The Ravenous Dark, page 3
"It's hot," she managed to say despite her breathless state.
Ronan ducked his head, his ever-present five o'clock shadow rough against her cheek as he spoke into her ear. "Looking to get burned?" Darkness, sinful and irresistible, coated his words. Bailey's fingers pressed against the newly exposed flesh of his chest. His skin was feverish and slick with sweat, a mirror of her own.
"Only if it's by you."
There was no hiding the vulnerability in Bailey's voice. Ronan pulled back enough to lock eyes. A million questions lingered in his stormy regard before understanding dawned across his features. His lust dimmed. Bailey sucked in a breath, going still in his arms.
"Bailey…"
She did not like his tone. She hated how much it conveyed his sympathy—his pity, she corrected—and rejection. His lips were gently parted, and his brow knotted as he searched for the rest of his words. Bailey couldn't stand it. So, she did the only rational thing she could think of and kissed him.
She’d surprised him, she could tell, but her hands cupped his face with a swiftness only a supernatural could possess and darted after his lips with teeth and tongue to coax a response out of him. Ronan hesitated a heartbeat before melding her body to his and returning the kiss in full.
A delightful shiver skimmed Bailey's body as she slid her body against Ronan's thigh, seeking relief. He groaned at the wanton act, his hands moving across her body in a way that left her panting with need.
"Bailey."
Her name was a hoarse prayer on his lips as he dragged them to her neck. Bailey's head rocked back to offer him unfettered access. The way his teeth scraped over her skin… The way his fingers dug into her flesh… It was feeding the fire of Bailey's desire to a crescendo.
She wanted more.
One hand urged him impossibly closer, while the other explored his chest. Her nails raked down his sternum in delicious torture that earned a stinging rebuke from his teeth. Bailey moaned, hand delving off to the side toward his heart to see if it beat with the same intensity as hers. To reassure herself that this was real.
Ronan gasped as her palm flattened against his heart. His body trembled as a fiendish pleasure stole through her own body. Bailey's jaw went slack at the intensity of the pleasure. She couldn't understand how a single touch could elicit such insurmountable desire and longing. Bailey wondered distantly if this was a product of the lust demon's strange manipulative magic.
Something in her gut told her it wasn't.
Ronan's expression was one of awe and dismay. Another groan tore through him as he ripped himself away from Bailey, knocking into the nearest dancing couple. Their complaints fell on deaf ears as Ronan stared at Bailey in growing horror. Confusion speared Bailey to her spot. Ronan exhaled a shaky breath, his trembling hands working to do up the buttons of his shirt.
"Ronan, I—" Bailey glimpsed a dark mark over his heart. "What is that?" Her voice was drowned out by the music, but the almost imperceptible stiffening of Ronan's body was all she needed to cover the space between them and yank his shirt open. Ronan cursed as buttons went flying, but Bailey didn't care. She was staring at what should be an impossible sight.
A small feather was imprinted over Ronan's heart—an exact match to the one hovering inches above her tailbone. Bailey was acutely aware of the blood rushing through her body as everything clicked into place. Of course, she was drawn to him. Of course, she wanted him above all others.
He was her soulmark.
Unbidden tears pricked at Bailey's eyes as she chanced a glance at Ronan, and then back to the mark that bound them. He housed the other half of her soul. They were meant to be together. Fated. Bailey squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled a long steady breath before meeting Ronan's gaze. His features were set in stone. His jaw clenched so tight a little vein could be spotted throbbing near his temple.
She reached for his soulmark to experience the siren call of desire again. She wanted to complete the first step to bind their souls: the sealing. All it took was a few simple words, and then they could begin the rest of their lives together and—
Ronan snatched her wrist before she could make contact. "Don't."
The severe rebuttal cut deep. Bailey's elation abated. "But we're—"
"I know what we are," he answered gruffly, releasing her, and stepping back. Her hand dropped lamely to her side as she waited for him to say more.
"And?" She probed.
"And nothing. I don't intend to pursue our… connection."
The second strike hurt far worse than his first.
Bailey knew the power words. Knew that by magical means they could break you down to pieces, literally, or build you up to impossible heights… knew that even a mortal could deliver a fatal blow if they so wantonly chose.
But this…
His response—his rejection—cut deeper than she could have ever anticipated. It wounded her in a way that left even her wolf spirit yielding ground to lick its wounds. How could he walk away from her? From their soulmark? She couldn’t wrap her head around it.
Bailey stood speechless as he pushed through the crowd, aiming for the exit. It was clear he was finished with the conversation and her.
A flash of anger snapped Bailey out of her stupor. She stalked after him with haste, catching him on the outskirt of the room.
He came to stop, glaring at the hand she had wrapped around his upper arm.
"Are you fucking serious?" Bailey trembled. Her grip tightened. "You're just going to run away like a child?"
"If anyone is the child in this scenario, it's the person who's blatantly ignoring the other's refusal." Bailey's throat tightened as Ronan yanked his arm out of her hold and attempted to smooth his ruined shirt.
"Says the man who lied to me." The pain in her voice was obvious, even to her. "You tried to hide the fact that we were destined to be together. Not me."
Ronan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Bailey was barely holding back tears she was so hurt and enraged. "Listen, Bailey, you're a nice kid—"
"Excuse me? A nice kid? I'm twenty-eight years old." Ronan's lips pressed to a thin line. A stone settled in the bottom of Bailey's stomach. "Is that how you see me? As a kid?" Still, he said nothing. "Can't we just talk about this?" she pleaded, her pain swiftly transforming to desperation that outweighed the rage that had brought them back toe to toe.
Ronan opened his mouth to speak, but as he did, a coarse shiver wracked his body. Bailey's eyes widened, as did Ronan's. His face paled as he shuffled back.
"I need to go." Bailey blinked in astonishment as Ronan turned tail and ran. She didn’t bother to go after him again, even though the action triggered her predatory instincts to give chase.
She was too shocked to move an inch. Too hurt to dare voice her case only to bear the brunt of another stinging rejection. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen when you found your soulmark. They just… didn’t. Once you found your soulmark, you were guaranteed a happily ever after. So, where was hers?
Doubt swept through her, its icy fingers pressing down on her shoulders until they sank low with self-pity and mounting confusion.
"What just happened?" Bailey muttered.
She still couldn’t fully wrap her head around what had just occurred, but she knew their conversation was most certainly not over despite his departure. She wanted real, honest answers, and she would get them one way or another.
Bailey rolled her shoulders back. The chilling cut of his rejection still lingered in her system, but a steely determination was taking hold of her. She wouldn't give up on him, on them. Somehow she'd make him see that they were meant for each other.
Inching back, still deep in contemplation, Bailey bumped into someone.
"Watch it, wolf girl," the woman snapped as she caught her balance. Bailey tossed her an unimpressed glare. She knew the woman in question. It was Franklin Baum. She was one of the oldest shifters at court and ran a group of independent shifter contractors called the Wildings.
"Speak for yourself, bird girl."
Franklin wore a cruel smile as she paused. "You know, I always wondered if you were more bark than bite. How about we find out?"
Bailey crossed her arms. Jakob's strict reminder that they were not to engage in any untoward behavior that might damage the family's reputation was a mere whisper in the back of her mind. Taking a step forward, she tilted her chin up. "Name a time and place."
The nasty edge of Franklin's smile softened as genuine excitement brightened her eyes. Bailey's previous anger and frustration swelled into anticipation. A good fight would vanquish the restless energy spiraling inside her. Franklin opened her mouth to respond, but in place of her voice was another's. Both women's heads snapped to the dancing crowd where the shriek of terror came from.
A second ticked by, and another scream erupted from the crowd.
"Looks like the party's finally getting started," Franklin commented wryly, searching the crowd with vivid interest. People were scattering from the dance floor, opening up the horrific scene for all to see. It was the bride. She was drenched in blood and standing over the body of her maid of honor.
II
"Shit," Bailey cursed.
The brilliant stain of crimson wasn't the only thing covering the bride. Streaks of viscous black liquid leeched their way up her arms. Bailey gagged at the sight.
The bride, Laxmi, snarled in fury. Her back arched as she released a guttural roar. Bailey readied to make her escape, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet. She didn't want or need to be involved in whatever mayhem played out, but morbid curiosity stalled her flight plan as she caught sight of the groom's wary approach to his bride.
Eris held his hands placatingly up in the air as he maneuvered his way through the abandoning crowd. His lips moved fast, but the music was too thunderous to make out his plea. Whatever it was, wasn't working.
"What the fuck is that?" Bailey glanced at Franklin, surprised the owl shifter was still there. She scanned the room, eyes landing on a mysterious figure dressed in darkness.
"No clue."
Bailey frowned as she studied the ominous newcomer.
The hooded figure was cloaked in darkness that billowed from them in shadow-like smoke. Bailey's frown morphed into one of growing dread as its shadow-drenched arm reached out. The dark figment of outstretched fingers was barely visible in the glinting disco lights, but they, too, dripped with gossamer shadows. They bled into the air, only to disappear moments later.
Laxmi let out a hellish shriek, and Bailey's anxious gaze returned to the bloodthirsty vampyré. The rivulets of black veins banded out across her chest and up her neck. As they reached her cheeks, the whites of her eyes and irises were consumed with the same horrific blackness. Laxmi cried her rage again, halting mid-scream to crank her head to the side and sniff the air like some wild beast.
All Bailey's instincts screamed at her to flee, but she couldn't move her feet. Those who remained monitored the scene with grotesque fascination until the mysterious hooded figure shifted forward like a phantom.
Blistering magic cut through the air as one of the groomsmen aimed at the figure. Then another, and another. Groomsmen after groomsmen joined the fight against the shadowy phantom. Their aim was lackluster, thanks to their intoxicated state, but their spells were no less potent. Bailey hissed as her bicep was hit from behind. Warm blood ran down her arm an instant later.
She shot a glare at the sorcerer, but his glazed focus was entirely on the task at hand. Seconds later, a very male and very agonized shout filled the room.
Bailey's attention zeroed in on the bride hunched over her groom's body. Her face was buried in his neck. Bailey blanched and rocked back several steps, her body's flight instincts finally taking hold.
The groom's cry cut off abruptly as his head fell to one side. Laxmi heaved back with a moan, seemingly impervious to the barrage of spells now being aimed at herself. She rose from the groom's body, gaze drifting around the room for her next conquest when she stilled and sniffed the air again. Bailey tensed, even though Laxmi's back was to her.
Laxmi stiffened slowly and spun a quarter clockwise. Bailey followed her line of sight, stilling as she saw her target: Stella.
Bailey didn't think. She moved.
The crowd had thinned considerably, leaving an unobstructed path for Bailey to reach her friend. She dodged and ducked the spells flying through the air as she raced to beat the bride.
"Oh no, you don't," Bailey growled, using her lycan speed to close the distance, while Laxmi stalked toward Stella like some kind of wendigo, possessed and inflicted with a cannibalistic appetite.
Stella was too busy heralding some unfortunate soul's death to comprehend the fatal attention on her. Her mouth was stretched open in a silent scream, and her eyes squeezed shut tight.
"Get back!" Bailey shouted as Stella finished, her eyes fluttering open in exhaustion. Stella stumbled over her feet to obey, looking frantically between Bailey and Laxmi. Scattered chairs marred her retreat, drawing the color from her face.
Bailey lunged seconds before the bride, shifting midair to her wolf form in a crescendo of cracks, snarls, and a flurry of torn fabric. Her canine jaws latched onto the back of the bride's neck and yanked until Laxmi collapsed.
Bailey bounded off Laxmi before her body hit the ground, shifting into her human form with a smattering of groans and shuddering cracks. She ground her teeth together as the final stands of sinew pulled muscle and bones together properly. A large sigh followed as she stared at Laxmi's still body.
"Are you okay?" Bailey wiped the blood smeared across her mouth. Stella stared blankly at her; lips parted in shock. "Hey, it's all right." Bailey softened her voice as she laid a hand on Stella's shoulder. She glanced back at her handywork, surprised to see the sickly blackness vanishing from Laxmi's skin. "She can't hurt you."
"I know," Stella murmured, eyeing her warily before looking away. Splashes of red dotted her cheeks. "Bailey, you're… naked."
Bailey blinked and glanced down at herself. Then around the room. The hooded figure was gone, and only a handful of sorcerers and shifters remained. There wasn't a vampyré in sight. Bailey sighed again. She wasn't bothered by her nudity, but she was rather discerning in who was allowed to see her in such a state.
The need to protect Stella had overridden her discretion.
Bailey looked dejectedly at the confetti-like tatters of her clothes, lips curling down. I liked that outfit….
"Hey, you!" Bailey barked at the nearest sorcerer, who stared dumbfounded at the carnage left on the dance floor. He flinched back at the whip-like delivery of Bailey's address. Not far from the maid of honor and groom, another sorcerer lay crumpled on the ground. Bailey assumed he was the victim of the mysterious phantom. "Give me your robe." His eyes widened as he took in Bailey's state of undress. Similar to Stella, his face colored bright red. "Now." She added a growl for emphasis.
The sorcerer rushed to do as he was told, tossing his robe to Bailey once he was finished. She shrugged it on casually, pulling the end of her ponytail out from beneath its weight.
"Better?" Bailey asked Stella dryly. The banshee nodded, her shoulders slumping in fatigue. "How's your throat?"
Stella licked her lips. "It's been better." Her voice was raw and husky. "What was that thing?"
Bailey shook her head, replaying the mysterious phantom figure in her mind. Goosebumps rose to her skin. It had stretched its hand toward Laxmi, and then she attacked Eris. She didn't believe it was a coincidence. Nothing ever was in the Dark Court. The phantom must have been in control of Laxmi. It was the only thing that made sense.
"Damn, wolf girl. You don't fuck around, do you?"
Bailey turned halfway to see Franklin. Leaning heavily on her was another female, whose dress was turning redder by the second. Irritated by Bailey's regard, the second female's lip curled back to reveal shining white teeth.
"What happened to you?"
"Shadowmancer," the injured female grunted, then winced.
Shadowmancer? Bailey knew a lot about supernatural creatures and lore thanks to a pack mate's wife, Callie, but shadowmancer didn't ring any bells.
"That's what that thing was?"
"Your guess is good as ours," Franklin replied, shifting her hold for a better grip. "Seriously though, you were good out there. Fast and decisive. No bullshitting around, " Franklin said, ignoring her friend's low rumble of pain. "You did a hell of a better job of stopping that vampyré than the sorcerers."
Bailey grudgingly turned to face the shifters fully. "Thanks." Her cautious reply earned a smirk from Franklin.
"Wow, you take compliments well." Bailey rolled her eyes, fighting off the traitorous grin trying to worm its way onto her face. "Anyway, if you ever get bored saving damsels in distress or hanging out with vampyrés all night, you should find me. The Wildings could use your skill set, and we'd pay you a pretty penny for it." Bailey opened her mouth to reply, but Franklin quickly shook her head, cutting the she-wolf off short. "Just think about it."
Bailey and Stella stood silent as the pair limped their way out of the room and then followed shortly after when the sorcerers began to gather around their fallen. Bailey cleared her throat and caught Stella's eye.
"Come on; I'll walk you back to your room."
Ronan gasped for breath as he emerged in his private study from a world of ravenous shadows. He spun around, desperate to understand what had just occurred, only to fall to his knees. Smoke and shadows billowed off him into nothingness. He stared at his hands. They were drenched in a darkness he couldn't control, but it wasn't for lack of trying.
"Breathe," he commanded himself and screwed his eyes shut.
The world was off its axis, but slowly it was righting itself. Ronan shivered as an invisible cord unwound from his body. The way it cut at his insides left no doubt in his mind that it was some kind of dark magic. As it dissipated, Ronan was able to better grasp the power that remained inside him.
