CHAPTER TWELVE
His hands were covered in blood. It ran up his arms in a splatter pattern, up and over his heaving chest and glistened in the firelight. He looked down, shaking. What had he done? His eyes scanned the room. A lifeless body lay across from him, once vibrant sapphire eyes now dull with death. Panic started in his stomach and rose quickly to his heart. Her body was covered in blood—Layla’s blood, he knew it from the scent. The air was thick with it, cloying and iron rich, drowning him in what he had done.
Moving quickly to her side he picked her up in his arms and cradled her, pressing his face into her hair. Gods, had he done this? Like he had hurt those others, those he could not name? Pain pierced his skull and he grimaced, holding the lifeless body to him and rocking her softly. He wanted to roar, he wanted to cry, anything but this swamping rage that threatened his sanity.
A sudden high-pitched scream rent the air and he turned, seeing the anguished face of the small child, Annabelle, as she stood watching him cradle her dead mother. He had never felt such abhorrent hatred for himself. He was disgusted by his own weakness, his inability to fight the darkness that hovered in his soul. Reaching for the child, he opened his mouth to speak—only a guttural roar emerged.
She ran, terror in her pretty ice eyes, and he was stuck to the spot, blood pooling around him, drowning him in his curse. The scent of Layla’s life draining from her should have detested him, but it enticed the beast, making his stomach cramp in need. He needed to feed—there was meat.
He cried out in revulsion, forcing the body away from him and stumbling to his feet. He would not turn her, he would not become the beast he was terrified of. Stumbling across the once pristine cabin he rushed from the room into the snow, leaving behind trails of red from his bloodied hands.
Falling to his knees in the snow, he felt the cold seep into his bones for a moment before his body convulsed in pain. Heat emanated from him, melting the snow around him. His spine cracked and he tried to force it back. His muscles burned and tore, bones cracking and realigning. The beast was winning.
He leaned over on his hands and knees feeling his teeth growing, sharpening into deadly points. It was too painful; he couldn’t fight the need to hunt and kill from his soul. Suddenly a cooling rush of air hit him and a name surfaced in his mind—Lucifer, his brother. He would never have given in, he would have fought for the last inch of sanity, holding on by the skin of his teeth until he had no choice but to give in.
Pride, his brother, tried to grab hold of the memory but the thought was lost in a shattering rush of pain, and he felt like every nerve in his body was on fire. How could he fight against this? What chance did someone like him have? He was a demon after all.
Layla opened her eyes, quickly getting her bearings and looking around the living room. The fire was a smoldering glowing ember in the hearth, and a chill had taken up residence in the air. The sudden tightening of a large arm around her made her sit up. Tan’s large body was twitching, the pain clearly etched on his face. She forgot the cold in her worry at the nightmare that now gripped him. Reaching out she touched his skin before pulling her hand back quickly. He was burning up again. Sweat glistened on his arms, and the t-shirt he wore was saturated—stuck to his chest as he panted, caught in his night terror.
“Wolfman? Hey, wake up.” She covered his forehead with her hands and stroked down his face as his movements became jerkier, more violent. He was almost whimpering, his body tensing in obvious pain.
Suddenly she was thrown from the couch as his back arched and his hands shifted into deadly claws. His mouth opened in a silent roar. She watched as his skin began to darken. The hair covering his arms grew as the change began to take hold within his dream.
For a moment, she was stuck to the floor, watching this magnificent but terrifying power take hold of the man before her. How was she supposed to help him? She knew next to nothing about shifters—they were human enough that they didn’t have anything to do with her. If he turned inside the house it would be disastrous—he would be in beast mode, lost in the rage she felt when he attacked her the night before.
The dim light caught something that stopped her heart—a tear rolled from his closed eye as his claws dug into the couch cushions and his body convulsed again. Spurred into action she moved quickly, straddling his hips and laying her weight down on his jerking body. She pressed her forehead to his, closed her eyes, and flung her powers out into him.
It was like she hit a barrage of wildly rushing water; the torrent of raging rapids almost dragged her down, drowning her in the torn emotions of terror at the change, and the simultaneous craving to feel the freedom the change could bring. Determined not to let her mind be lost to the raging she reached for him, the man she had come to know, not the beast—she knew his scent, his touch, his kiss. The pressure of rushing water around her stopped suddenly and she sank through the depths.
Layla found herself in foot-thick snow, watching the man changing into the beast before her eyes. Her breath misted on the air and she could feel the chill of winter on her skin. This dream or vision was so real it freaked her out—how powerful a hold it had on his senses. No wonder he was stuck here; he must believe it to be real. Hell, she almost believed it to be real.
She moved quickly, ignoring the snow numbing her toes. Falling to her knees beside him she placed her hands on his back, feeling the muscles moving and bones cracking throughout his body. His head jerked up, his eyes devoid of reason, the pain clouding them. He reacted on instinct with a low growl. He pounced, forcing her back into the snow.
She felt the cold seeping into her skin as her back hit the ground, his burning body over her, the low growl rumbling up her neck. His voice was guttural and low, a mix of human and beast.
“You’re dead. I killed you. You can’t be here.” Agony filled his voice, and Layla felt her heart breaking for him. What thing had he done to deserve such torture?
Instead of fighting back she went pliant under him, his hot breath brushing her neck and turning her insides to heat. Even with his sharp teeth an inch from her throat she didn’t fear him. Hell, she was some kind of mixed up, but with his hot breath and his body pinning hers, her mind could only think of the man, and it reacted as such. Lifting her hands, she stroked down his neck to his back, the beast-man trembling under her touch.
“I’m right here, Wolfman. I’m not going anywhere.” Her voice surged through his body, seeming to clear the pain and confusion—she watched clarity return to his eyes. A sob tore from him as he buried his nose against her neck and breathed in deeply, his clawed hands scraping at the ground around her head.
“But I killed you, the blood, so much blood, so hungry.” He turned his head against her neck, his lips brushing the column of her throat. She near shattered right then, damn her and her neck weakness.
Licking her dry lips, she turned her head to give him access. The beast paused and his breathing deepened, his pain appearing to lessen just from touching her. She could tell he needed more of her. He leaned in. sSoft sharp nips of those deadly teeth trailed up her neck as she gave him all she could.
“I’m alive, Wolfman, I’m right here, warm and alive.” Layla continued to stroke down his neck and back. He arched to the touch, a small groan coming from him, not of pain but something just as primal.
“Smell good…” His low tone made her whole body tense with awareness. She almost moaned from the tingling that rushed over her body. What was it about this male that called to every atom in her being, causing every sense and nerve to attune to him?
She bit her lip as she sat up and ran her nose up his neck as he had done with her. The shadowy fur that covered his arms and chest seemed to have a life of its own as it curled around her. Layla breathed him in. God he smelt so good—wild open places and rain; she loved that smell.
“So do you.” Hell, it was the truth. If she could bottle his scent she could make a fortune.
The beast-man pulled back in confusion and looked at her. Layla could see the sanity returning to his eyes. She smiled and moved her hand to his face, stroking down over his cheeks. The tense pain erased from his features. He turned his cheek to her touch, the shadowy fur receding under his skin, leaving behind the man.
“Layla…” He used her name like a prayer. It whispered off his lips as if that one word could bring him strength.
“You’re okay, you’re with me. My Wolfman, my Tan.” His eyes skimmed her face and he inhaled sharply, scenting her acceptance, her willingness.
His lips crashed down on hers and she opened for him, parting her lips so he could plunder her mouth deeply. This was not a gentle kiss, this was primal need—he needed to taste her, needed to have her on his tongue. His hands moved to her hair, sinking in and tilting her head so he could get deeper.
Her moans into his mouth were like flame over his skin. Slowly he could feel his mind again. His body was his own once more, and he could sense the urgency to have her, to claim her, make her his. He was hard as rock between her legs, and he made sure she knew it by locking his hips to hers, making her gasp into the kiss.
Tingles of pleasure rushed up his spine. He had forgotten how good it felt—it had been so long since he had felt anything but anger and pain. Everything else had seemed like a dream. He relaxed against her, feeling her fingers playing with the soft hair on the back of his neck. His body trembled, this time in need rather than agony.
He pulled back, panting against her lips. Male pride rushed through him at the dazed look in her beautiful eyes. Her lips were red and swollen from his ravaging kiss, and her smile stoked that fire of need—it drove away the darkness that seemed to forever haunt him.
“You can keep going if you like, I quite enjoyed that.” Her eyes shone as she licked her lips. His eyes watched that teasing tongue, and he knew she was bringing his taste into her mouth. She was a true temptress, one able to push back the beast with her body and her touch. He was lost to her. His grin and rumbled purr were a promise of greater things to come.
The scene was shattered moments later by cold rage that darkened the very soul, and it wasn’t coming from him. The demon moved quickly, pushing himself from Layla and pulling her behind him in one action. His body remained low to the ground, shielding her from the intruder on the dream. He growled, this time deadly and threatening. His body was now under his control, shifting at his command. He knew there was a threat to his female, and he would protect her—that urge was more powerful than his hunger to feed.
“You can’t hurt me here, demon. I just came to see if what Chamuel told me was true. You have broken at least some of the curse. But not all of it. I almost had you there for a moment—that would have been glorious, you waking up covered in the blood of that woman.”
Layla had never heard such a voice. It chilled her very soul. She felt like crying and ripping her hair out, all at once. There was no light within it, nothing but a void of disgust and hatred. How could anyone live with such reckless hate in their being? Moving her body so she could see around Tan, her eyes locked on the form of an angel. A goddamn angel stood in his full horrific glory, his wings slightly spread. He seemed to suck the warmth from the world, his eyes pits of empty insanity.
“There she is, the Seer of Beasts. I suppose I should have expected this. Those fucking Fates like to play their cards close to their chests. I will deal with those bitches later. So, my dear Seer, you broke my hold on his mind. Impressive. I guess I can say you won this round. But wait, I do believe I am the winner here. Three Seers under one roof, and only one half-crazed demon of Sin to protect you. This could be fun.”
Layla moved to her knees, never letting her eyes leave the angel. Everything inside her screamed he was evil. She was trembling just from his presence, every primal instinct she had telling her to run. She stood slowly, her eyes never leaving his. She took a deep breath and squared off against the angel, taking in his perfect face, his beautiful hair and dead eyes. He was the epitome of elegance and perfection, rotten from the inside out.
“Who the hell are you? How dare you torture this man for your own amusement!” Okay, she sounded braver than she felt. Her Wolfman slowly stood, keeping her mostly hidden from the angelic being before them.
“Oh my, forgive me, I’m Michael. You, my dear, are a treasure, and you have given me the greatest gift, a Seer with more than one gift. You see, I am having some trouble with the one I have. She seems unwilling to open Pandora’s Box for me, and it appears the woman must be willing for it to respond. But you, wonderful Layla, have provided me the perfect subject. A young Seer easy to mold—it won’t take long to get her on my side, and those perfect little hands of hers will open Pandora’s Box and bring about the final destruction of your filthy race.”
That earned a growl from the demon, who lowered his stance and prepared to strike. The angel stared at him. He smiled, almost sickeningly, and tapped his temple with his finger. Layla watched in horror as Tan grabbed his head and fell to his knees in obvious agony.
“STOP IT! I swear, if you lay one hand him or my child I will show you just what the Seer of Beasts is capable of.” She didn’t mean to threaten—wait, yes, she did. He had no idea who he was dealing with. Let him continue calling her Seer of Beasts if he wished; he was going to be in for one hell of a surprise. If this winged asshole even thought about coming to her home to take her daughter, she would ravage the world to stop him.
His laugh was bloodcurdling. What the man beside her had was not madness. Compared to this winged freak, Tan only had a minor emotional unbalance. This being was truly possessed by unadulterated insanity.
“Oh, aren’t you the protective mamma bear? You think you and that pathetic healer twin of yours can stop me? You don’t understand, little mortal, I own him. Everything he is belongs to me—his soul is mine to do with as I please. Isn’t that right Wrath?” Wrath? As in rage? Was that his name? It didn’t sound right. It didn’t suit the man she was coming to know.
“NO!” The demon roared into the darkness.
Layla wanted to scratch the eyes out of that angel’s all too handsome face. The demon’s nose had started to bleed; he was leaning forward in the snow, clearly finding it hard to sit up, his body convulsing. Layla moved to his side and placed her hand on his shoulder. She saw his body relax, the pain leaving him almost instantly. He sucked in a breath, the strain leaving his face.
“No angel, he belongs to me.” Her voice was low, pulsing with power. If this winged bastard wanted a fight, she would show him he had her all wrong. The wind around them picked up, whipping the snow into a flurry of small whirling vortices that seemed to spin lazily at first, aimlessly traveling over the snow.
The angel hissed low and flicked his wings out. He shook his head, brushing off her threat. Her little show of power clearly confused him. No doubt someone as arrogant as he would think it some latent dream control perhaps.
“Interesting, little Seer. Well, no matter, soon all of this will be gone, and your demon can watch the world burn as a slobbering beast licking at my boot heel.” Layla felt sick at his words. How could someone be so cruel?
“Time I was off. I have a Seer’s will to break, and she really is a stubborn one; it is only a matter of time. See you soon, Wrath. Seer of Beasts.” The arrogant sonofabitch bowed before he vanished in a swirl of fresh snow, leaving behind nothing but darkness.