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Always so classy, these guys.
As their urine rinsed the blood from Jim’s face, he coughed and gagged, unable to prevent some from entering his mouth. An overwhelming stench of ammonia began creeping towards the pine tree I was leaning against. My nose scrunched in disgust. Someone seriously needed to start drinking more water.
Taking this as my cue to leave the area, I pushed away from the tree and prepared to take my ass to bed, faltering when Brody moved again.
Samael’s weighted stare met mine as he approached the group of barbarians from the opposite direction.
He didn’t seem surprised to see me out this late or standing near the pits. But then, he’d always had the freakish ability of knowing exactly where I was and when. I used to find comfort in the fact that he could find me no matter what. Now I couldn’t stand it.
I turned and kept walking, flats moving over the leaves littering the dirt path. There were only a few yards between this end of the camp and the other, sparsely separated by a thicket of trees.
Samael called to me as I rounded the first slight bend. I didn’t answer. Our last conversation—if you could call me yelling while he remained infuriatingly impassive a conversation—hadn’t gone anywhere but sour. I wasn’t up for a continuation.
I’d been doing all I could to avoid seeing him at all recently—a task so much easier planned than implemented when he was the equivalent of a king around here. Even when I didn’t see him, he was there. In revered whispers. Inspirational speeches.
Executions.
I hated bearing witness to his uprising while on the outside looking in, but it was a necessary measure to guard an already battered and bruised heart.
“Lils,” he tried again, closer than before.
Dammit.
I forgot how fast this man could move. Despite knowing how irate he got when ignored, I still didn’t slow. Besides, I’d asked him to stop calling me that nearly a year ago.
I could feel him coming up right behind me. It was impossible not to when his aura was bigger than everything that surrounded us.
It had been this way since we were young. The first word that came to mind when I tried to describe it was ‘smoldering.’
His aura burned so intensely, you were damned to be trapped within it, happily falling victim to the blaze, or fighting not to become enflamed.
This was exactly why I should have moved faster. He wouldn’t have been able to reach out and grab hold of my wrist, leaving me no other option but to stop walking.
“I know you heard me calling you.” His fingers held firm as he maneuvered himself in front of me, effectively blocking my path.
I tested his grip by trying to pull free, scowling when it tightened. I lifted my gaze to his, skimming over his shirt-clad chest.
“What do you want?”
“Ah, so you’re at phase three.”
“I’m at what? What’s phase three?”
I tried to pull away again. He tsked at me in mock admonishment. “The more you struggle, the tighter I’m going to hold.”
He emphasized his point by tightening his grip even more. It didn’t hurt, but I knew he could easily change that. As his calloused fingers rubbed against my skin, the thought of using my teeth came and went. If I bit him, he’d bite back harder. I knew from prior experience that was liable to lead to our clothes coming off.
“You don’t need to hold onto me. I’m not going to run away."
“You just were.”
“No, I wasn’t,” I lied. “What do you want, Mal?”
Mal. Because it was either this or Malum these days, and I refused to call him by any other name than his own. At least I could convince myself Mal came from Samael.
“Did you know you go through four phases when you try to be pissed at me?
“One, you’re mad. Two, you’re over it. Three is where you pretend to still be upset.”
“And four?” I drawled dryly.
“That’s when you remember you’re hopelessly in love with me and nothing I say or do will ever change that.”
I kept my face blank. I was well versed in expecting the unexpected when Samael opened his mouth. You never knew what he was going to say until he said it. Phase one through three was bull, but four? That hit much too close to the malignant truth.
“I am mad at you,” I deflected.
“Liar.”
“Don’t you have anything productive to do? Maybe you should go babysit those Neanderthals and tell them to put their dicks away.”
His fingers flexed around my wrist. “You aren’t allowed to talk about dick.”
I would’ve laughed, but I knew he was being serious.
As we grew up, his possessiveness matured right along with us.
I pulled against his grip again, somewhat surprised when he let me go. A little confused but not daring to waste any time pondering his behavior, I continued on my way. I didn’t make it far before his large hands were grasping my hips, easily manipulating my body so that I was facing the opposite direction once more.
