Phoenix Broken (20 page)

"Seriously? After all the accusations, the snide remarks, now you've decided…what exactly? That it's okay to fuck me? Thanks, but no thanks, Johnny. I'll take the pain." Curling up in the misery she couldn't hide any longer, Des buried her face in her pillow, trying to hold back tears by the skin of her teeth. And failing.

"No. No sex." His tone was adamant—even harsh—but in the next breath, she felt his fingers in her hair, gently turning her face away from the pillow. Forcing her to face him, the rough pads of his thumbs flicking away her tears, his face tight, eyes searching hers. "You need me to come, right? That's it?"

Too exhausted to twist away, she looked up at him. "Yes. It just has to be because of
me,
Johnny, so what in—" She bit back a scream as the first wave of true agony bowed her spine, her hands flying out to dig into the bedspread, almost shredding the cloth before the spasm receded.

It seemed to last a lifetime. Bit by bit, color and sound came back slowly. So slowly. The attack left her gasping, trying not to retch. Sweat broke out over every inch of her body. Des stared up at the ceiling as her frightened heart tried to claw its way out of her chest.

That was not nice.
Not nice at all.

Oh god, I can't do this.
More tears leaked down her cheeks.

"Fuck!" Scott had gotten to his feet at some point. He stood over her now, his hands bunched into fists. "The
trigger
has to be you, right? Not the actual physical act. Isn't that what you said?
Emotional release."

"Yes." Des said, not a drop of fight left in her, "but I don't…"

He let one hand drop, his fingers trailing over the zipper of his jeans, thumbing open the top button. His eyes met hers. "Don't worry, I got it covered. You won't have to do a thing."

"You want to…you mean…" This time she was the one who couldn't articulate the words. She opened her mouth, then shut it. She was finding it hard to breathe again, but not from pain.

"It's nothing I haven't done before."

"But ….thinking about
me?"

The smile twisting those lips was bitterly amused as he looked down at her. "Like I said, Des. Nothing I haven't done before."

Her eyes widened. 

"Lay back." He pointed at her pillow. "Close your eyes. And don't leave that goddamn bed."

His voice was thick, rough, but somehow it soothed all her frayed edges. It was also unmistakably a command.

Des obeyed. Even though she desperately wanted to see, she shut her eyes. She could still feel his gaze on her. The weight of it; tactile and warm. Like a caress. Drifting over her. As if his hands were on her skin, stroking away the hurt. The godawful pain started to retreat a fraction as desire built; infinitesimally at first, then faster. His… and then hers.

The sound of a zipper. Des shifted restlessly, remembering the way he looked when she'd knelt before him, at the club that night. The feel of his cock springing into her hands. Against her lips.

The taste of him. She moaned.

Her nipples went taut, peaking against the fabric of her bra.

There was a groan from Scott.
Her eyes rolled behind her closed lids, as she struggled not to give in to the urge to look.

The air in the room seemed to heat and thicken. His desire was what her demon craved, but her body craved
him.
The weight of him on top of her, his mouth on her skin….she writhed in the covers, her demon growling ravenously.

Scott's desire was palatable, the taste of it rich in her mouth, but all she could think about was opening her eyes. Seeing his face right then. His eyes as he watched her….

Looking at her as he brought himself to release.

His shirt pulled up, exposing the ridges of that hard stomach, the fine dusting of dark gold hair trailing down. His cock in his hand, those strong fingers circling his girth, liquid beading at his tip.

How did he stroke himself? Fast and quick, or slow and hard?

Her teeth sank into her lower lip as a whimper escaped. Heat pooled low down in her belly, liquid waves lapping at her core.

Des' toes curled into the coverlet, her back arching slightly. There was a low hiss and the unmistakable sound of her name. Then everything seemed to
shatter…

A wall of energy smashed over her, breaking bright and hot. Making her shake and roll from side to side, her hands fisting into the covers. When it finally fell away, she went limp. Opening her eyes was impossible, they were far too heavy now.

So sleepy. So good.
Scott had more than delivered. Every trace of pain was gone. Her demon purred, full and happy.

Dimly, Des heard the sound of running water from her bathroom drifting to her ears.

Minutes later, a brush of warmth at her cheek
.

Scott kissing her?
Surely she was dreaming. Then his voice in her ear, soft and low. She shivered and let the two words carry her under.

"Sleep, angel."

He'd never seen anything so fucking erotic in his life. Staring at her bedroom door, Scott felt lost.

Had he really believed a succubae's power would be vapid, sordid—something cheap and slightly ugly? It'd been anything
but.

The way she'd looked on her bed was burned into his brain. The deep purple of her simple bra and panties contrasting against that heavenly caramel skin, her smooth tummy tightening when she'd closed her eyes for him. Then the trembling.

She'd been shaking from head to toe. Had it been merely the need to feed her demon? Or something more?

Could she truly want him
that
badly?

Her toes curling into the bed when he'd come for her had undone him. He was surprised he'd lasted as long as he had. His cock had been ready to burst even before he laid a hand on it.
Jesus.

Not getting in that bed with her had taken everything he had.

The energy washing over her when he'd come had been invisible to his eyes, but the effects were crystal clear. Des' skin had gone luminescent. The tips of her hair had actually
glowed
. Her lips had parted on a gasp and her legs had fallen open, giving him a glimpse of glistening pink through her twisted panties…

Fuck.
He'd actually taken a step, imagining himself between those thighs, getting a taste of her …

If Des hadn't practically passed out after what he'd done, Scott knew he would have. He'd just come five minutes ago and he wanted her more than ever. Every fucking bit of her.

As he'd told her before, he wasn't shy, not about sex or anything to do with it. He'd only wanted her eyes closed to lessen the connection, to make it less personal. It hadn't worked.

In fact, it'd done the opposite. At least for him.

Scott's tastes ran the gamut, from mildly kinky to somewhat …wild. Before Fannie, and with her, he'd indulged that side of himself often and creatively. He knew he had a mild dominance thing going on. Or more specifically, a
control
thing
.

He'd always been so sweet and funny, most people never knew that sweetness hid a beast inside of him. Few ever got flashes of what lied beneath, especially before Fan had died.

Scott knew Jules had caught a glimpse, more than once. His fellow soldiers had even known that part of him well. And they were among the few that hadn't judged. Part of it was his powers, of course. Scott knew he was one of the most powerful
paras
yet born, but it wasn't that …or not
just
that.

There'd always been violence in him. It was born and bred in his very bones, his fucking DNA. Scott had chosen what kind of man he would allow himself to become at the age of thirteen, when his father had beaten him to within an inch of his life for the last time. Deciding not to pick on those smaller or weaker had been easy. What'd been harder was choosing how he would deal with the strong and cruel. Like his father.

Killing was easy, control was hard. He hadn’t killed his father that night, but he'd come close…

So fucking close. He’d ripped his childhood home to the ground, consumed by the power that hadn’t frightened him in the least, until it came time to tuck it away again. Stopping had taking everything in him and then some. The police found him in the woods the next day, sick and shaking. They called the destruction of his house a freak weather occurrence, but of course, Scott knew better.

With his father gone, never to be seen again, Scott had gone into the system. He didn’t know what he was then, but he knew he needed to find a way to control what was inside of him.

Going into the military had been part of honing that need for control, choosing the Marines simply because, in his opinion, they made an art form out of it.

After years and years, it finally became second nature. The beast was leashed.

When he'd left the service, he hadn't been worried. He had Phoenix as an outlet, a way to let him maintain control one way, and Fannie had always given him free rein in the bedroom to work it out any other way he might choose. It had never been about pain or humiliation, he couldn’t stand that shit.
Control,
though—not just holding himself in check, but the woman he wanted and who wanted him back—
that
fascinated him.

What he'd done with Des here and now smacked of that.
Keep your eyes closed and don't leave that bed.

He shuddered as he faced her door.

Fan was gone. Scott knew that—he just hadn't accepted it. He didn't know if he ever would.
Or that he wanted to.

But this was his second time now finding release with Des. He'd be lying through his teeth if he said he didn't want more. More of that feeling and more of
her,
especially after what had just happened.

That could be a problem, in more ways than one. Ever since Fannie had been killed, the beast was growing. His control was slipping. He could still bring it to heel, but more and more…the rope was sliding away from him. He'd kept it in check through vicious workouts, routine and doing his best not to feel a goddamn thing. It hadn’t really worked, but it’d kept him functioning, until
she
showed up. The little demon had put a crack in his walls. If they crumbled…

That door between him and Des right now represented a lot of things. Opening it, literally or figuratively, could land them both in a world of shit. He wasn't safe. Hadn't been safe for a long time. The other night in Centaries proved it. He hadn't lost control of his powers since that long-ago night in the South Side.

His only goal had been to rein himself in until he could get close enough to unleash the monster growing inside of him on Cross. He wasn't sure he'd survive—wasn't sure he wanted to. Scott didn't think of himself as suicidal—he would never consciously do such a thing to his children—but he also didn't consider himself super committed to living.

Mags suspected this. It was one reason he'd started avoiding the telepath in certain settings; like the gym, where he let his aggression out. He'd caught her eyeing him strangely there one day, when his thoughts had been particularly grim.

Elementals had a certain protection against empaths; though if one as powerful as Mags went after him, Scott figured he'd be fucked unless they were in the deep woods, or the goddamn Amazon. Somewhere his power would be as limitless as hers. Mags didn't go digging in her friends' heads, but he knew she caught random thoughts and it worried him.

Jules would shut his ass down if he knew what Scott was afraid of.

He stared at Des' door.
No.
This was too risky. He couldn't afford to give in to his desire for her.

It didn't help that he still had no idea if this feeling were purely his own. It felt that way, hell yeah. But what if she
were
using him? If he couldn't trust Desdemona, he'd no business touching her. No matter what his goddamn dick wanted.

With a curse, Scott turned around and walked away.

Des entered the gym on edge, but Scott hadn't arrived yet. She'd woken this morning wondering if last night had been a dream. Her bruises were gone and she felt good. Wonderful, not to put too fine a point on it.

Then at the breakfast table, a subdued Mags handed her a note.

"Davidson," was all she said. There was a look on the telepath's face that warned her Mags wasn't in the mood for chatting. Neither was Des, not after reading Scott's note.

'Be in the gym no later than 5 tonight. Obviously, we have work to do.'

Not a word about what had happened between them. Well, what had she expected?

For him to call and ask if she was feeling better?

How would she have replied anyway?

Very much so, thanks for coming.

Literally.

A smile twisted her lips as the gym doors fell shut behind her.

Nolan was over lifting weights, along with a redhead she remembered seeing here that night with Miles. She didn't know his name, but he was staring at her with a sparkle in his big brown eyes. She frowned. Nolan finished his set, then waved her over as he grabbed a towel slung over a weight rack. He looked tired.

My fault.

"Sorry again about the 1a.m. wake-up call, Nolan."

"It's hardly your fault someone tried to kill you." He shot her a sympathetic smile.

"Some might say differently."

Nolan frowned, wiping his sweat-slicked face, before absently swiping at his chest and stomach. Des couldn't help but stare. The man was built like some kind of Greek god, only by way of Hell's Kitchen. Short black hair, tattoos screaming down one arm and spilling over his powerful torso in a vivid wave of ink. And all those hard, bronzed ripples….

He wasn't her type. But Nolan sure as hell was…
distracting.

Des shook her head, forcing herself to focus on his eyes. They were hazel and amused as he watched her get a hold of herself. He dropped the towel back on the rack with a smile. This one knew the effect he had on women alright, but he wasn't an asshole about it. Des had a feeling Nolan wouldn’t be an asshole about much.

His emotional aura to her demon was full of blue-greens; soothing, calm, confident.
Caring.
She liked him. She also wondered idly what his
para
talent was.

"What you up to, Des? I thought you'd been cleared from your assessment. Scott said you really kick ass."

Did he?

"Well, apparently, my performance last night was found lacking. I've been ordered back to training. With the man himself."

Nolan's eyes widened. "It's probably not a bad idea after what happened. Still, my condolences."

She forced a laugh. "He's not
so
bad." Des felt the need to defend her Johnny, though considering how he'd treated her, he sure as hell didn't deserve it.

Then again…after last night…

He'd helped her.

Yeah, it hadn't exactly been a chore for him, but
still.
She couldn't help but be grateful. That pain had been downright terrifying, and she knew damn well she'd only gotten a taste of how bad it
could've
been. A shudder went through her.

"Poor thing is terrified." This from the redhead.

Her shoulders went back. "I am
not,"
she snapped.

"Well, you should be. You sure you've met Davidson? Big guy, 'bout my height, but with shoulders like a brick shithouse? Expression like a hellhound on a bad day?" The guy tilted his head, giving her a slanted, amused look from brown eyes that had an amber glint to them.

"Behave, furface." Nolan rolled his eyes. "This is Alcide, Des. I don't think you were introduced. He's alright…for a mangy mutt. Bit on the mouthy side."

"Thanks for that, buddy." This one was sexy, too, but nothing like Nolan.

Des studied him as he extended a hand. Shaggy, brilliantly red hair, a toned, well-built body that he was still growing into. He couldn't be much more than twenty, despite the heavy, well-trimmed beard he sported. It suited him. There was a hipster vibe to Alcide; all laid back attitude and casual confidence.

Trouble.
That was her immediate thought.
This one is trouble. Capitalize the 'T' and roll the 'r'.

His slow, wicked grin as he withdrew his hand from hers didn't do anything to change her mind.

"So… sparring with Davidson. I hear that's no damn fun. A few rounds with me would be a lot more entertaining. What do you say, pretty little demon child?"

She raised an eyebrow at the unmistakable invitation. A bit older than twenty then, or just incredibly cocky. Or…

Ah.

"You're a shifter, aren't you?"

It wasn't always a given that shade would recognize shade, but shifters—particularly werewolves—had a thing for succubae. She was guessing he was a wolf from his reaction to her, but his aura was harder to identify than usual.

Most of the time, it was a simple matter for her kind to peg a shape shifter. Because their emotions ran the gamut; in constant flux between their human form and the beast contained within. That made their aura about as subtle as a flashing neon light.

Alcide's emotions were odd, though—far more subdued than she'd ever seen in a shifter before; particularly a wolf, who burned even brighter than the shifter norm, and flickered faster.
There.
The telltale strobe-like effect was there when she focused hard enough.

"Werewolf," he said, confirming her suspicions with a disarming grin. "Alcide Lee Holt, of the legendary Boundary Waters pack at your service. In any and every way." He looked her over, giving a soft, appreciative growl that set her to giggling.

"Damn. That's supposed to turn the ladies on, not make them laugh." His hangdog look didn't fool her, he wore it a little too well.

She laughed harder. "You're good, but I'm not falling for that sexy puppy act you got going on."

"Hey now, I put a lot of time and effort into that."

"Something tells me there's
way
more truth there than you want to admit. Practice in the mirror every day, do you?"

The werewolf threw back his head and laughed until he howled.

"If you two are done flirting, we got actual fucking work to do here."

That low voice pulled her head around like a magnet.

She'd known the sweetness she remembered from last night had been too good to be true. Scott's eyes were pure green fire, snapping at her and Alcide. His short blonde hair stood up in artless spikes, as if he just shoved a hand through it. Dark gold stubble shadowed his jaw. He was all in black today. Not there was much to that
all.
Thin cotton gym shorts, the drawstring tightened low on lean, tanned hips. Not a stitch anywhere else. Bare foot, bare chested…and utterly edible.

Why can't it be Nolan that makes my tummy go all fluttery, or that funny, cocky werewolf?

Why…him?

Des took a shaky breath as her eyes wandered helplessly over every sculpted inch.

Scott wasn't a werewolf and he didn't have Nolan's tattoos, but there was a stealthy, dangerous power in the way he moved that left the other two men looking like school boys.

It was obvious he considered his body a weapon and had honed it precisely as such. The fact that all his hard work made her want to lick him all over was just a happy by-product. His lips pressed together as he stared at her. Scott hadn’t shaved since last night, and the dark shadow on his jaw lent him an even more dangerous air.

Des swallowed as their gazes locked.

There was an excess of fine looking males in this gym, but he was the one that made her throat dry.

And he just
had
to be the one staring at her with murder in his eyes.

Well, at least there is
some
consistency in this old world, even if it's only my shitty-ass luck.

"We'll be doing kickboxing today. Put these on." He tossed a pair of lightweight fighting gloves at her.

She blinked in surprise. "Why kickboxing?"

"Muy Thai has some of the most practical and easy to learn defensive moves. You obviously need more work in that area than I thought."

"He came at me from behind, Johnny. His hands were around my throat almost before I knew he was there. And he was a good foot taller than me. All I got to show for the one blow I got in—bashing my skull into his chest—was a knot of the back of my head as big as your fist." Which was gone now, of course. Thanks to her demon genes and Scott's healing last night.

"Ready to stop whining and get in the damn ring?" His voice was short and cold. She knew it, she'd been hallucinating his apology last night.

Throwing up her hands with a curse, Des stomped away from him. A wicked impulse seized her...

Muay Thai was one of her favorite fighting styles and the only one Guido had ever complimented her on. She'd cleaned his clock one memorable—sadly never to repeated—sparring match.

Des purposely stumbled through the ropes as they entered the ring that stood in the back of the gym. Strapping on the thin gloves with excruciating slowness, she finally held out her right hand for Scott to lace up with a helpless smile. As he did so, grumbling under his breath, she cleared her throat, biting back a giggle. Alcide, who'd moved closer to watch, caught her look and frowned. She put a finger to her lips, hastily dropping it as Scott looked up.

His green eyes narrowed, but Scott strapped on his own gloves in short order with a glare at Alcide,
and
Nolan, both of whom had taken a seat on a nearby weight bench. The sun was a golden red glow behind them that made Des squint. She could just make out the werewolf's grin as he waved cheerily.

With a disgusted snort, Scott turned his back on them and focused on Des.

Here we go.

He closed quickly, pressing her more viciously than he ever had before. Forcing her to retreat and dodge and protect. Des knew allowing Scott to get in a direct hit was not an option. Not if she wanted to stay upright. He'd always pulled his punches with her, but something told her he wasn’t inclined to tonight. It seemed Nolan wasn’t the only one taking the attack last night a bit personally. Scott granted her no quarter at all; using that hard, lethal body to trap her movements at every turn, to press her back, cage her in.

It was frightening to learn just how much he'd been holding back. He was insanely good.
Lethal.

One of the men watching hissed out a breath when Scott got in a glancing blow. It landed along her ribs like white hot fire. She whirled away with a gasp. Seizing the opportunity, Des pretended to trip over her own feet, cradling her side.

Scott moved in, whether to finish her off or check that she was okay, she didn't know. She planted her feet and waited, in a half crouch.

"She's playing him, watch her feet." Alcide's excited whisper reached Des' ears right before she struck.

Sneaking in fast, she dodged to Scott's right and tapped him twice in the jaw.
Hard.
He shook it off. Coming at her fast again, trying to intimidate her with his size. It didn't work. Des' partner had always been Guido—who had at least thirty pounds and several inches on Scott.

Des swept left, tagging his ear as she passed, forcing him to turn to keep her in sight. Making him chase her down, while she got in a blow here and there, always going for his head.

Hitting the face and skull was hard on the hands. Still, Guido had taught her, when fighting a much bigger and stronger opponent, it could be a smart tactic. Hitting his body with her fists wouldn't do much damage to him and would wear her out. Getting in repeated hits to his head while keeping Scott moving after her would use his size against him and do more immediate damage. At least that was the plan.

For shiggles, she decided to whirl out a kick, aimed for his chin.

Quick as a flash he caught her foot, yanking it up in one big hand, tossing her off balance before he threw her lightly into the ropes.

"Don't get cocky."

"No," she panted, shoving herself back into the ring. "That's your job."

"I'm not cocky
.
I'm good. And so are you, Des, but you never go hard. I don’t believe you could kill someone. Make me believe it."

He slammed her against the ropes, caging her in again. Two blows to her ribs took the air from her lungs, though he'd pulled them again. Scott seemed unwilling to really hurt her. At least physically.

"What if I can’t do that?" she snapped.

His look was incredulous, and something like worry danced in his eyes. “You
have
to. They’re trying to kill you, Des.”

She frowned. She always skirted this issue with Guido, too. They didn’t understand, they never would. They weren’t built like her.