear either his tees or shirts for bed.

“Do you always insist on this?” she asked.

He briefly looked up from the button he was closing. “What?”

“That whoever sleeps in your bed also wears your stuff at the time?”

He drifted his gaze over her face. “No. I don’t usually fuck women in my chamber, let alone put them in my clothes.”

She blinked. “Oh.” She wanted to ask why she was the exception, but that felt too much like fishing for compliments. And he’d only expect the same honesty in return—Wynter often fumbled when it came to talking about ‘feelings.’ But she could give him something. “Well, um, I don’t usually sleep in other guys’ beds or wear their tees or shirts.”

Satisfaction glittered in his eyes. “So we’re even.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we are.”