I scoff. “Not if the Legacies have anything to say about it.” They’re following my orders, after all. When we arrive at the dorms, he pulls open the front door and the sweltering heat engulfs me as we walk towards our elevator.
“Yeah thanks for that, by the way. They’ve been on my ass more than usual lately. And I can’t even enjoy it anymore.”
“Poor puppy, getting bored with his toys,” I say, letting my demon darken my words with a menacing grin.
He shivers with a grimace. “I don’t know how Thane puts up with you, you fucking psychopath.”
I can only chuckle, the weight of being Heir of House Kovacs, Legacy of Wrath becoming lighter with every step closer to our apartment. “Maybe a little denial is exactly what you need.”
“Oh fuck off with that sadist shit.” He rolls his eyes and pushes the door to our apartment open. When I follow him in to see Thane and Luther sitting in the living room, I immediately know something’s not right. Luther is tense—arms crossed, untouched bottle of beer sweating on the coffee table, refusing to look at us. Thane’s leg is shaking with anxiety, despite the pungent smoke that hovers around his head. He briefly glances at us, then leans forward to rest his arms on his knees, holding his head. The silence between them echos through the air, whispering of disquiet.
“What the hell is wrong with you two?” Killian demands, throwing his gym bag through the open doorway of his room andresting his hands on his hips, like a mother who’s just caught her misbehaving children in the act. Neither responds to him, and my interest piques at the prospect of unraveling whatever thread has wound around them so tightly they won’t admit what’s wrong.
I prowl closer tracking every twitch, every breath like the predator I am hunting for their secrets. Killian has no such compunction, vaulting over the couch and swiping Luther’s beer for himself, but our enforcer doesn’t even glance his way. After a long drink, he sighs and leans back, head resting on the back of the couch.
And then he freezes.
Sitting up, he grabs Luther’s shirt and inhales deeply before Luther can push him off. When he opens his eyes, it’s not Killian looking back at me with a triumphant grin, but his demon. Luther stands abruptly and stalks off without a word, leaving Killian cackling on the couch.
“You dirtydog,” his deepened voice calls out through gasping breaths. When he finally sits upright, wiping tears from his eyes, his demon turns that predatory grin to Thane, sniffing the air. “Did you get a taste, too?” Killian darts for him but I step in between them, holding him back with my hand around his throat. The mutt only grins wider.
“Fucking Fate, he’s fuckingdrenchedin her scent,” the demon chuckles darkly, fighting my hold while Thane watches us with wide, frantic eyes. “Someone dipped their fingers into the honeypot. You gonna share with the rest of class?” He licks his lips before snapping his teeth together.
I shake him roughly before turning to Thane, my eyebrow crooked expectantly. He opens his mouth but stops, swallowing thickly and hanging his head once more.
“Go to your room, Killian.” I order, releasing his throat with a narrowed side glance.
“I call next taste.” His hoarse, menacing laugh echoes in the silence, and I don’t move until his door slams shut hard enough to shake the walls. Leaving Thane to sit while I pour two fingers of McCallan Red, I swirl the golden liquid in my glass and settle into my chair. I watch him, watch the thick, enchanted smoke encircling his head. Years of memorizing every tick, twitch, and tell make it obvious he’s on the verge of losing himself to his demon.
Unlike earlier this evening, the burning need trapped beneath my skin isn’t a flashover, burning hot and fast. It’s a creeping, roiling heat that snakes through my veins until every breath, every heartbeat is aflame with anticipation.
“Do you trust me?” I ask, inviting him into the scene. He looks at me with such desperation, it makes the demon in my mind preen at his eagerness to submit.
“Yes,” he whispers.
“Stand up.” Slowly, he obeys. I push the coffee table backwards with my foot to give us enough space. “Come here.”
His throat bobs as he swallows, but again, he obeys. “Color?”
“Green,” he answers without hesitation, accepting my invitation. I take another long drought from my glass before setting it down beside the chair, and stand to face him. Despite being four inches taller, he bows his head. Now that he’s close, I can smell what Killian must have; beneath the acrid scent of anxiety, the undercurrents of fear mingled with anticipation, there’s a sweetness that makes my mouth water. With measured, methodical movements, I divest him of his clothes in silence. By the time he’s bare before me, he’s trembling, muscles coiled with tension, tattooed skin alight with goosebumps. I light a fire in the imposing fireplace with a single thought, and it slowly warms the air as I circle him, inspecting his body for any wounds or bruises, ensuring he’s capable of enduring a scene.
“Are you injured or otherwise physically impaired?”
“No.”
“Do you have any new limitations I should know?”
“No.”
“Safeword?”
“Red.” I hum quietly as the light from the growing flames dances over the hard planes of his body, so unlike my own. Where I am broad-shouldered and proportionally muscled, he is long and lean: the perfect swimmers body, bred to cut through the waves like a knife splitting flesh and withstand the crushing pressure of the depths.
“Kneel. Hands behind your back.” He obeys, plaintive gaze following my path as I continue to circle until I’m facing his back. I undo the complex knot of my tie and the cool silk slips through my hands until his, and I bind his wrists together. Not too tight, but not loose enough for him to easily escape. When I’m done, I return to face him.
“How close is your demon at this moment?”
“Feels like he’s going to rip through my skin.”
