I gasped—out of shock as a sudden heat seemed to expand across my chest and into my stomach.
Beau Knight was touching me—his fingers moving along each bone of my ribcage, his sinful mouth, so soft compared to all his hard edges, caressing each bruise along my throat, my jaw. A shiver ran through me, and when he chuckled darkly, I knew he’d felt it. I frowned, trying to push him away, but his grip on me only tightened.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” I said, my traitorous voice coming out as more of a soft whisper than a true menace.
“Healing you,” he grunted, voice low, as it resonated through my body, making my blood sing. Incubi had the ability to heal with a touch, with their lips and their bodies. His lips reached the sensitive skin just behind my ear and with the lack of distance between us, I could taste his emotions fully. It was no longer the simple tinge I’d been able to detect earlier.
There was a lot of anger inside him. And loneliness. But most importantly, desire. Burning, restless desire.
I blinked, my breaths coming out in a short, erratic beat.
One of his hands, callused and warm, suddenly wrapped around my throat roughly and I moaned aloud, the sound breaking through my parted lips before I could swallow it down.
He growled again, but didn’t stop, didn’t let up as he mapped my body, his incubi strength healing each bruise like a makeshift Band-Aid.
I hadn’t been touched for so long—by a man with such callused, hard hands.
There was nothing smooth about his healing, nothing romantic, nothing soft, and my body responded instantly to his roughness.
And I hadn’t fed on a soul in so long, yet here he was, so close, close enough that I could—
It was when my shaky fingers dared rest on his chest that he snarled aggressively, shoving me back, one of his hands trapping mine in his grasp.
“Don’t touch me,” he warned, and I heaved, breathlessly at his harsh tone.
His other hand still gripped my throat, keeping me anchored, keeping me exactly where he wanted as his mouth did all the work.
Then his lips stopped moving and he strengthened up, leaving his hold on my neck as he gazed down at me. For a moment, I saw it in the two black pools that were his eyes, the danger and bitterness and arousal.
He pushed back, letting go of my neck but gripping my forearm.
“That’ll be good enough to keep my brother calm,” he said gruffly. He guided me out the back entrance, after his hand slid from the front to the back of my neck in one smooth yet hard stroke. Gripping it tightly with purpose and command.
It made me feel like a fucking misbehaving child.
I huffed, but kept up pace with him, not given much of a choice.
“What part of ‘he won’t know’ didn’t you understand, Beau?” I said, my irritation clear in the tone.
“I healed you so he wouldn’t freak the fuck out,” he said, voice rough. “I never said anything about getting you out of trouble, kid. I’m taking you to Tensley, and you’ll be dealt with.”
“Don’t you think you already did enough of that yourself? You humiliated me when you pulled me out of that fight like a fucking stray kitten amongst wolves,” I bit out.
He laughed, but the sound held no joy. His body stopping short, head lowering so that our eyes were level. “Let’s make one thing very clear here. That, in there, was not me dealing with you. That was me merely collecting my brother’s reckless little friend,” he said, and even in the night, I could see his eyes growing darker. Then his voice got considerably lower, making goosebumps rise on my skin. “If you were my fucking problem, Alexandra, if you were my trouble, this is not how I’d be dealing with you for pulling shit like what you did.”
Breathless, I whispered, “how… would you be dealing with me?” before I could stop the words from coming out.
“That’s not something I’m going to fucking discuss with you. Move,” he said as he started walking again, pulling me along.
I still felt hot, my stomach in tight knots of something I didn’t want to acknowledge. There was a warning in my head telling me to stay away, to not get burned by his anger, by his fire, by him, but his emotions were like poison to me.
They were so powerful, so potent, so raw, no doubt enhanced by his lack of heart, by the control of the beast within him. I knew I shouldn’t drink his poison, but I was still wondering what it would do to me if I did.
The flutter I felt in my stomach at the thought was pure danger. I wanted to touch his flames, to play with them.
Just once.
I wanted to taste Beau Knight’s soul. Just a little, innocent sip.
“Pick up your feet,” he snapped at me, ripping me out of my needy thoughts.
When I realized where my mind had been going, I groaned inwardly.
I needed to fucking feed on someone, anyone, and fast.
Beau Knight was definitely not the type of man who should’ve been inciting such thoughts from me.
It had been too fucking long. That was the only reason why I’d had those thoughts.
As we moved past the crowd outside the Pit, two men exited after us, carrying a large, black bag. It looked heavy, and I realized, with dread, that it contained a dead body.
Oh my—
I swallowed with difficulty.
I had heard horror stories about the Pit, how lethal and dreadful it was, but seeing it all with my very eyes, the chaos, the pain and death it caused… it made my stomach drop. They weren’t just rumors, legends told to make sure demons stayed far away.
No, they were truths. I knew this now. People died here, every night. And the saddest realization was, knowing the kind of crowd the Pit attracted, I doubted many of them were missed and grieved.
Once we were outside of the Pit, located in an old abandoned parking lot in Brooklyn, he let go, but didn’t move too far from me.
I could feel the anger radiate off of him and I knew I had ruined his night. But since he’d ruined mine too, I didn’t feel too bad about it.
“Do you fight here every night?” I asked as we moved down an empty street, the heat of the pavement still steaming from the sunshine even after hours of darkness.
He didn’t turn to look back at me. I studied the side of his face, his long hair tied back in a low ponytail and saw glimpses of tattoos and scars lining the back and side of his thick neck.
His mouth was set in a straight, pissed-off line. Eyes dark and focused ahead. Nose straight. Brows furrowed.
He still worked for Scorpios, but I knew he took care of a different, dirty area of the business. I’d heard he was the one policing the low-class demons in Brooklyn, making sure they knew where they stood and what happened when they tried to walk beyond the lines they were supposed to stay within.
Strange how a man whose job was to inforce the laws that the Pit’s scum craved to rebel against, was just as desperate for the sense of freedom the place offered. A lawless retreat.
“Do you win every night?” I asked when he didn’t answer my first question.
His shoulders stiffened farther than they already were, but his face still didn’t turn toward mine.
Yellow taxies blurred down the avenue, a cacophony of klaxons and motor sounds following their trail. Beau stretched his arm out and one of them stopped in front of us shortly after.
He opened the door and stepped back, his dark brows lowered in annoyance. I wanted to bolt, I wanted to turn the other way, but I doubted I’d be able to outrun him. I raised my chin defiantly and walked to the door, stepping in the car and scooting over to the other side.
He got in behind me, slamming the door shut with more force than needed. He mumbled the address to the driver and as the car started its journey, Beau seemed satisfied with the tense silence reigning in the small space. When shared with a man his size, the backseat was more than cramped, leaving our bodies far too close to one another.
His anger and displeasure teased my taste buds again and I swallowed thickly.
This was going to be a long ride.