Page 27 of Lustling

I pull out of her slowly, panting, the weight of what I’ve just done hanging in the air like smoke. Cassiel watches in silence, his expression unreadable but not untouched. There’s blood on his lip, from biting it, from not screaming, from needing. Bastion shrugs off his shirt and kneels, surprisingly gentle as he wraps it around her still form, scooping her into his arms.

I stand, tucking my cock back into my pants, my voice cold and clear. “Take her to the slab.”

Bastion nods once, silent. Cassiel exhales, the guilt flickering behind his eyes. “You better be right about this.”

I don’t respond at first. I just stare down at her bloodied body. Her lips still parted. Her brow soft. She looks like she’s already beginning to shift—just slightly. Her skin shimmers in the firelight, something other lingering beneath the surface. Something real. Something ours.

And when I speak, I already know the truth in my bones. “I am.”

But even if I’m wrong—I would kill her again.

Now we wait.

TWELVE

The scent of blood hangs heavy in the air, warm and rich and wrong. It should sicken me. It doesn’t. It crawls under my skin, stirring hunger instead of horror. I stare down at her body, still spread beneath Deimos, the knife buried hilt-deep in her chest. Shock and ecstasy are tangled across her face in the same final breath. The image brands itself into me like a burn. Even now, my cock is hard. Even now, I want her.

What the fuck does that say about me?

Deimos pulls out slowly, panting, his cock slick with her release. He says nothing. Just tucks himself away, expression cold. But I know him well enough to see the tremor in his aura. He’s rattled. He won’t admit it, of course, but he didn’t expect her to make him feel anything.

My gaze drifts back to her. Lillien. Even in death she’s beautiful. Her hair is a wild, dark halo spread over the earth like spilled ink. Her lips are parted, her chest smeared with our release, and her blood is already cooling along the curve of her ribs. She looks like an offering laid at some forgotten altar—sacrificed, claimed. And still, my body wants to drop to its knees and take her again.

Cassiel stands a few feet away, jaw locked, fists clenched like he’s holding himself back from something irreversible. He doesn’t speak. Neither do I.

I reach down, tearing what’s left of her ruined shirt and use it to wipe the blood from her chest. Not because I care about cleanliness, but because I can’t stand the sight of it. Because it makes me want her more. The blood is still warm, sticky beneath my fingers. The scent of sex clings to her skin, and my cock throbs with every pass of the cloth. Revulsion coils in my gut. Not at her—never at her. At myself.

I should be sickened. Instead, I’m starving.

She shouldn’t look like this. Not her. She should be breathing, moaning, biting me. She should be fighting. When I wrap my shirt around her, it’s pure instinct. My instinct.

I gather her in my arms. She’s too light, too still, like the fire we felt moments ago has been sucked out of her. But I know better. I can feel it, buried deep inside, coiled and waiting. Like a beast in slumber. Like something dangerous trying to wake.

“She’s not done,” I mutter.

Deimos turns his head slightly. “No. She’s not.”

His voice is calm again, controlled. He’s already buried the act and moved on. But I don’t miss the flicker in his eyes. He’s watching me, and he doesn’t like the way I’m holding her. Good. Let him choke on it. Let him see that I want her too. That I would have burned down Hell to take her first. He took something I didn’t know I wanted until it was already his. And now it’s too late.

Cassiel finally speaks, his voice low. “You’d better be right about this.”

“I am,” Deimos answers flatly, but he doesn’t look at her. He walks past me, brushing my shoulder like he needs to remind me who made the call.

Whatever. I don’t give a fuck about the politics of it. I just care about her now. Cassiel follows him after a moment, but I don’t move.

I look down at her again, and I swear—her lips twitch. Barely. Like a dream slipping through a crack. She’s still in there. I know it.

“I’ve got you now,” I murmur, voice low and rough. “And I’m not letting go.”

Her head rests against my chest as I carry her inside, through the back halls, down the stone steps toward the basement. The slab waiting there is cold and impersonal. She deserves better, but for now it will have to do. The cuffs Deimos left out are thick iron, forged to hold even the strongest demons.

I should be the one to chain her. Cassiel would be too gentle. Deimos would be too cruel. Me? I’ll be exactly what she needs.

I lay her down carefully and then I chain her wrists. One. Then the other. The cold iron clinks against her skin, sharp and final. She doesn’t move, but something in me growls, deep and low—instinctual, possessive.

“Mine,” I whisper before I can stop myself. And I mean it. In every fucked-up, primal way.

Her skin is warmer now. The heat is building again. Her chest rises—barely. Just once. I stare.