The Wicked In Me

Wynter loved her crew. She did. And one of the things she loved most about them was that they could so quickly move on from an ‘incident.’ There was no clinging to panic. No insistence on dwelling on what could have happened. No letting such things get them down or spoil their day.

Another thing she loved? They were sneaky as hell.

Take now, for example. Oh, the little disputes they were having were genuine enough. But they were having them here and now for one reason only—to distract the two Ancients who no doubt had the kind of questions hovering on the tip of their tongue that Wynter wouldn’t want to answer.

It was working.

Cain and Azazel were staring at the four oddly, as if her being covered in blood and gore was now a secondary matter. Yeah, she really did adore her crew.

Needing a shower in a major way, she proposed they all head home and began to walk. It looked like Cain might resume his line of questioning, but then Hattie shifted and—promptly back to acting like a frail old lady who could use a little help keeping steady as she walked—asked him if anal fisting was truly a thing because she just didn’t see how an entire hand could fit up anyone’s asshole. She wanted to know if he’d done it, if he’d been on the receiving end of it, if he’d tried ‘back door fun’ of any kind.

Wynter subtly exchanged an amused look with Delilah. God, Hattie was an absolute hoot.

There did come a point where Cain managed to break away from the conversation, but Xavier quickly distracted him with a childhood story that was most likely pure bullshit.

Azazel … well, he didn’t really require distractions. He was too focused on Anabel, undoubtedly wondering how someone so clearly nervous of the world around her could have performed so ruthlessly in the gauntlet.

They’d kept that whole thing about her supposedly being the reincarnation of Bloody Mary to themselves—Anabel rarely shared that little titbit with others.

Finally, they arrived at the manor. Her crew continued waving their crazy flag as they strolled through the building, took a downward ride in the elevator, and headed for their cottage. But when Wynter went to turn down the street that led to her home, Cain’s hand slipped around her upper arm.

“Come,” he said, trying to lead her toward the Keep.

“I need to shower and change.”

“You can do that at my home,” he said, a determined set to his jaw that told Wynter her time to evade his questions was over.

“I have no clothes there.”

His eyes heated. “You won’t need any.”

He couldn’t possibly be thinking about sex right now. She was a godawful mess. But then, Cain was turned on by the strangest shit.

“Anabel can pack a bag of your things for me to drop off at the Keep,” said Azazel. “Can’t you, Anabel?”

The blonde slid him a wide-eyed look. “Why are you talking to me? I don’t like it.”

His lips hitched up. “Now you’re just hurting my feelings. That’s mean. It’s all right, though. I like mean.”

“Then Delilah is your girl.”

Delilah frowned. “Hey.”

“Well, it’s true, karma potion extraordinaire.” Anabel pivoted on her heel and made a beeline for the cottage. The others followed, including Azazel.

Resigned, Wynter inwardly sighed as Cain guided her to the Keep.

Standing at the entrance, Maxim gave her an odd look as he took her in her appearance. “I’m hoping none of that blood is yours, Priestess.”

“Not mine,” she confirmed. “And seriously, call me Wynter.”

He grunted. “It’s good to see that you’re back and well.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Soon, she and Cain arrived at his chamber. He pulled her straight into the attached bathroom and, carefully peeling her tee from her body, asked, “What exactly happened tonight? Don’t think I didn’t notice that your coven—”

“Crew,” she corrected, kicking off her sneakers.

He sighed. “It’s a coven, Wynter. Call it what it is.”

“We’re not having this conversation.”

“That’s fine, since we need to talk about the mages anyway.” He unclipped her bra and dropped it on the floor near her tee. “Your coven did their best to keep me distracted so I wouldn’t question you. I’m guessing they were worried you’d lose your emotional cool if you had to recount everything and so, knowing you wouldn’t want to get upset in public, they bought you some time.”

Wynter felt bad letting him believe that, but telling him the full truth wasn’t an option. Still, she’d give him as much detail of what occurred as she could. She didn’t want to lie to him any more than she absolutely had to.

“The event wasn’t that traumatic,” she said, shoving down her jeans and panties. “I was at the ethnic restaurant. A mage dragged me out of the bathroom, into the side alley, and then shoved me into a van.” She peeled off her socks. “I was a little dazed because he’d hit me with some real dirty magick, so I didn’t get a chance to fight.”

Naked, she paused as Cain stripped off his own clothes because, yeah, that body could scatter anyone’s thoughts. “The only other person in the vehicle was the driver. They both must have stupidly been convinced that I wasn’t strong enough to overcome their magick, because the chattiest of the two was cocky as hell. I pretended I was as weak and helpless as they thought. Bided my time. As soon as an opportunity came, I made my move.” More specifically, she’d freed her monster.

Together, she and Cain got rid of the last of the gore from her hair so the bits wouldn’t clog the drain. He then turned on the hot spray of the shower and ushered her into the stall. Joining her, he said, “You didn’t simply execute them, though. You used your magick to hack them into pieces and then let them burn. Why?”

“I didn’t want a quick death for them.” Apparently, neither had her monster, since it had torn into them without actually killing them. “Remember the boys that took it upon themselves to end my life when I was a kid?”

“How could I fucking forget?” He soaped her down, not in the least fazed by the blood.

“Their families made my life hell for years. They’d been pushing to have me exiled since I was a kid. You might remember I told you that the keeper who should have tossed me over the falls was asked by the father of one of the boys to make me suffer first.”

Cain nodded. “He wanted the keeper to gouge out of one of your eyes.”

“Yes. Phineas also wanted him to rape and dismember me.”

His jaw hard, Cain squirted shampoo onto his hand. “Fucker.”

“Phineas was one of the mages who came for me tonight. With the exception of rape, he planned to carry out the other deeds once the Aeons were done with me. In his view, his son hadn’t done a damn thing wrong—I was nothing, my death was nothing. He wanted me to suffer.” She shrugged. “I decided to return the favor.”

“I’m glad you did,” he said, washing her blood-matted hair, still not a tiny bit queasy. “He deserved worse.”

Her monster was rather satisfied with that comment. Though it thought of him as part of Wynter’s circle, she couldn’t go as far as to say it liked Cain or cared to have his approval. But it did like hearing a compliment from a fellow predator. At that moment, it was close to dozing off, relaxed now that it had had its fun.

“The Aeons haven’t yet realized there’s a curse at work,” she said. “According to Phineas, they believe they’re struggling to fight the blight because only dark magick can counter dark magick.”

Cain snorted. “They know that it isn’t true. They simply don’t want others believing they’re weak.”

“I figured that.”

Once they were done showering, Cain turned off the spray and stepped out of the stall. As he wrapped a soft towel around her, he asked, “What aren’t you telling me?”

Oh, plenty of things. None of which she could share. Bar one. “There is something else.”

“What?”

“Grouch saw me get taken. It turns out he didn’t alert my crew or anyone else. He just waltzed into the Irish pub like he didn’t have a care in the world.”

Cain’s eyes darkened to flint as rage all but pulsed in the air. A towel curled around his hips, he stalked out of the bathroom.

She followed, watching as he crossed to the internal phone.

He snatched it from the wall, pressed a button on the pad, and said, “Bring Grouch to the Keep. He may still be in the Irish pub above ground. If not, search for him until you find him. You know where to put him.”

Fury coursing through him, Cain set down the phone. Twice the emotion had gripped him tonight, and he was struggling to let it pass. He wasn’t used to feeling such a depth of extreme emotion. It left him edgy and tense. A crawling sensation kept sweeping over his skin. Skin that felt too tight.

It didn’t fucking help that he knew Wynter was lying by omission.

He ground his teeth and rolled his shoulders. Turning to her, he found her standing very still, watching him closely. He crossed to her, drilling his gaze into hers, as if he might see something in the depths of her eyes that would give him answers.

“When I asked what you aren’t telling me, I meant about yourself. But you knew that, didn’t you?” He lowered his face to hers. “I’m not so easily sidetracked.”

“You’ll never tell me what skeletons are in your closet, Cain,” she said, calm and nonjudgmental. “Why should I tell you about mine?”

All right, she had a point there. Which he intended to ignore on the basis that he didn’t like it. “I want to know you. I want to know everything there is to know about you.” He tapped her temple. “I want to know what goes on up here.” He couldn’t even explain where this insane urge to have explored every part of her—inside and out—came from.

“Right back at you. We’re in the same boat here.”

“Are we really?”

She tipped her head to the side. “You don’t think so?”

“No, I don’t. I’m renowned for my jealousy issues, though I was never actually jealous of Abel—that story was pure bullshit. But I don’t like to share. It’s not because I’m a possessive individual by nature. I’m simply selfish that way.” Always had been. “With you, though, it’s more than a mere refusal to share you. I want you to belong to me so completely that I own your every fucking thought.”

He couldn’t even say why. He couldn’t explain it to himself, let alone her. He wouldn’t have thought he was capable of experiencing that depth and intensity of possessiveness. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that he could. “Unless you can say the same, no, we’re not in the same boat.”

She sighed, giving him a look that said he wasn’t very bright. “Cain, why do you think I’ve never given you shit for boldly and publicly marking your territory with just your gaze alone? Did you think it’s because I’m a pushover? If so, you’re wrong. The reason I didn’t gripe about it is because I know that no one will touch you if they know you’re involved with someone—they’re aware you’d take it as an insult to both you and me. An insult that you would never tolerate.”

Cain felt his eyes narrow. He hadn’t thought she was in any way a pushover—far from it. He’d presumed that she’d decided to simply let his behavior fly over her head. In actual fact, his little witch had let it alone purely because it suited her.

“I’ve never been openly territorial of you because I really do expect you to at some point announce that you’re bored and ready to move on,” she said. “Really, it would be better for me to end it before you do—the whole thing will sting a lot less that way. But I haven’t. I keep coming back here. Back to you. That should tell you something.”

“You don’t want us to be done, despite my warnings? Despite what you might have heard or assumed about me?”

“No, I don’t want us to be done.”

A dark satisfaction settled into his bones. But … “You shouldn’t have said that.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why not?”

Because his creature—liking her comment a little too much and, arrogant as the monster was, feeling that it was really only to be expected—would hold her to that.

He was saved from having to answer by the knock at the door. Opening it, he found one of his aides holding a bag of Wynter’s possessions. Cain handed it to her, and they both quickly dressed. It was as she was dragging a brush through her wet hair that Maxim called using the internal phone line to declare that Grouch was in custody.

Cain turned to Wynter, intending to ask her to wait here, but she spoke before he had the chance.

“I want to be there while you deal with him.”

His entire system rebelled at that. “No, Wynter, you don’t.”

She flicked up an imperious brow, dropping the easygoing act she pulled off so well. “Don’t tell me what I do or don’t want. Don’t presume to know what I can and can’t handle. I’m quite aware you’re not going to simply slap him on the wrist. Have I ever given you reason to think I’d wish to spare someone who wronged me?”

Far from it. Her vengeful streak ran as deep as his own. “Then come. Observe. You should know what you’re getting yourself into when it comes to me. If you don’t like what you see, well, that’s understandable. But you’re not going anywhere, Wynter, so don’t bother to run. I would just drag you back.”

“You realize I’m not a doll or object that you can move around as you please, right? That I have a mind and free will and all that jazz?”

“I do realize that,” he began as they started to make their way to the dungeon. “It’s inconvenient at times, because it would be easier if I was in control of your every move.”

She stared at him for a beat. “You’re not even joking, are you?”

“No.” He liked things a certain way, and he insisted on it being the case. But Wynter? She might come across as reasonably compliant, but he’d quickly learned that she followed her own rules, and he wasn’t entirely sure what they were. She often made decisions he wouldn’t have seen coming, or reacted in ways he wouldn’t have expected.

Sometimes, it seemed to him as if she was on a path. As if she was focused on a goal he couldn’t see.

Finally arriving at the door that led to the dungeon, Cain pushed it open. They descended the stairs, their footsteps echoing slightly. It wasn’t often that he had prisoners here, because it wasn’t often that anyone would dare anger him to such an extent. Which disappointed his creature, in all honesty, because it had a sadistic streak a mile wide. Not that Cain could judge.

Spotting Maxim standing outside a cell up ahead, Cain strode purposely along the narrow passageway with Wynter at his side, their heels scraping the stone floor as they passed several small cells and secure pits.

The candles within the lanterns flickered, casting shadows over the plentiful torture equipment—spiked beds, racks, iron maidens. There was also an array of torture instruments, such as barbed whips and rusted hooks. The scents of iron, stone, and rust laced the stale air.

He slid Wynter a sideways glance. She was taking everything in, but she didn’t look appalled or apprehensive. Then again, she was wearing that damn poker face, so he had no real clue what was going on in her head.

Reaching Maxim, Cain nodded at the aide and then turned to the cell. His captive stood very still, his wrists cuffed by long chains that were attached to the cell’s cracked, stone wall. The berserker had his chin held high and his jaw set, but fear flickered like the flame of a candle in his eyes.

Cain slid open the cell door and strolled inside. “Well, this brings back memories, doesn’t it? You’ve been here once before. You assured me that you wouldn’t displease me again. And yet, here we are.”

Grouch fired a nervous look at Wynter, who remained outside the cell. “Cain, I don’t know what she told you—”

“Yes, you do,” said Cain. “You’re very aware of why you’re here. What I really am struggling to understand … is why you would ignore that someone had taken what belongs to me. You may not like Wynter, but you know she’s mine. Not merely in my service, but a woman I have a claim to.

“You knew I’d be beyond pissed that she was taken. Yet, you did nothing to help her. Nor did you alert anyone of what you saw. Now why would you want me to be pissed, Grouch?”

“I-I didn’t know she was being kidnapped. The guy wasn’t carrying her or dragging her. She was walking at his side, and she wasn’t calling out for help.”

Anger whipped through Wynter and shot to her extremities. “You knew something was wrong. You saw him dump me on the floor of the van. And you smirked like a smug piece of shit.”

“Smiled. It was just a smile,” he insisted.

Maxim grunted. “Yes, because you’re so known for smiling.”

Cain took a step toward the berserker, who snapped his mouth shut. “What don’t I like? Tell me.”

Grouch swallowed. “Lies or excuses.”

“Lies and excuses. And yet, you fed me both last time you were here. You’re doing it again right now when you’re already in enough trouble as it is.” Cain slanted his head. “Does that really seem wise to you?”

Wynter almost shivered at the menace threaded through each syllable. Her Ancient could be damn scary when he wanted to be. She would genuinely hate to be on the end of that piercing, murderous glare.

Her monster was now wide awake, riveted by the action playing out in front of it, fairly salivating with anticipation as it waited for the berserker to be punished.

“Give me some honesty, Grouch,” said Cain. “Show me you have some sense of self-preservation.”

Grouch squeezed his eyes shut. “I didn’t think you’d really care if she disappeared. She’s just a woman who warms your bed.”

“There you go again with the lies. You weren’t thinking of whether or not I’d care. You were thinking about how her disappearance would suit you and your business. I warned you that if you made any trouble for Wynter, you’d pay for it in blood. She was in danger, and you did nothing. Which is even worse than if you’d tried sabotaging her business. You knew that. But you didn’t care. Isn’t that right?”

After a long moment, Grouch nodded. “Y-yes. I should have done something to help her or told someone what I saw,” he conceded, his voice low. “Staying quiet was a shitty thing to do.”

“Wynter might have died at the hands of her kidnappers. I’d say ‘shitty’ is an absolute understatement. Wouldn’t you?”

“I would.” Grouch glanced at her, sweat now beading his brow. “I’m sorry.”

Wynter inwardly snorted. There was no real sincerity in that apology. Only stark fear.

“You’re saying all the right things, Grouch. But I don’t know if I believe you.” Cain flicked his aide a glance. “What about you, Maxim?”

Arms folded, the gargoyle replied, “I think he’s simply telling you what he thinks you want to hear.”

Cain hummed. “So do I.”

As did Wynter.

“It doesn’t make any difference either way, really,” said Cain. “Because the thing is … I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry, Grouch. I don’t want to hear an honest confession. I just want to hear you scream.”

Grouch sucked in a breath as his back arched like a brow. Then he screamed. Like really screamed—the sound rang with pain and terror. As if someone was flaying the skin from his bones and pouring acid over the wounds.

Holy shit.

He dropped to his knees so hard she’d be surprised if he hadn’t shattered his kneecaps. Still making those bloodcurdling wails, he keeled over, his face scrunched up tight. She’d honestly never seen anyone look like they were in this much agony.

Cain was assaulting his soul, she knew. She was well aware of how pleasurable his touch could be when he reached out to her soul. Although she’d known that he could also cause her terrible pain, it wasn’t really until now that she’d properly considered just how intensely unbearable any pain he delivered would be.

Ever so casually, Cain raised his hand and closed it tight.

The screams cut off, and Grouch began to choke. His teary eyes wide, he wheezed. Grabbed at his throat. Tried sucking in air.

He stared at Cain with a plea in his eyes … and the immortal stared back at him, his gaze implacable—there was no anger there, no hint of temper, no glint of annoyance. And that made the whole thing so much more disturbing. Yet, she felt no pity for the berserker. He hadn’t cared about what could have happened to her, so why should she give a damn what happened to him?

Finally, Cain uncurled his hand. Grouch collapsed to the ground, coughing and sucking in huge gulps of air.

“He’s going to faint if he keeps breathing like that,” said Maxim, somewhat dispassionate.

Cain pursed his lips. “Most likely.” He narrowed his eyes. “I won’t tell you not to fuck up like this again, Grouch. I don’t need to. Because you’ll never have the chance to repeat your mistake. No one who targets something that belongs to me ever does.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Throw him in the snake pit.”

Whistling, Maxim freed Grouch from the chains, fisted the back of the berserker’s shirt, and then hauled him out of the cell and along the passageway.

Wynter managed not to tense when Cain’s dark eyes slammed on her. She stayed very still and held his gaze steadily. She never ever let herself forget that she was in the company of an apex predator. But sometimes … sometimes she failed to remember that him having access to her soul meant she was so very vulnerable to him.

His lips twitched. “Ah, there’s that hunter stare yet again,” he said, amusement lacing the words. “I find that I like it.” He crossed to her, standing oh so close. “I’d never hurt you, pretty witch.” Sobering, he added, “Still … you’ll never be utterly safe with me.”

She swallowed. “I don’t know what that means. But I do know I’m not looking for someone to wrap me up in cotton wool and keep me safe and protected, so there’s that.”

Plus, as few things could truly kill her, there was some part of Wynter that perversely liked being around a creature that was a true danger to her. It made her feel more alive. Which was probably twisted, but there it was. Hell, they were both twisted, really. What a pair they made.