Vein of Love (Blackest Gold Book 1) (27 page)

WHITE-HOT HEAT SPREAD
painfully slow through Molly’s body at the sound of his wet kisses along the girl’s collarbone.

“
Hello!
Privacy!” the girl hissed, waving her hand in Molly’s face.

Tensley’s dark eyes peered over the girl’s shoulder, and the sound of his lips on her flesh vanished. His grip loosened on the girl’s hips, but he didn’t let go. The two of them were woven together against a desk, lit by a nearby lamp so that Molly saw the girl’s glistening skin and Tensley’s heaving chest.

Molly’s heart shriveled back into its iron cage.              

“Molly,” Tensley murmured, but his shadowed features held no answers, no guilt or remorse.

Nothing.

She backed up, letting the door close again. Her vision blurred as she navigated through the hotel, past drunken partygoers and finally made it to the top of the Plaza’s gold-bedecked staircase.

Someone snatched her wrist and she cried out, twisting her hand away. “Get off—”

“Molly, hey!”

It was Stella, not
the devil himself
. Molly fell against her friend’s shoulder in a desperate embrace.

“What’s wrong?” Stella cradled her like she’d done to Tina a short while earlier.

“I have to go. Just tell September I left,” Molly said, pushing away.

Stella looked genuinely concerned. “I’ll go with you.”

“No. You stay here. I’m okay.” Molly forced a smile through the unwept tears.

“I’ll come over as soon as this thing is done, and we can talk,” Stella said as she combed a few golden curls from Molly’s lashes. Molly hugged her quickly and then took off. She galloped down the stairs and collided with more distracted ball attendees.

Once outside, she shook her hands out, taking long, hiccupping breaths.

Molly tripped over her dress, and in anger she threw off her shoes and decided to walk barefoot. The crescent moon hung above, half-hidden by dark clouds as the humid summer night swarmed her lungs.

“Molly!”

Molly turned. Illya jogged down the street toward her and slowed down, large-eyed, and let out a heavy sigh. “What’s wrong?”

“Tensley was kissing some woman. That’s all.” Molly’s voice wavered, but she covered it well.

Illya frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“I hate him,” Molly whispered as she turned. Illya followed beside, his hands stuffed into his pocket. “I don’t know why I’m like this. Why I care so much what he thinks of me.”

But she didn’t hate him, not really. She hated the situation, the culture in his society where one could not love, show affection, or even decency. Her feet dragged lazily along, and if she hadn’t been so worn down inside, the sidewalk’s rough surface would have hurt.

“It’s because you care,” he said, softly.

She let out a deep breath, hoping to steady herself. “And he doesn’t.”

“He does though.” Illya gripped her arm. “You know what happened to his older brother, Beau. You know the consequences.” He furrowed his brow and motioned to her. “He’s scared of you. He’s scared of himself with you. He’s harsh because he wants to protect himself, he’s rude because he wants to keep a distance between the two of you.”

“He was with someone else tonight, Illya, and that alone speaks volumes.” She twisted away, his fingers releasing her. He’d hurt her and she didn’t want him to have that control over her.

One of the streetlamps flickered and died up ahead. Two more went out, until they were swathed in the night’s inky blackness. Molly raised her head.
What the hell?
The street grew eerily quiet and Molly tried to swallow, but it seemed as if the inside of her mouth was covered in glue.

A howl bounced off the buildings.

Illya moved closer to her.

Then Molly saw them. The wolves paced back and forth, appearing and simultaneously vanishing into the shadows on one end of the street. An entire pack of familiars prowled farther back. They were about to be surrounded.

“Illya.” She clenched his wrist. “Shit. This is not happening.”

Illya focused on the moving figures and hissed lowly. “Run, now!”

Molly ran, legs thundering against the paved road away from the wolf pack.

The wolves howled and all the hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up. She led them into Central Park, hoping the few bushes and trees would buy them time.

“We need to get somewhere safe!” Illya yelled, jumping over a park bench.

Molly shook her head; Tensley was too busy sucking some woman’s face at the Plaza. All they could do was run. “Come on.” She ran under the bridges and toward a dark alley outside of the park. She ran into the alley, staying close to the wall to hide herself in the shadows.

Illya’s scream stalled her, coming to an abrupt stop. She spun around to see Illya had collapsed on the gritty floor of the alley a few feet away with an arrow through his right shoulder.

“Illya, oh god!”

She stepped forward and his eyes aligned with hers, sharp and dark—for the first time since she met him, he looked like a demon.

The wolves lurked behind him, snarling at their meal. When one darted forward, Molly swung her arm and shoved the familiar back. It skidded across the dirt, dust clouding the air.

About five figures stood around them, unrecognizable in the shadows.                

The wolves paced nearby, their growls ringing in Molly’s eardrums. Her whole body tensed and she drew in a sharp breath.
No, oh god, no.

“Molly,” Illya cautioned as she stepped closer, voice quick and hard. “Go, run.
Now.
”

Her eyes watered. She went to speak, to protest but she saw the shadows dragging across the brick buildings. She stared at Illya. His own eyes were bloodshot and he attempted to stop his bottom lip from quivering in front of her. Her chest ached.

She fisted her shaking hands. “I can fight them.”

Illya shook his head viciously and again, he looked like a rabid animal. “No,
no.
Go now, Molly.”

She stepped toward him, gripping his forearm only for him to shove her. She stumbled, biting hard down on the inside of her cheek and tasted blood. She gawked at Illya’s arched back, blood trickling down his gaunt muscles—his veins grew purple. “Illya,” she cried out, breathlessly. “I can’t leave you.”

“I can’t let them get you—Tensley wants you safe and I promised him I’d keep you that way. If they catch us both, no one will find us.” He struggled to move his legs but barely any movement was made. “
Go!
” His voice grew hoarse and his accent grew stronger. She winced at the sound of his roar, his frame trembling with pain, with anger, with pure, utter fear. He hissed in his native tongue. His dark eyes held that fear incredibly tight.

Someone laughed. Molly spun to the dark alley behind her and took a step back.

“You should have ran,
Darling.
”

Molly squared her shoulders and glared at where the voice came from; she recognized the speaker’s sadistic tone and could hardly form his name on her quivering lips. “Abaddon.”

“I’m flattered you remember who I am.” He emerged, tall and sturdy, fiery hair pulled back so tightly the strain around his hairline was evident. “You look ravishing tonight, Ms. Darling.”

He took his time with each step, smoothing his tongue along his crooked teeth, and his eyes sought her left hand. He snorted softly. “Rings don’t mean much to me.”

Molly hid the engagement ring behind her back and frowned.

“Now, a mark
does
, and by the looks of it”—his eyes danced over her body as a feral smirk warped his mouth—“he hasn’t left one.”

No. No.

Terror climbed from her stomach to her throat, and she choked on air.

Abaddon leered at her exposed shoulders and the tops of her breasts with a bemused expression, and Molly wished more than anything that Tensley had marked her.

But she had one more ace.

Molly stepped closer, pinning Abaddon with her blessed eyes. He swayed and tensed, falling under their spell, but Illya cried out. She turned to find Illya had yanked the arrow from his shoulder and teetered on his unsteady feet. She glared back at Abaddon who refused to meet her gaze.

“Look at me!” she shouted, but the demon only cackled.

“Not happening. Now come here.
Eyes closed.
”

She glared. “No.”

His smug expression stayed, though his large shoulders shifted at her disobedience. A snap of his fingers and chaos sprung forth. A familiar gripped Illya by his throat, a bone-chilling cry ringing out through the alley.

“Don’t! Don’t do that to him!” Molly said, rushing forward.

Abaddon put his hand out in front of himself and she stopped. “I wouldn’t go near them. They don’t just bark—they
bite
.”

Illya thrashed his whole body back and forth and the familiar growled, nails puncturing the fragile skin until multiple streams of red ran down his neck.

Molly ran a hand through her hair in panic. “Stop! Please!”

Illya choked on a scream.

“You can either let your friend die, or you can come with me,” Abaddon said, gesturing to Illya.

“Molly, don’t go with him,” Illya said in a small voice. Molly stared at him, battling herself.

Go with him, save Illya. Fight, risk both our lives.
Her hands shook.
Damn it.
She didn’t have a choice; she didn’t have time to figure out how to save herself.

“Wasted too much time. Rip his heart out. We’d be doing Lord Fallen a favour—”

The familiar pressed his fingers into Illya’s chest and a blood chilling scream left Illya’s lungs.

“Stop! Fine! I’ll go with you!” She couldn’t do it, she couldn’t watch them destroy Illya.

Abaddon’s grin grew and he snapped his fingers again. The man released Illya and he stumbled forward on unsteady legs.

Illya rubbed his chest, the holes from the puncture wound bleeding through his dress shirt. “Molly,
don’t.
”

Abaddon offered his hand, smirking. Molly walked forward, keeping her gaze down until the last minute when she grasped his hand, stared up at him, and quickly twisted his wrist until she heard it snap.

Instead of being weakened, however, Abaddon snarled and snatched her by the waist.

“I can walk by myself,” she said sharply, shoving him. He stumbled back, unbalanced, but his features warped into something thoroughly infernal. She braced herself, preparing to fight the way the demon hunters had taught her.

“Foolish girl,” he said. His voice morphed and seemed to detach from his human form. “You’re not powerful enough to face me—not without the marking.”

Her fists faltered, lowering, but she circled them tight again and glared. “I don’t—I don’t need him!”

I don’t need anyone.

“Molly!” Illya called out.

Abaddon’s smile was ruthless. “Sadly, you’re mistaken.”

He swung his long arm and she dodged, only to have him counter with his other hand and punch her in the cheekbone, throwing her off balance.

Abaddon swung her over his back and she shrieked, cursing and pounding against him. She dug her nails into his back and felt blood seep from the broken flesh.

It’s not working. Relax, just relax and absorb his strength.

But she couldn’t; her heart pounded violently.
Abaddon walked forward, managing both tasks. At first he laughed, but then his anger grew and he reached up to punch her in the ribcage.

“Let her go!” Illya cried, a stream of profanities following in Molly’s wake. The familiars kept him from reaching her, and Molly lifted her head to look behind just as a mysterious, shimmering portal seemed to open up in the air before them.

One more punch from Abaddon and darkness overwhelmed her.