Page 41 of Blood Court (Cursed Darkness #2)
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
DATHAN
The rage from watching Starscream put his hands on her, touching her like she was his to mould, has my head thumping with an oncoming migraine.
My vision blurs as he leaves the Blood Pit a few minutes after Lysithea.
I want to enter his mind, give him something that will make him think twice about touching her.
Not being near her is driving the sanity out of me faster than I expected.
I knew this was a possibility. She was my anchor, and I latched onto her and clung on for dear life.
Before her, I was fine. I was closed off.
Cold. Then she stripped away my defences and became the only thing that made sense.
“This isn’t good,” I mutter, turning into the shadows. “I’m losing the fucking plot.”
Starscream ambles past me, and I resist the urge to trip him up.
Deep down, I know he wasn’t making moves on my woman.
He was teaching her, but it makes no difference to my addled brain.
The shadow I’m hiding in feels too thin.
Exposed. My magic is a restless beast, pacing the cage of my ribs, hungry.
It wants fear. It wants to lash out. It wants her. Fuck.
I push away from the wall, my boots silent on the stone.
I need a distraction. I need to feed. The academy corridors are quiet, but not empty.
I let my senses stretch, tasting the air for the tell-tale tang of anxiety.
I find a first year, cramming for a test he’s going to fail anyway, in a study alcove, his head bent over a textbook, a low hum of panic radiating from him.
I don’t even have to do much. I let a sliver of my power bleed into the space.
The candle on his table gutters, the flame blowing out.
The shadows in the corner of the alcove deepen, coalesce, taking on a shape from his own mind.
His panic spikes. The fear is a gourmet meal, rich and complex. I drink it in, letting it soothe the ragged edges of my control. But it’s hollow. It’s like eating dirt when you’re starving for steak. It doesn’t fill the void where she’s supposed to be. It just makes it bigger.
This lie is going to kill me.
Shaking it off, I know I won’t survive the night like this.
I feel like I’m being crushed under the weight of my own power.
Turning, I stride towards the residence building and burst through the doors on the ground floor.
Reaching her door, I kick it in. The wards explode inwards, and she shrieks as I swoop inside her room uninvited.
She’s on the bed, her hair a mess, still in her training clothes, her face tear-streaked, and it hits me in the soul.
“No,” I growl and approach her. “I’m not fucking doing this.”
“Dathan,” she whispers, holding her hand to stop me.
I shove it away and lift my knee to rest on the bed.
Placing my hand on her chest, I push her backwards and loom over her.
Her eyes are wide, her mouth trying to say something, but I block it all out as I fumble for my cock.
I pull her joggers down and force her legs apart.
She struggles under my rough touch, but when I press my body against her and ram my cock inside her, she cries out, arching her back as she claws at me, trying to get me closer.
“I won’t shut you out, do you hear me? I can’t.
I’m losing my fucking mind,” I grit out, slamming into her with enough force to rock the bed.
Her tears mix with the sweat on her skin, and I lick them from her cheek, a taste of salt and surrender.
I press her hips into the mattress as I drive in deeper.
She’s a fucking mess under me, and I’m the storm that broke her.
This is the only truth that matters. Every thrust is a denial of the cold void that opened up when she was gone.
I’m fucking her; I’m branding her, staking a claim that defies any court, any trial, any god.
“Mine,” I rasp against her lips. “Always fucking mine.”
She sobs my name, pulling me deeper. The lie is dead.
We just murdered it together. My nightmare magic swirls around the bed, a possessive, inky tempest that blots out the rest of the world.
There’s nothing but her heat, her scent, the frantic beat of her heart against mine.
I don’t even wait for her to come. I can’t.
My climax is a violent, guttural roar, a sound torn from the deepest part of my soul.
I unload into her, a flood of desperation and possession.
I bury my face in the curve of her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin, her tears, her fear.
It’s the only thing that’s real. I don’t pull out.
I stay inside her, an anchor in the storm, refusing to face the cold emptiness again.
The broken door groans. Verik stands in the doorway, hellfire a low glow at his fingertips. Behind him, Evren is a silent shadow, his eyes taking in the scene without a flicker of judgement.
I lift my head, a snarl on my lips, daring them to challenge me.
“Couldn’t last five minutes, could you?” Verik’s voice is a low rumble, but there’s no heat in it. Just a tired, bone-deep understanding.
My only answer is a glare.
Evren moves past him into the room. He looks down at Lysithea, a silent question passing between them before he gently smooths a strand of hair from her tear-streaked face. A quiet act of ownership. A reaffirmation.
“I’m sorry. It was wrong,” he whispers to her.
She cups his face and brushes her thumb over his bottom lip. “Don’t do it again.”
“It was a stupid fucking plan anyway,” I grunt, finally pulling out of her, even though I could go again.
We failed the test before it even began. And looking at the three of them, at my queen lying broken and beautiful beneath me, none of us gives a single shit.
“So, what now?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbows.
“Now,” Verik says, his eyes flashing with the inferno of his motherland. “Now, we do this fucking our way.”