Page 26 of An Unexpected Ascension (A War Between Worlds #1)

The Demon

Disarming myself, I lean my sword against the wall, then strip out of my leather jacket. The nights are long, providing just enough time to make all the wrong decisions, to let the monsters roam.

As I find comfort in my new bed, Briar stands at the window, peaking through the curtains.

“Why does Lucifer call you Lynx?”

I stiffen and she senses it, banking it surely as a weakness. I tuck my hands behind my head and cross my ankles, the portrait of cool and calm.

“Why do they call you Briar?”

“Well, it’s my name, but Hermes is yours, isn’t it?”

“It’s the name whispered in Heaven and Hell. It’s who I’ve become. Lynx is a name I suffered while alive.”

“Lynx suits you.”

I hum.

“What a mighty nice compliment.”

Whipping her head, she glowers at me. From where I lay, her body is a silhouette, backlit by what little light shimmers through between the curtains. Her clothes hug her curves, the outline of a dagger adorning each, firm thigh.

“Don’t let it go to your head, you could use a little humbling.”

“And I’m sure I’ve found just the angel to help with that. Now, rest up. Tomorrow’s journey will be much worse.”

“Great.”

Stalking over to the far corner of the room, she unbuckles both holsters, tossing them by the foot of my sword. Watching her belongings join mine elicits a flutter in my stomach.

Revulsion, distaste, hate? Yes, perhaps all those things.

She reeks of tension as she slips her near bare body under the covers next to me and my heart thunders with a suppressed rage, or so I tell myself. Not a single breath escapes her as she lies paralyzed with discomfort.

“What did you see? In your vision,”

I finally ask.

Clearing her throat, she tells me.

“The tree. I saw it. The awful, horrible tree spearing upright out of the center of an ancient skeletal being. That’s all.”

“Did you see the Mortifier?”

She shakes her head.

“Okay, tomorrow we continue.”

Rolling to my elbow, I hover over her. Staring back at me are two cold cut gems, ready to tear me to shreds if given the chance. With a featherlight touch that she hates so much, I brush my forefinger along her cheekbone, a subtle blush following. Then, I kiss her. Gentle, soft, sensual. Our lips barely brush, a quiver to hers, a smirk on mine.

“I love how much you hate it,”

I whisper against her mouth.

“And I hate how much you love it.”

Her words were like an ice bath biting into my skin. Rearing my head, I scoff.

“I find your kind of Hell to be entertaining. Trust that I only love to provoke you because gifting you kindness goes against everything I’ve ever promised myself.”

“Ah yes, the terrifying demon only kisses me gently because I hate it. Last night, even if I hadn’t asked otherwise, you would have made love to me. Admit it, you like me.”

“Not a chance in Hell, Angel.”

Not a chance in Hell.

“I’m really not so bad. Perhaps when one of my exes die, you can ask?—”

She goes utterly silent, her breath halting. I watch as her eyes flutter closed, a tear slipping out and down her cheeks. Her fists grip the sheets, twisting and wringing, until she finally gasps.

Concern hovers, but I do not let it in. I refuse to allow such a feeling to consume me. Instead, I watch her cooly, unbothered.

She groans, a clog in the back of her throat as if the tears had choked her with a dying grip. I wait for her to spew a long speech of what she saw, but she only rolls to her side away from me and curls up.

Whatever happened to this Fentonelli girl isn’t my business, in fact, I should relish in the knowledge that her ending was miserable. She deserves nothing less.

Yet, my mouth opens, and I ask anyway.

“What was it this time?”

“Nothing.”

“Clearly.”

“What do you care?”

she snaps, her voice muffled by the blanket.

I sigh.

“Because your crying will only keep me up. Just spill it.”

“How could I have been so weak?”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

“My last boyfriend. I saw it, I saw him hit me and I stayed. It’s been coming back in jagged pieces, flashes here and there, but I saw it so clearly this time. Felt it.”

Her hand cradles her cheek as if she felt the punch that landed in her memories. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, unable to form any words.

“My father left us when I was a child, my mother died years later, all I had was him. He housed me, fed me, looked after me. I owed him my life for keeping me alive and I guess he felt the same.”

“Okay,”

I say, the word pressing between my teeth. I roll her over to face me and pinch her cheeks with my hand.

“He didn’t love you. You deserved better. I’m sorry you had to live through such shit. Can we please go to bed now?”

I hate it. Hate how she cries for herself. I hate how she feels the pain like it still riddles her, but most of all I hate how my heart feels in this very moment. How my bones scream at me for being such a liar. Yet, my words still came out as harshly as I wanted them to, giving nothing of my heart away.

“Fuck you.”

The curse sputters out of reddened lips.

Lips that I can’t stop myself from tasting. My tongue laps at the tears that soak her mouth, then vie for entry. She bites and rips into me, bleeding me as the rage consumes her.

And I let her.

“Does it feel good?”

I growl, tearing the sheets from her before crushing her with my body.

“To hurt me as he hurt you?”

Her fist smacks into the side of my head, the room swirling for only a heartbeat. Her eyes are ablaze with madness, stuck between knowing she’s wrong to do this and being unable to stop herself.

“Yes,”

she breathes.

“Then use me, Angel. Use me as he used you.”

She chases my lips, tearing into them with vicious fervor, her nails raking down my chest like claws. The sting ignites my skin, but the only ache I feel is between my legs.

Blood drips down my temple mixing with the sweat beading along my brow. My knees dig into the dust coated floor as I catch my breath. With my wrists tied behind my back, I give myself to her freely.

My eyes linger on her naked form, standing tall before me, anticipating the next wave of pain. Something I’ve grown accustomed to over the years, yet never enjoyed more.

Slowly, she lowers herself onto my cock, wrapping her arms around my neck. I let her set the pace, her thighs flexing with each movement. Her head falls back between her shoulders, those jade eyes squeezing shut as she hums her approval.

Yes, I let her take me, use me for her own pleasure well into the night. Despite the blistering pain searing my ribs or the pounding in my head, I buck my hips as much as she allows. Her moans like a remedy to the wounds wracking my body.

After every thundering punch, every bloody scrape of skin, every laceration... the worst of it lies in the way she brings me to the edge of ecstasy, only to steal it away time and time again. Until my bones tremble with desperation, until I’m begging for relief.

There’s a familiarity in the way she lashes out at me, tears glimmering against her flush cheeks. Watching her rid herself of the rage that festers reminds me of myself, when really it should remind me of another Fentonelli, but all I see is her.

Dragging her hand between her thighs she finds bliss, using me to bring her to the height of pleasure. She pulses and clenches around me, nearly forcing me right off that never-ending cliff, but alas she tears her body away, leaving me engorged and aching and terribly heavy between my legs.

“Please!”

I find myself begging.

She stands before me, chest heaving with quick breaths. To my displeasure, she bends down, releasing the bindings around my wrists to set me free.

“This is Hell after all, isn’t it?”

she whispers in my ear.

Her little taunt strikes right through the center of my cock, the beast twitching in response. Another bit of torture.

“Heal this,”

she thrusts her wrist in my face.

“and I’ll help you relieve... that.”

Her eyes drink in the angry appendage between my thighs, the piece of me she abused more than anything tonight.

Desperate, I’m quick to relent, my hand clutching her forearm and sealing the wound from the other night. She smirks, liking the sight of me on my knees way too much, but damn if I don’t like it either.

“Now,”

I demand, my fist clenching my cock.

“What’s the magic word?”

She grips a handful of my hair, yanking my head back, her face watching my own twist with a salacious fury.

“Please.”

“Good boy.”

She pulls me to my feet, lowering herself now, her luscious lips wrapping around the head of my cock. That warm, wet tongue of hers laps over the tip, her hands cupping my balls. I can’t stop the groan of appreciation that slips from my mouth.

It takes no time at all, and the second I nudge the back of her throat, I’m spending myself inside of it. I don’t dare let her move, my hand pressing tightly to the back of her head, choking her on me. She heaves and gags, but holy Hell, I’ve died all over again. Lost in this blessed mindlessness of pure pleasure.

“Fuck!”

Those nails dig into the flesh of my thighs, pushing, trying to gain freedom, but I need another minute. It’s when I feel her hand ascend between them that I finally rip her off me, not ready to feel those nails where they would hurt the most.

She wipes at her mouth, saliva coating the back of her forearm.