Page 9 of Wicked (Dark Delights #5)

Almost immediately, Shadrach saw his own face, sneering in the sharp gleam of a blade’s reflected light.

Isaac lingered on the curl of dark hair over his forehead, the hollowed shape of his cheekbones, the smooth melody of his voice.

Teeth scraped over Isaac’s cheek, and this time Isaac turned his head, biting back, and Shadrach’s fingers curled tight around his throat, angling his head back so their mouths could properly meet, tongues tangling and blood smearing as their teeth clashed.

It seemed Shadrach wasn’t the only one who had complicated feelings about their interaction earlier.

With some effort, he pushed that dream aside—intriguing though it may have been—to search for something guild related. That was why he was here, after all. To find out the guild’s dark secrets. To discover their plans for the Sentinels and their demonic companions.

“This will be your room, Isaac. ”

Shadrach turned, finding himself in a child’s room. There were two beds on opposite sides, each with an identical bedside table. A pair of desks sat between them, separating the two spaces. A brown-haired boy sat on his bed, playing with some action figures.

Tiny, red-haired Isaac entered the room with a young black man in a white lab coat.

Isaac’s mossy green eyes were just as cold at this age as they were in the present day.

They swept around the room, taking in the pale blue walls and the stained rocketship rug.

Lastly, they settled on the boy who would be his roommate.

“This is Frederic. Frederic, say hello to Isaac. He’ll be your new roommate.”

“Hello!” Frederic waved enthusiastically, bounding off the bed.

Isaac shrank away, not out of fear but revulsion, scowling at the other boy’s exuberance.

Frederic didn’t seem to notice. He reached out, snagging Isaac’s hand and lifting it. “You can call me Freddy. What happened to your hand?”

There were skin-toned bandaids on each fingertip.

Isaac looked away, as though the boy were inconsequential. “I was counting the minutes. Doctor Maxwell says I shouldn’t do that.”

“Counting minutes hurt your fingers?” Frederic asked, looking to the doctor, who shook his head to indicate Frederic shouldn’t ask.

“Which one will be my bed?”

Darkness swept in before anyone could answer, and the scene changed.

Quickly, a new one formed. A group of teenagers stood in a group inside a fenced ring of sand, practice swords in hand.

Isaac was easily recognizable, his hair a splash of crimson.

His face was a snarl of concentration as he engaged another boy in a duel.

It was unsanctioned, if the shouts of the other children was any indication.

Isaac was leagues better than the boy he was fighting, dodging ill-timed attacks with ease and sweeping past the boy’s guard, grabbing him by the arm and flinging him over his shoulder to the dirt.

Then he was standing in a quiet office, his head bowed, and a man Shadrach recognized as a younger Commander Sloan was staring at him in disappointment. Isaac had a smear of dirt on his cheek.

“You shouldn’t have done that. You could have seriously hurt Frederic. You’re lucky all he had was bruises.”

“He called me a freak,” Isaac said.

Sloan sighed. “That doesn’t make it okay to hurt him.”

“Why is he allowed to hurt me, but I’m not allowed to hurt him?”

Sloan shot him an arch look. “Are you seriously telling me Frederic’s words hurt you to the same degree that you hurt him out in the training yard today?”

“Hurting others is a sin,” Isaac said as though quoting something. “Whether it be words or ? —”

“No, Mister Morrow. No. You cannot retaliate against cruel words with violence. It’s an overcorrection.”

Isaac’s jaw pulsed.

Sloan sighed. “Whose word is law?”

Isaac sighed hard. “Yours.”

Shadrach’s brows rose.

Sloan sat back in his chair with a dark, satisfied look. “And I’m telling you that you cannot attack someone because of the words they use. No matter what. If you do, it makes you the one in the wrong.”

Isaac’s shoulders slumped. “My punishment?”

“A week in the archives after class. No dinners. And you’ll go to Father Hawley tonight. Confess your sins to him and let him absolve you.”

A barely visible shudder rolled down Isaac’s hunched spine.

What the fuck? Shadrach didn’t recall any of the paladins mentioning they’d been punished with restricted food. And what did ‘go to Father Hawley’ mean? It sounded more sinister than a simple bout in the confessional, and Isaac’s visceral reaction suggested it was something he dreaded.

What else was going on in that place that the four sentinels didn’t know?

Enough of this. He didn’t want to see any more.

Not right now. He reached out and washed it away, like throwing water on chalk.

Darkness enveloped him, and he molded a new scene.

The storage room, with Isaac sitting in the chair.

He wasn’t bound this time, though, and Shadrach leaned in close, bracing a hand on the back of the chair behind Isaac’s shoulder and using a curled finger under his chin to guide those green-gold eyes to his.

“Focus on me, killer. Keep those demons at bay.”

“Says the demon,” Isaac replied automatically, his voice soft and dreamlike.

He smiled sweetly. “I’m a good demon.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I can be a good demon.”

Isaac’s bland smile didn’t change. “I doubt that, too.”

Shadrach patiently turned his attention elsewhere. “Do you know why you’re here?”

Isaac’s gaze circled the hazy storage room around them. It had bare brick walls that were painted off-white and an old, stained tile floor. The humans had painted the grimy walls but not bothered with the floor yet. The room was altogether lackluster—even more so in this faded dreamscape.

“You want to know what the guild’s planning. ”

“Yes.” Shadrach knelt, making space for himself between Isaac’s knees rather than hovering over him. “What can you tell me?”

“Nothing.”

“Tsk, come on now. You’re a paladin. Surely you’ve heard things.”

“I know he wants to hit the halflings and the traitors. I don’t know if he’s gotten approval from the council yet. It has to be a unanimous decision.”

“Do you think they’ll approve it?”

“Not any time soon. We have to rebuild first. But eventually, yeah. He’s convinced most of the guild that the traitors led the kalmach there somehow.”

Shadrach nodded, considering his next question. “Why have you been spying on the dissenters?”

Isaac’s gaze fell to his lap. “Sloan’s word is law,” he quoted. “I’m not allowed to lie to him. When he asked if I knew what people were saying, I had to tell him.”

“Why?”

“Because he said so. His word is law. Maxwell and Hawley, too, but even they answer to him. If they ask me something, I’m supposed to tell them the truth. God will know if I don’t, and I’ll be punished.”

“Oh, killer,” Shadrach murmured, leaning in and cupping Isaac’s strong jaw. “They’ve got you all tangled up, huh?”

Isaac frowned. “No. This is how things are.”

“Says who?”

He faltered. “Says… Commander Sloan.” Isaac’s walls were so far down he seemed strangely vulnerable, his eyes wide and his expression open.

“Has his word always been the law you follow?”

“Since I joined the guild. ”

“And what happens if you disobey?”

“I’m punished.”

“How?”

Isaac’s hands fisted in his lap. “It depends on the crime.” His eyes cooled, and Shadrach sought a different subject to keep him from clamming up.

“Tell me how it felt earlier when I used my teeth on your cheek.”

Isaac’s nostrils flared. “Strange.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“In a strange way.”

Shadrach chuckled. “Concise.”

He sighed. “I don’t know. People don’t get that close to me.”

“Oh? Can I get that close to you now?” He leaned in eagerly. “Your hands are free. Stop me if you want.”

Isaac didn’t move, tipping his head back to give him room as Shadrach nosed along his jaw.

It was a shame he wasn’t actually in the room.

He longed to fill his lungs with Isaac’s pomegranate and sea salt scent.

His fingers curled around Isaac’s other side, cradling the hinge of his jaw and behind his ear.

When his teeth scraped along his jawbone, Isaac’s hands shot out, grabbing Shadrach’s wrists.

“This is a dream,” he said suddenly. “This isn’t real.”

“Correct. You can do whatever ? —”

A sharp sensation, not quite pain, filled his abdomen. He stood, looking down calmly at his middle, where a holy blade protruded.

Isaac laughed, slapping his knees and standing.

Because it was a dream, and one of Isaac’s doing, Shadrach’s blood was crimson.

It was an eerie sight, to watch human-looking blood spilling out of his abdomen as Isaac pulled his sword free.

There was no pain, because it wasn’t a real blade, but Shadrach was nonplussed nonetheless.

“Beautiful,” Isaac said, ripping Shadrach’s shirt open and passing his hands through the red. Buttons from his shirt flew across the room, disappearing beyond the haze of the constructed room.

Shadrach smiled, slow and wicked. “You’re fun.”

Isaac frowned. “You’re not dying.”

“Dream, remember?”

Isaac stared. Shadrach dragged his finger through the blood and lifted it to Isaac’s mouth, pressing it inside and grinning when Isaac’s lips automatically closed around it, sucking. His eyelids fluttered, and a pulse of heat went down Shadrach’s spine.

He yanked Isaac forward, waving the gushing wound in his stomach away as their teeth clashed.

The blade disappeared as they scrabbled at one another, and Shadrach pushed Isaac into the chair once more, climbing into his lap and rocking against him.

Isaac was as hard as he was, and his teeth clamped down hard on Shadrach’s lip as he rocked up against him.

Their mouths became slick with imaginary blood, the remembered taste of copper on Shadrach’s tongue as he plundered Isaac’s mouth.

“If this is a dream, get me off,” Isaac said, his fingers digging into Shadrach’s thighs. “Nobody ever—just get me off. Make me feel something.”

“I’ll make you fucking feel something,” Shadrach swore, all but ripping Isaac’s jeans open and plunging a hand inside.

“Come on, come on,” Isaac breathed as Shadrach took his sizable length in hand and pumped hard and fast. “God, fuck yeah, just like that.”

It had to hurt, even in a dream, as dry and tight as it was.

Isaac whimpered, doing his best to fuck desperately into Shadrach’s merciless grip.

His lips were parted, his face twisted with exquisite agony, and Shadrach couldn’t resist leaning in, slipping his tongue deep inside and tasting sweet blood.

“Does that hurt, killer?”

Isaac’s head fell back, his hands gripping Shadrach’s thighs hard enough to bruise. “Yeah,” he sobbed, his broad chest heaving. “Don’t stop.”

“Oh, they’ve fucked you up so bad,” Shadrach whispered. “Do you need it to hurt?”

“Yeah, yeah.” His body shuddered, his thighs quivering hard under Shadrach as he came apart in his hands. His back arched like a bow against the back of the chair as Shadrach milked his cock, and then he curled forward, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in Shadrach’s neck, quaking.

Shadrach wrapped an arm around his back.

Isaac’s muscular body trembled, and if this were real, his grip on Shadrach’s shirt would be in danger of ripping the expensive fabric.

To his surprise, Shadrach realized he wouldn’t even care.

He lifted a hand to Isaac’s neck, forcing his face up.

The ice in Isaac’s eyes was gone, leaving sun-drenched forest in its wake, green and gold and beautiful.

“When I come into your room in the morning, you should trust me. You should answer my questions.”

Fear chased away the light in his eyes. “What happens if I do?”

Shadrach tucked a loose lock of red hair behind his ear. What had those religious nutjobs done to make this feral human so afraid of punishment? They’d tried to tame a lion and only succeeded in breaking his spirit.

“Nothing,” he promised. “You won’t be punished. I won’t let anyone harm you.”

Isaac scowled. “You’re a demon. How can I trust you? The real you? ”

“How long have you had faith in your guild and your god? And how often have they punished you for not being what they wanted?”

Isaac’s frown softened with uncertainty.

“What’s the harm in having a little faith in me ? Surely nothing a demon could do would be worse than whatever they’ve done to you.”

“I don’t know, I hear Hell is pretty bad.”

Shadrach smiled. “You’re not in Hell, killer. You’re in a skating rink.”