Page 69 of White Raven (Nevermore Duet #2)

CIVIL WAR

His head was cloudy with the haze of good whiskey—whiskey he’d once helped distill that had the sweetest burn the entire way down.

Madame Olivia had tried her best to beat him into sobriety.

He supposed she thought that would keep him from costing them a life-changing sum.

They’d never been offered that much for any escort.

Every worker in this pleasure house was waiting with bated breath as to whether or not he’d blow this opportunity.

He was to put on the show of his life and could barely get one foot in front of the other.

Athan shook it off as he finally turned the knob to his suite and stumbled inside.

He stared at one spot on the floor to try and keep himself stable—and not retch everything he’d consumed on his very generous patron.

“Well…this isn’t what I expected. But exactly what I ordered,” the woman drawled from a spot she’d taken up at the window on the far side of the suite. He could hear her smile through her velvety voice.

“Apologies, ‘Mum…” he slurred, straightening himself, and bracing the hutch to the left of his door for support. “Had I known, I’d have picked another evening to drown my sorrows.”

“In my experience, men tend to extend their duration after consuming too much,” she replied, smoothly. He smirked and chuckled through his nose.

“I can assure you; my talents will exceed your expectations…and my duration.”

She laughed, and her shadow crept across the floor toward him.

The shape of her body, and sway of her hips had him raising his head before he had a chance to think about it.

Her hair was so white it almost shone silver.

Her lips were full and painted red as blood.

Her frock was revealing and hugged every sleek curve of her pale body.

She was a vision. And the way she carried herself…

“That’s precisely the reason I paid such a handsome amount for you, cherub. Tell me…why were you drowning your sorrows?”

The sharpest edge of grief’s rusty blade sliced through what little heart he had left.

All he could see was his mother’s face. How the cheapest counterpaints dulled her beauty.

Made her less of a woman. “I’d rather not discuss it.

” He met her strange eyes and could swear she saw through his soul. “May I ask you something?”

“As long as you’ll allow me to help you out of your garments while you do,” she smiled.

It was like watching temptation itself take form and laugh in your face.

His spine went ramrod straight as she stepped in front of him and helped herself to the buttons of his satin jacket… his shirt. Athan swallowed.

“You don’t seem like the kind of lady that would be in need of services such as mine. Why did you spend so much coin for a night with me?”

She removed one piece at a time, slowly, and deliberately, taking in every inch of him when she’d finally stripped him bare. “I suppose you seem like you’ll be worth every penny. I’ll know for certain once that heavy cock can get no farther inside me.”

She had slowly slipped out of that dress and left him speechless as she spread herself wide on his bed, and stroked a slender, painted finger through her lovely, pink cunt.

She beckoned him closer, and he found himself moving toward her before he could think to bother asking her name.

He’d never bed a client face-to-face before.

Perhaps it was the whiskey, or perhaps…she was a witch, and had spelled him to forget his own rules.

He put a knee on the bed and that serpent’s smile stretched across her lips—

“NO!” Athan screamed, banging his forehead, yet again, as he thrashed against the small space.

He had suffocated again. Dying for…however many times it had been now.

He’d lost count long ago. He swore he could hear a distant echo of Dahlia’s laugh, and his very bones scraped with the sound.

This had to be Hell. God had finally turned his back completely and was giving him his due.

Every single time, he’d had to relive another painful memory, and every single time he’d awaken, weaker than the time before it.

Sweat dripped down every part of him, and the harsh breathing he had woken to find himself exercising in the earlier parts of this torture, had trained him to be in better control of it now, as he slowly calmed himself.

Get your mind off it. Think of something else.

Some one else. His eyes closed, as if it couldn’t be any more dark now. Sarah’s face blurred into his mind. Big hazel eyes, glinting with flecks of gold, and here recently, shards of deep crimson that made him thirst for her like a drug.

Thirst.

His veins felt like they were laced with acid.

His throat constricted, and his heart beat off-rhythm.

It was like staring across the front lines at the enemy while they awaited the charge of battle.

A civil war being fought within himself.

Without warning, the enemy took flight, hacking apart the image of his mate, and he screamed inside—he screamed outside .

Her beautiful face disappeared behind that raging hunger, and his control was lost. A soldier falling like the biggest tree in a forest fed with blood.

If it wasn’t bad enough that he’d inevitably lose his fight to stay alive, he couldn’t even waste away in silence, or peace.

The hunger sought to swallow him like a dry pill.

He refused to make it easy, clinging to anything he could, and trying to force her face back into his mind.

What it felt like to kiss her. To taste her. To be inside her.

To love her.

His screaming drowned out the noise of what remained of his strength as his body beat against the coffin, to no avail. Shattered pieces of her went in and out of his vision, and he realized he'd lost this fight…again.

I love you!

“I love you!” He screamed, one last time, tears spilling towards his ears.

And just as quickly as she appeared…she was gone.

What happened?

Rhaena’s sweat beaded on her forehead, and she simultaneously thought she could freeze to death. Her breathing kicked up, and her ears roared. Her heartbeat felt slowed. Her throat burned. Her body felt parched.

“Rhaena?” A voice called. One she recognized.

“Bran—Brandon,” she exhaled, licking her dry lips.

“Oh, my God…baby. Yeah, it’s me.”

She wished like hell she could open her eyes, but they felt glued shut.

“Detective Northwood? It’s Nick Specter. Can you hear me?”

Nick Specter? What the fuck was he doing here? And where was here?

Rhaena managed a nod, and bent her legs, clenching her fists at a hunger like she’d never felt.

“Sarah sent me to try some blood. It seems like it’s worked. How do you feel?”

Sarah. The change. What happened? Had she hurt Sarah?

“Where am I?” she choked out. Her throat felt like an arid desert. And the burn was agonizing. “Where is Sarah?”

“She’s okay, Rhae. You’re at home.”

Wren. Wren was safe, too.

“I’m—hungry. Thirsty. I dunno,” she admitted hoarsely, cracking her heavy eyes open.

Brandon’s face blurred into view first. Then Wren’s.

Rhaena turned her head to see Nick Specter, dressed down and oddly normal.

He was holding a blood bag, and seemingly contemplating whether or not she needed it.

That one look was all it took, and her body reacted without warning, swiping the bag from his hands and bringing it straight to her gaping mouth.

Before Rhaena could realize what she was doing, she bit into the bag, and seized its contents, sucking down something cold, and blissfully delicious.

Her eyes rolled back, and her body relaxed against her pillows as she drained every last drop of the blood.

“Holy shit,” Wren whispered, covering her mouth.

Brandon sat in shock on the edge of her bed.

Rhaena’s eyes widened, and she dropped the empty bag to her lap, breathing heavily, and not sure whether or not she was winning the war with herself that this was so unbelievably fucked up…

but she wanted more . She glanced at Specter, and he hurriedly pulled a spare bag from a lunchbox.

Rhaena braced herself on her hands and boggled her eyes at him.

“Here,” he said, offering it to her. He didn’t seem completely surprised, and she wasn’t sure if that bothered her or not, but she wanted it.

Badly. She snatched it, puncturing the bag, and drinking heavily.

It was just as amazing the second time, and that burning in her body eased.

As the bag dropped on top of the other empty husk in her lap, she noticed the two puncture holes right above the blank label.

“Yeah, you’re reading that shit right,” Wren said, trembling with nerves. “You’ve got fucking fangs .”

“Rhaena…” Brandon whispered, consolingly. He reached for her hand, and she slid it away, her lower lip quivering when he winced.

“I’m—am I like Kane?”

“You’re…different than Kane,” Specter said from her other side. She turned her head towards him. “I looked at your blood. It’s still the same as it was before. Just…with some extra superheroes. You’re not just a wolf. You’re both.”

“How the fuck did you know I was a wolf?” she asked.

“St. James brought a sample to examine to see if we could get a reaction from the blood I’d stored before she changed. She told me what you were. The reaction didn’t exactly extinguish the problem. It just…changed it.”

She looked at Brandon, who seemed like he’d die if she didn’t touch him. “I—I don’t…”

“It’s okay, Rhaena. Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ve caused you so much trouble,” she started, trying not to break into tears. “I can’t do this to you. I can’t put you through another fucking nightmare. You didn’t sign up for this, Brandon.”