Page 52

Chapter 10

Kostas

F uck.

They were going to mess with his car. Already, Kostas could see it. It was what he’d do in their situation—sink his claws into the tires and slash until there was no escape left.

Even if they gave up waiting for Kostas and Malcolm to approach the car, there was no way they were going to leave a viable way to escape.

Kostas pulled the keys out of his pocket, mouth set in a firm line. If the car was doomed anyway, at least it could get them something. With a heavy frown, he hit the panic button.

Malcolm bumped into him, hissing, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making a distraction. We’re moving.” He shoved his keys back in his pocket, tightened his arm around Malcolm’s middle, and took off.

Malcolm was limping heavily, most of his weight against Kostas’s side. Kostas was breathing heavily. The alarm had not cut off. Malcolm was cursing in his ear, furious that Kostas might have dragged their stalkers nearer.

But they would make it far from there before the thugs managed to silence the car, before anyone could think clearly. The sound was meant to disorient people, to be impossible to ignore.

It didn’t work like that for a siren.

They didn’t make it much farther before Malcolm’s foot caught. His leg buckled, and Kostas had to throw his other arm around the demon before he fell face forward to the ground.

Kostas clenched him to his chest. “Hey, are you okay? Malcolm!”

His eyes were half-lidded, his lips moving slightly. He said nothing. The strength had gone out of him.

Malcolm had been right—if they stayed near the car, they’d be caught. They had to keep moving.

“Be pissed at me later,” he whispered, crouching to sling his leg behind Malcolm’s knees and scoop him into a princess carry. The incubus was slight, but tall enough to be awkward. His head rolled against Kostas’s shoulder, and he made a quiet, frustrated sound, but didn’t rouse.

Kostas took off. He thought of it like swimming, a whole ocean before him and nothing stopping him from racing from one edge to the other except the strength of his limbs. They wouldn’t give out. Not now.

Godsdammit, sirens did not get killed by humans. He was top of the motherfucking food chain.

He ran and ran until the forest went quiet, no sound of the alarm in the distance and only the faint rustling of birds and squirrels overhead.

There were caves in the Poisonwood Forest, places where bears hibernated all winter long. If he took a second to think, he could find one—somewhere safe for them to shelter all night.

Kostas stopped. He hummed, and he let the sound fill the space around him, bouncing off trees, off rocks, off twittering creatures in the dark. He closed his eyes, and then he felt it—a hollow nearby.

He made for it and found a deep cave, the floor covered in sandy flecks of mica. It was dark and deep, but the air wasn’t foul, and when he hummed again, he sensed nothing inside. Nothing close.

Gently, he carried Malcolm over to the wall of the cave, beyond the lip where the shadows engulfed them completely.

The demon was pale. His slacks were plastered to his legs with blood around his gunshot wound. His eyelids looked purplish—an effect of the drugs, or maybe simple exhaustion.

Kostas touched his cheek. “Malcolm. Are you with me?”

Malcolm didn’t even twitch.

Incubi fed on sexual energy. Maybe that would work.

Yup, okay, so Kostas had never felt like a shadier person in his life than when he slipped his fingertips inside the collar of Malcolm’s shirt, brushed his hand across his collarbone and felt the svelte strength of his chest, and tried to rouse his interest.

It—it wasn’t that Malcolm was uninteresting. Far from it.

He was beautiful and lithe, with skin like silk and lips that begged to be kissed.

He was also unconscious, and the part of Kostas that was a hunter—a monster—thrilled to have his prey in such ready grasp.

And the part of him that’d given that life up shrank back from that hunger and power. He didn’t want to use it against Malcolm, not even if it could help him.

He leaned in, brushing his lips across the subtle dip of Malcolm’s temple. “You feel so good to me,” he whispered. At least it wasn’t a lie. “You feel that, baby? I want you.”

Malcolm moaned. His lashes fluttered, but that was it.

With a sigh, Kostas sat back on his heels. He shut his eyes and drew in deep breaths, until his sharp teeth sank beneath his gums and he felt somewhat more in control of himself.

He hadn’t sung to another since he’d given up the hunt, and the last thing he wanted was for the monster inside him to register that it was time to feed while Malcolm was so vulnerable.

Carefully, he gathered the limp incubus into his arms. His cheek served as a prop for Malcolm’s head, and he sang a song from his youth quietly in his ear.

“ Come to me, my sweetheart, my love,

Find me by the shore.

Come to me, my sweetheart, my love,

Be mine forever more .”

He drew out the last note, and when Malcolm roused, Kostas felt it in a shaky inhale that trembled through his whole body.

He leaned back to see Malcolm’s hazy, lidded eyes. His little fangs pressed into his bottom lip.

Despite himself, Kostas smiled.

“There you are.”

Malcolm didn’t answer. Not with words. He made a sound, a little like a moan, that went straight to Kostas’s core. He didn’t know if that was the effect of a siren’s song, or the incubus was starving.

“I need to look at your leg,” Kostas said. “You gonna fight me on that?”

Malcolm shook his head. Speech still seemed beyond his capabilities, but he gasped when Kostas peeled the fabric back from his skin. The wound looked clear and went all the way through his thigh, but it was in a bad place to try to patch up.

“I need to take off your pants, okay?”

Another choked sound. “Yup. Yeah. Do that. Take off my pants.”

Well, at least he’d found words—and the strength to wiggle his way out of his trousers when Kostas went for them.

What he was wearing beneath them, well, if Kostas froze and stared, no one could blame him for that.

Malcolm’s hips were swathed in stretchy silk that clung to every inch of him. It was an icy blue color, just like his eyes. His cock stood out, rigid beneath the warm cloth, a dark spot near the tip where precome had smeared the fabric. Lace framed the top of his panties, and the openings for his legs.

Kostas swallowed. Hard.

The wound. Malcolm had been shot, and Kostas shouldn’t be frozen there, ogling his package while he was in pain.

He sat back and gripped Malcolm’s thigh. The incubus gasped, arching his back off the stone wall of the cave. He sounded anything but pained then.

When Kostas bent to inspect the wound, when he furrowed his brow and forced himself to only think about the danger and damage, Malcolm huffed. In a flash, his hand shot out and he grabbed Kostas’s chin. Tiny black claws pricked his jaw, and Malcolm held his gaze.

“I’m fine. I can heal.” He looked ardent, almost angry.

Kostas’s thoughts scattered. He swallowed his nerves. “What do you need?”

He already knew.

It was pure sin when Malcom pushed off the wall. Holding Kostas’s chin steady, he turned his head. Kostas could’ve pushed him away. He didn’t. He let those plush lips slant over his own, felt the sting of Malcolm’s fangs against his bottom lip, the blissful tug as Malcolm claimed his flesh. The heat of his tongue as it swiped across his mouth.

“I need you,” Malcolm rasped. “Your cock, your come, your pleasure.”

There was a buzzing in Kostas’s head. All the sudden, his dick was pulsing in his jeans. Adrenaline? Maybe. But there was an incubus beneath him, offering everything.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Malcolm scoffed, and Kostas’s eyes flashed open, already narrowed in a glare.

“I’m a sex demon. You’d have to be some kind of lay to hurt me.”

Kostas wanted to shove him back, to punish him, to put him in his place and show Malcolm exactly what kind of lay he fucking was.

Their lips crashed together, and Kostas didn’t know who’d closed the distance first.

Malcolm was fire in his arms, a cat wiggling for freedom even while his claws dug into Kostas’s back and tore his shirt.

His long legs spread and hooked around Malcolm’s thighs, dragging him in. But his jeans were still on, all that rough fabric against all that silken softness.

No. No, Kostas couldn’t stand that. He groaned, shoved himself away, and Malcolm whimpered. His lips were flushed red, his body convulsing as his muscles sought friction and pleasure and more .

With one palm against Malcolm’s chest, Kostas held him down.

“Wait,” he commanded.

Malcolm glared right up at him, like he’d set Kostas on fire.

As if Kostas could deny him anything. Like he even fucking wanted to.

He flicked his fly open. Pulled down the zipper, and shoved his pants down, boxers with them.

There. Skin on silk. His cock against Malcolm’s little blue panties. With every rock of his hips, his dick smeared more mess across the front of them, so pretty. Their scents mingled, the sound of Malcolm’s moaning the sweetest song Kostas had ever heard.

He kissed him again, craning over and tipping Malcolm’s head back to open him up. He’d drink that song, carry it in his chest.

Malcolm whimpered, needy and desperate as he snaked his hand between them. He gripped Kostas’s cock, and the sound that tore out of his own throat was feral.

He bucked into that tight grip, and Malcolm grinned.

“That’s it, stud. You fuck like a stallion. Harder.” It was ridiculous. Over the top. Absurd.

Kostas had never been harder in his life.

“Harder,” Malcolm cried.

His thumb swiped the tip. His fingers flexed, and with a full-body shudder, Kostas came all over Malcolm’s belly, his silk panties, his rumpled waistcoat.

In Malcolm’s loosely curled fingers, Kostas’s dick twitched, aftershocks rocking through him like the incubus would drain every drop of his essence out through his dick.

Kostas wouldn’t care if he did.

Was this what it felt like to fall under a siren’s spell?

Hanging his head, Kostas groaned. He reached down, palming Malcolm’s cock through his messy panties. “Can you come?”

He didn’t know if it worked like that—if an incubus needed to drink pleasure but not feel it.

Already, Malcolm was nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, yes, yeah.”

His eyes fluttered shut, chocolate-brown lashes brushing his flushed cheeks. So fucking beautiful. How was any creature this fucking beautiful?

Kostas dragged his hand down, cupping his balls, feeling that dip beneath them. He sank one clawed finger under the silk between his legs. His knuckle nudged against Malcolm’s taint, earning him another sweet gasp.

And with a jerk of his hand, he tore the cloth open and fell on him with open, hungry lips and a probing tongue.

As he swiped up Malcolm’s shaft, the demon wiggled, the band of his ruined panties twisting around his graceful waist.

He whimpered, in constant motion, thrusting after Kostas’s lips, shaking when Kostas swallowed him down and sucked. His hands tangled in Kostas’s hair.

He came, his balls tight against his body. Bitter sweetness flooded Kostas’s mouth, and he gulped down every drop, laving his tongue against Malcolm’s perineum until the incubus gasped and wiggled away.

Out of breath and dizzy, Kostas dropped back against the cave wall. He glanced at Malcolm’s leg. His smooth skin was covered in blood, but the hole looked better. Smoothed over.

When Kostas met his eyes, Malcolm was pouting.

With his first two fingers, he pinched one flap of his ruined panty’s crotch and lifted it.

He scowled. “These were expensive, you know.”

Kostas could only stare for a moment. Then, a laugh barked out of him. “Be quiet, for once.”

He opened his arm, and begrudgingly, Malcolm squirmed in under it.