Page 21 of Wicked Dove (Institute Thirteen #1)

FIFTEEN

RION

Elodie darts for Thirteen like her life depends on it. I’m half surprised she didn’t run for The Vale, probably try and hop over to Institute Twelve again. It’s a shame, really. I would have enjoyed the chase.

“Are we going to address how she just siphoned the hell out of Tiran?” Thorne grunts, nostrils flaring as he shakes his hair out of his face in agitation, but it quickly falls across his brows again the moment he stops.

“You should have let her finish the job, if you ask me,” I state, and Ocean turns to gape at me, reminding me that we’re not alone.

“I don’t think her conscience could handle that,” Kael mutters, catching me by surprise, but when I turn my attention to him, he’s staring at the Institute as if he’s expecting Elodie to come running back out any moment.

“She’s in Thirteen, we all know what it means to be here,” Thorne declares, and Ocean aims a finger at him.

“Does she look evil to you?”

“None of us look evil,” Kael mocks before Thorne can answer, and Ocean scoffs.

“Have you looked in the mirror?”

Kael rolls his eyes, but Thorne grunts, cutting through the rising tension between the two of them.

“Can we stay on topic here? Her magic isn’t latent,” Thorne snaps, his hands coiled into fists at his sides.

“No,” Kael mumbles, wiping a hand down his face.

“You knew this,” I blurt, recalling my first run-in with Elodie yesterday. She slammed her hands against my chest, but nothing happened. He even made her do it again to him.

“I’ve seen her place her hands on someone like that four times now. It has worked two of those times.”

“Who was the other one?” I ask, aware I’ve been present for the two times nothing happened.

His gaze meets mine and I already know the answer.

“Me.”

“Well, she didn’t succeed,” Ocean mumbles, still inserting herself into our conversation. I’m surprised Thorne hasn’t erased her memory and sent her on her way.

Everything is wrong today.

“She didn’t take my abilities either, she just drained me, panicked, and let go,” Kael explains with a sigh as he rubs at the nape of his neck, which makes Ocean beam with victory.

“See? Not evil.”

“Will you shut up?” Kael snaps back, but she waves him off, the smile unwavering on her face.

“What threat level is this?” I ask, making the atmosphere thicken as we all turn to Thorne for an answer.

He purses his lips. The cords in his neck are tensing as he tries to swallow past them, but his throat bobs to no avail. “She can’t die,” he bites through clenched teeth, and Kael stares at him with furrowed brows.

“Why?”

Thorne doesn’t utter a word. Instead, he spins on the spot, marching in the direction of The Vale with marked determination in his stride.

“Great chat,” I muse, earning a deathly stare from Kael. Clapping my hands together, I nod at him and Ocean before pointing over my shoulder.

“I’m going to find her,” I state, and Ocean scoffs, projecting her magic toward me.

“No, you’re not. She needs a friend right now.”

“Kael,” I reply, and he cocks a brow at me.

“What if I want to find her? I am her guardian after all,” he grunts, and I huff.

“Like she’s going to want to see you right now,” I mutter, and he rolls his eyes, but as expected, he does me a solid and distracts Ocean from behind, holding her wrists at her back so I can make my move.

I don’t waste any time.

I’m on the fourth floor in a flash, knocking on her door a moment later. Seconds tick by and I rock back on my heels, waiting patiently, but no one comes. Trying again, I knock a little harder, but as seconds turn into minutes, my patience gets the better of me.

Grabbing the door handle, it turns easily, revealing her room that she shares with Ocean, but on first inspection, she’s not here. Entering, I close the door quietly behind me as the sound of the shower running fills my ears.

That explains it.

It’s clear to see which side of the room is hers simply because the other half is filled with Ocean’s aura, while Elodie’s remains empty and lifeless. I don’t like it, but there are bigger matters to consider first, like the blood that was dripping from her wrist.

Pursing my lips, I consider my options because I want to stay on her good side, but despite knowing I should leave and let her decompress, my feet carry me toward the bathroom door, which sits slightly ajar.

The sensible part of me sees the mostly closed door as a barrier, while the stupid part sees the sliver of light on the other side as an invitation.

Nudging it open a little more, I stand in the doorway, watching the steam billow around the room. It’s so thick it takes me a second to locate my target, but the moment my eyes cross her bare skin, it’s impossible for me to turn away.

I should leave, but I can’t, not when she looks like that.

Her purple hair is almost black from the water, plastered to her back as she tilts her head up to the spray.

Her hips curve in all of the right places, making my fingers itch to reach out to her while my cock strains at the sight of her ass.

Damn, even the inch of side boob I can see is going to floor me.

I’m about to rut on her like a fool or shift into my wolf and piss on everything to claim her as mine. That’s until she sighs, moving her hair over her shoulder…

That’s when I see it.

All of it.

I’m moving with laser-focus, my blood pounding through my veins fueled by vengeance. The closer I get, the madder I become. Slamming my hands on the wall on either side of her, I cage her in and her sweet gasp fills the air.

“Who did this to you?” I snarl, and she glances over her shoulder at me, eyes widening in a mixture of shock and horror. “Who?” I repeat, desperate for the answer. It takes everything in me to look away from her gaze, but the marks on her back require my attention.

Not one, not even two.

Fuck… there must be at least a dozen. Welt marks are lashed across her skin, along with burn marks that match the small size of a cigarette.

“Get out,” she squeals, finally finding her voice, and it lures my gaze back to hers as she spins in the small space I’m offering her to plaster her back against the tiled wall.

I step closer, unfazed by the shower pouring down onto me, seeping into my clothes. It doesn’t matter, nothing matters but her answer.

“Who the fuck did that?” She either answers soon, or my wolf is going to come out. I can already feel him. Electricity zaps through my body with a raw need, ready to create chaos.

“I said, get out,” she repeats, louder this time, and I grab her jaw, tighter than necessary, as I force her eyes to meet mine.

“And I said you better tell me who the fuck did this to you before—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she interjects, but it does nothing to cool the burning inferno inside of me.

“Tell. Me,” I boom, every inch of me soaked to the bone. I tighten my hold on her chin, desperately. “Tell me and I’ll make it right,” I promise, and she shakes her head as her eyelids drift closed.

“There is no making it right,” she insists, and I shake my head.

“Tell me and I’ll make it better.” It’s a vow. No one, not anyone, should have scars like this, let alone a woman, let alone her.

Relaxing my hold on her chin, I ghost my fingertips over her shoulders, each hand a mirror image as I stroke down her arms to her wrists. Blood still stains her skin, so I work my thumb in small circular motions to soothe the coloring away.

Once it’s all gone, I check both sides to make sure there’s not a single drop that remains, and that’s when I realize the vampire’s marks have gone altogether.

That’s weird. They would usually need someone like Thorne to heal them.

And why isn’t she writhing in pain from the puncture?

That’s what usually happens. A vampire’s bite is lethal, especially to someone like her.

Yet, just like the scratch from Willow, she didn’t make a single sound, not that I heard at least.

Releasing her wrists, they fall loosely at her sides, and I dare to meet her stare.

The soft scent of coconuts fills the air and I know it’s coming from her hair.

I watch as her chest rises and falls, slowing down every time, and it seems to calm me along with her, my senses finally returning to me. But I’m not done, not by a long shot.

I lift my hand to her face again, eyes locked on hers, but this time, I stroke my thumb across her cheek delicately, like the petal that she is. “Tell me and I’ll make you forget.”

My thumb falls from her cheek as my fingertips trace down her neck, over her collarbone, and down between the valley of her breasts.

Goosebumps rise in my wake, stirring my cock back to life.

She doesn’t stop me. I don’t know what I would do if she tried, but I force myself to pause as I reach her belly button.

Drawing my gaze from where I’m touching her, back to her eyes, I find them wide and needy, while her jaw falls slack. “Petal,” I whisper, unable to hide the desperation in my voice, and she breaks.

“My father.”

I nod, anger coiling tighter as I attempt to tamp it down and focus on her, just like I promised.

“Want to forget?” I ask, and she nods. I look down at her pussy and back to her face, making sure I’m clear, and she nods again.

I close the remaining distance, my fingertips tracing between her folds a second later, and she gasps. It’s an elixir for my ears. I want to drown in her groans.

“Part your legs, Petal,” I order, and she does, creating the perfect amount of space for me to explore with my hand.

Swirling my fingers around her clit, her back arches in delight as her gaze remains fixed on mine. Every touch makes her louder, gasps turning to moans, which reach cries as I thrust two fingers deep into her pussy.

Her hands land on my shoulders, clinging to me for dear life as I curl my fingers in her core.

“Rion,” she whimpers, and I hate how lost she looks. Her eyes are a vortex to her soul, and I can see it all.

“It’s okay, Petal. I’m going to take care of you,” I promise, grinding my palm against her pussy in time with the curl of my fingers. I know the moment I find her sweet spot. She bucks off the wall uncontrollably, following my touch.

I don’t make her wait for it. I give her everything she deserves, everything I promised, and just like that, she falls apart at the seams, screaming my name as she comes all over my hand.

Making sure she gets to enjoy every wave of release, I stay under the shower’s spray until she’s spent.

Only then do I pull my hand back and step out, muddying the white mat with my boots.

“What about you?” she rushes, but she doesn’t move from where the wall props her up.

“Today isn’t about me.”

She pouts, and as much as I want to explore more of her, there are other matters to contend with.

“Your father’s name,” I order, and her eyebrows pinch in confusion.

“Rion?” she breathes, uncertainty thick in her voice.

“Your father’s name,” I repeat, watching as she nibbles on her bottom lip, deep in thought. I don’t know what she’s got to consider, but it seems she thinks the same after a few moments pass and she exhales.

“Warren. His name is Warren Blackwood.”