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CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHARLOTTE

M y dreams are so strange. I’m in a hot, jungly place, sort of like how I imagine Edie’s garden in the summer, except it’s blooming with flowers that I’m certain don’t exist in our world. They’re huge, bigger than my head, and bright colors I’m not sure I’ve seen before. Blue, but also red. Purple, but also orange. Everything is hazy and warm and steamy, and the steam puts me in a constant state of arousal as I stretch out in the soft, feathery grass while something twines around my legs.

He likes playing with you like this.

That voice. It’s not speaking English, but a language I’ve never heard, like the flowers I’ve never seen.

Except I have heard it. Jaxon’s spoken it.

“Who?” My voice rings out. Echoes. A shadow moves in my peripheral vision, but when I turn to look, it’s gone. There are only thick, lightly swinging vines that pulse as if blood’s pumping through them. They put me in mind of cocks, just like the flowers put me in mind of vulva. Just like the moisture in the air feels like sweat or cum or both.

You know who.

The shadow slips closer, watching me. I settle back on the grass, moaning a little with pleasure. Something wet and hot laps up against my pussy. I don’t look to see what it is. I don’t care.

I want to show you something.

“Hmm?” I turn my head toward the voice, and for half a second, I see a towering figure that swallows all the light in this place. Terror lances through me, but it only heightens my pleasure and makes my body quake.

“Who are you?” I moan, as the invisible thing between my legs slides up inside my pussy and fucks me.

The being says a word in that unfamiliar language, and I come, groaning and shaking. The thing between my legs keeps going.

He’s not going to stop until you wake up for good , the being says. It’s closer to me, whispering in my ear. He’s going to keep doing this until morning.

“Who?” I cry out, thrusting back against the thing between my legs. The steam in the air turns to a warm rain that drenches my skin and teases my nipples.

My ardent little worshipper , the being says. The one I selected to save you.

“Jaxon,” I breathe, and then suddenly I’m on my belly and that warm wetness massages my asshole, a sensation that feels astonishingly good. Of course. I’m asleep, and I told Jaxon he could do whatever he wants with me. “Tell him to fuck me again.”

He’s planning on it. Making himself hard right now while he eats your plump, pretty ass .

I moan down into the grass, breathing in the rich, earthy scent. For a moment, I’m not dreaming anymore—I’m face down on the bed, and Jaxon’s hands press hard against my thighs as his tongue laps against my bud, opening me up for him. I groan, half-asleep and half-awake and flooded with pleasure.

The being’s voice drags me back to my dream.

No, I need you here. I have something to show you.

“Show me what?” I moan, sticking my ass up in the air, spreading my legs wide. A hardness slides into my asshole, pain and pleasure twisting together.

A presence passes behind me, and I dig my fingers into the wet, warm earth and twist around, trying to get a glimpse of this being—this god. It’s one of Jaxon’s gods, I’m sure of that.

But what I find is Jaxon, his skin gleaming with his sweat, his hair loose and hanging around his shoulders, his face twisted with pleasure. He’s fucking my ass in the bed at Edie’s house.

No, no . The voice drifts around me. That’s not the version you need to see .

And then suddenly, I’m not in the garden or in the bed but in Jaxon’s kitchen, the sunlight hazy as it drifts through the windows. Jaxon is there, too, but as a teenage boy, his hair in a 1970s shag that curls around his ears, sullen and scowling and waiting patiently in one of those big wooden chairs he keeps in his dining room.

A man passes by him, big and dangerous-looking. A knife gleams at his side.

“What is this?” I whisper.

An initiation .

And then there’s Jaxon with a gaping neck wound, blood pouring across his chest.

I come again, screaming into the dirt.

There’s my monster , the being purrs. There’s my Hunter.

Pleasure surges through me, hot and delirious, I lift my face from the rain-damp grass to gasp down air. I feel like I’m never going to stop coming.

You need an initiation too, the being says, and it feels like something I have to remember.

I slam awake, convulsions wracking through my body. I’m on my side but pinned down; Jaxon spoons around me and holds me in place by the pussy. His fingers stroke lazily inside my cunt as his cock creates pressure deep inside my asshole.

“Jaxon,” I moan, arching my back against him. He nuzzles the back of my neck.

“You just came for me,” he mutters. “That’s the fifth time.”

“What?” I’m disoriented. The only thing grounding me into place is Jaxon’s slow thrusts and his jagged, shuddered breath on my shoulder. The room’s brighter than I expect, too. Has the sun already come up? Is it morning?

“This’ll be the third time for me,” he grunts, and that grunt turns to a deep, throaty growl as liquid heat floods through me. Jaxon’s breaths turn fast and panting. He slumps against my back, damp hair trailing across my shoulders, his fingers still in my pussy as his cock softens in my ass.

We stay like that for a moment, our breaths slowing in tandem. Then I shift against him, rolling onto my back. Every muscle in my body aches, and my pussy and ass feel sore and abused. It’s pleasant though. Satisfying. And slowly, the pieces fall into place.

Jaxon literally fucked me all night.

“Did I really come five times?” I ask, staring up at the ceiling. Fragments of the night come back to me. Strange, horny dreams. Jaxon’s voice in my ear: Go back to sleep. I’m not done with you .

There’s something I wanted to ask him…

Jaxon draws his arm across my belly and kisses the side of my neck. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I can tell whenever you do. Your whole body shakes.”

I keep shifting, moving my aching limbs until I’m on my other side, facing him. He looks exhausted. Drained.

But very, very satisfied.

“Thank you,” he says softly, running his hand over the dip in my waist. Affection surges through my core.

“I take it you enjoyed yourself?” I trail my fingers over his cheeks, feeling the bones in his skull. He grabs my wrist and kisses the palm of my hand.

“You can fucking say that again.” He keeps kissing me down my arm until he’s draped himself on top of me, his damp body pinning me down, his hair falling in a curtain around us. “How much do you remember?”

I settle back on the pillow, enjoying the press of his body weight. “Not much,” I say. “I think I woke up once?—”

“You woke up a couple of times. Not fully though.” His eyes meet mine, so blue they remind me of the Gulf of Mexico waiting outside the window. “I think my gods came to you. While I was—” He winks instead of saying it.

“Maybe. I don’t remember.” I frown, my dreams flickering through my thoughts. They’re nothing but fragments: Strange, tropical flowers. A shadow man. Warm rain, as warm as fresh blood.

“I did dream, though,” I say. “They were so strange. You weren’t really there?—”

“Of course not. I was here.” He wraps his fingers gently around my throat, pinning me down as he kisses me, slow and deep. I can taste myself on him. “The Unnamed said it had a message for you..”

“Did it?” My dreams last night weren’t nightmares, not at all. But right now, fully awake, with Florida’s winter sun spilling through the thin curtains, I feel a quiver of fear.

“Charlotte.” Jaxon’s brow twists with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say on reflex. But Jaxon tightens his fingers around my throat. A reminder, not a threat.

“You’re scared,” he says roughly. “I can feel it. Smell it.” He kisses me again. “Taste it.”

“It was just my dream,” I say, even though it sounds stupid. “I’m not scared of you.”

“I know you’re not.” He runs his thumb over the hollow in my throat. “It’s the Unnamed, isn’t it? That scares you?”

A dark figure, watching as Jaxon fucks me.

“It scared the shit out of me the first time I saw it, too.” Jaxon smiles and brushes my hair out of my eyes. An image flashes through my thoughts.

Jaxon as a teenager, a second mouth where his throat should be.

I push him away, surprised by my own strength. He sits back on his heels, frowning as I push myself up against the headboard. God, everything between my legs aches. I don’t know if I can even walk.

“Charlotte, tell me what’s wrong.”

I rub my forehead. “Nothing’s wrong.” I peer up at him through the tangle of my hair. “I just—you remember how you said your dad killed you when you were younger?”

Jaxon’s frown deepened. “Yeah. My initiation. Was that what the Unnamed?—”

“I saw it.” I settle back against the headboard, and Jaxon stretches out beside me, his hand across my belly. “Or I think I did. You were in your kitchen, sitting in a dining room chair?—”

Jaxon laughs, which startles me. “Fuck, yeah, that’s how it happened.” He kisses my shoulder. “With a knife? Split open my throat?”

It’s weird, how casually he talks about this, but it’s something I find I’m getting used to.

“Why’d you call it an initiation?” I ask.

Jaxon shrugs. “Because that’s what it was. It’s a religious thing. Your first death is supposed to be at the hands of another Hunter to honor the gods.” He smiles at me. “But plenty of people don’t do it. Sawyer didn’t. You know who killed him for the first time?”

“Who?”

“Fucking cops.” Jaxon laughs and snuggles up to me. “That sheriff deputy who shot him fifteen years ago. He was so distracted by Edie that he didn’t hear him come in.”

“You’re kidding me.” I bury my nose in his hair, breathing in the scent of his sweat. It reminds me of the swamp but in the best possible way. All that life bursting out of the murk.

“Nope. Give him shit about it when we go back out there. He loves that.”

“Why do I think you’re lying?” I push up on my elbow to look down at him, and Jaxon just grins up at me.

“About him loving it? Absolutely. Not about Edie getting him killed, though.”

And then Jaxon drags me back down into the sheets, covering me in gentle, sloppy kisses, and I’m not thinking about death or dreams anymore.