“It Doesn’t Get Better”
She gets off one half of a swing. It doesn’t matter that I’m closer. I didn’t bother moving.
A strong hand comes down on the handle. Briella gasps as Raphael closes his fist around it and wrenches it from her grasp in one swift move. She doesn’t flinch when his eyes lock with hers. Girl’s got a set on her, I’ll give her that much.
Raphael holds the axe out, fully expecting Seth to take it—and actually hold onto it this time. Seth immediately scrambles out of the mud to take it like the obedient lapdog he is.
The girl still doesn’t cower under Raphael’s gaze. Fuck me!—she takes one step toward him instead. About 5’6, I’d wager, she falls a good head shorter than our alpha’s 6’2. Not to mention he’s still wearing the skull mask, black and more intimidating than the rest of ours. He’s dominating her in his shadow, but her fists are still clenched. Her eyes are like hazel jewels aflame.
When Raphael tilts his head, she swallows hard. But she still doesn’t blink. I see a bad moon arising. She’s drawn my blood. She’s taken Rory’s flesh. And she had no qualms about swinging that axe, fully anticipating playing lumberjill.
She’s in store for Level 2.
“Level 3.”
We all lift our brows in surprise at Raphael’s statement. Seth whistles low with the axe handle over his shoulders. Beaten and bruised and muddy, Rory gets that crazy gleam in his eye, the kind that longs for fresh meat and sweet flesh. Vincent’s spine locks up tight. And I…? I’m the calm force in the middle of their storm, like the wind that can direct their damage.
Raphael is the eye. Always the eye.
We’ve never thrown any girl into Level 3. Not in one night. In the past, it’s always slow-boiling a frog…not plunging it right into the fire. Days, sometimes a week. And all girls would break by the end of Level 2.
For the first time, Briella trembles, lifting her arms to cover herself, her eyes searching the lot of us. When she turns to Raphael again, her eyes are watery, and she parts her pretty lips to ask, “W-what is Level 3?”
Raphael remains stoic and unmoving. Not so much as a smile. Not so much as a whisper of a breath.
Before the girl falls apart, I approach from the side, tower over her, and sift my fingers through her lovely, violet-tinted curls. She shivers while subtly turning her chin toward me.
“I’ll take her to the cabin for grooming,” I offer.
Raphael shakes his head. “No grooming.”
“What?” Vincent asks from behind Raphael. Because the news is so shocking, it even warrants a word from our stone giant.
Seth and Rory eye one another, just as surprised.
Our alpha flicks his eyes to me, brows screwing low. “Bring her. To the mine.’
By fuck. I’ve never seen Raphael so dead-set, his eyes blacker than ever, his jaw harder than iron. I’ve also never seen Rory so tense. He bares his teeth. With Level 3, I’ll need to maintain my calm more than ever…just as Raphael will need to hold his strength more than ever.
Because we’re about to bring Briella into the eye of our demonic storm. And only Raphael will choose how deep we will take her.
I don’t blame her for the fight-or-flight response. But my arms are around her before she can get an inch. My chest clenches at the sight of the tears in her eyes. She has every right to fear, but the tight seam of her lips and the burning gaze in those watery eyes confirm she hasn’t lost her fight. She will need every drop of fight.
No, not fight. Surrender. If she surrenders, she will survive. We will strip her bare, open her up, and rearrange her. We will shake her heart and rattle her soul while exposing the deepest and darkest parts of us to her. Kinship punishment. Kinship trauma. Kinship bond. If she makes peace with the demons, only then will she survive the hell we will put her through. Our own law. Raphael’s law.
No other girls have survived. We buried them in the pit of hell.
More than ever, I do not want her to join them.
Just as Briella looks up and narrows her eyes at me, her curved fingers twitching with need. I lower my hand and cup her chin. It stuns her long enough for me to address her. Within my shadow, she reminds me of a doll—albeit a very dirty doll covered in mud, blood, and semen. “Listen, Babydoll,” I say darkly, strengthening my grip on her chin. “We hold all the power. If you resist and try to damage me more,—” I wag my hand, wounded from her teeth—“it will be worse for you. Or I can carry you gently to our mine. Because you will need all your strength for what comes next.”
She lurches and burns her eyes against mine. God, this girl. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather choose the latter. Because the illusion of power makes me feel better than giving up.”
Fuck me!—my cock just started raging, the strongest I’ve felt in forever.
“And what’s with all your stupid nicknames?” She turns to Vincent and Rory, then me. “You know if you want a bitch to follow you, you should really call her by herrealname.”
Seth’s mouth drops open. She hugs her arms, careless about how those D-grade tits plump more. She sniffs, regarding us like bugs under her shoe.
