The Becoming Trilogy Box Set (Books 1-3) (48 page)

‘Trouble in paradise, my
Lord?’ Brandr’s voice was thick with sleep as he raked the wild mass of dark
curls from eyes that were darker still.

‘That’s none of your fucking
business.’ Tight-lipped, MacTire reigned in his anger. ‘Is this the
thrall
the Savage bit? The one you picked up in Doyle’s office?’ His hand braceleted
one of the girl’s slender wrists, already bruised from the latest orgiastic
feast at which she’d featured as the main course.

‘She’s the one,’ Brandr
nodded, ‘quite the little firecracker too.’ With the flat of his hand, he
pushed the girl from his bed. ‘What is mine is yours, my Lord.’ A smirk played
at the corners of Brandr’s mouth. If he had an opinion on what MacTire was or
wasn’t getting from the she-wolf in his chambers, Brandr knew better than to
voice it.

‘You’re going to do something
for me,’ MacTire commanded the girl, tugging her into the corridor by her
wrist. She stumbled along the uneven rock in her red-soled shoes in an effort
to keep up.

‘Yes Sir, of course.
Anything,’ she breathed and it sounded seductive. He pulled her harder.

The bastard had moved her
again!

Ash popped up meerkat-style
and the floor yielded with the motion, cushioning her. Her fist pounded the
soft bed. ‘Asshole! I can sleep where I want!’

‘You shouldn’t insult his
Highness,’ the voice was dreamy behind her, throaty, ‘you should worship him.’

Ash spun off the mattress to
confront the intruder. It was a she. It was
the
she. Red Shoes. The
sight of her sickened Ash to the core. This was the woman Connal had supposedly
turned into the simpering addict now stood before her. This was the woman that
had been ravaged as Ash watched. Her entire body flamed in remembrance. She
tried, and failed, to look the woman in the eyes. The wall was a safer focal
point.

‘What are you doing in here?
Mac went that way, I think.’ Her arm waved towards the door, but the woman
ignored the invitation to leave.

The
thrall
was
positively scowling, her pretty face displeased at Ash’s nickname for the King.
‘I’m not here for him,’ she said. ‘His Highness does not wish for
my
company.’

Ooh, was that jealousy?
Amusement briefly overcame irritation. ‘No? Such a shame …’ Ash replied, moving
around the room, keeping the
thrall
at the centre of her attention,
vaguely aware what she was doing could be classed as prowling. The woman
brought out Ash’s claws, and she’d yet to figure out how to properly sheathe
them. Red Shoes knew things, things Ash needed to know. ‘Have you been down
here long?’ she asked.

‘Time has no meaning. There’s
no daylight, you know, no night. Clocks don’t work.’

She was slightly robotic, and
Ash shivered.

‘Then how do you measure
time?’ Her brows creased. She’d taken to making marks on the walls, tallying
days however she could.

‘There is no time. There is
only them. They are sun and moon, seconds, minutes, and hours. Fill time with
them and you’ll never be left wanting.’

The girl was a grade-A wackadoodle.
Ash’s eyes narrowed. ‘The person who made you like this, did
he
leave
you wanting?’ She couldn’t bear to mention his name, but she had to know. She
had to know that Mac was lying to her.

The woman actually purred,
animated by the talk of sex. ‘Oh, he was spectacular. A pirate. He blew Jack
Sparrow out of the water.’

That dreamy look crossed Red
Shoes’ face again and Ash nearly lost the non-existent contents of her stomach.

‘He bound me in my own
underwear, did you know that?’

The woman’s laughter drew
Ash’s claws out full length.

‘He was a beast, all teeth
and rutting. He got me addicted to the way they bite … Fuck, the way they bite
… have they bitten you yet? You should let them, it’s orgasmic. On and on and
on.’

The scent of copper hit Ash’s
nose seconds before the wet trail from her palms hit the sensitive skin of her
wrists. She’d speared her own hands on the tips of her claws. Bearing down on
the pain, Ash searched for restraint as the woman continued on in a stream of
verbal porn, graphically describing the night Connal had forced her over a desk
and …

Ash growled, and it wasn’t a
human growl. It was predatory, belonging to something with fangs and talons
that could shred flesh. The
thrall
was too engrossed in her story to
notice Ash was circling her. Instinctive, her feet silent on stone, she
tightened the circumference with each pass.

‘I haven’t seen him since
I’ve been down here, I miss his cock. Have you seen him? Maybe he will take me
again, I’d die to get my mouth on him. I want to finish him, he left too soon
last time. Do you think he remembers me?’

The simpering
thrall
didn’t realise until it was too late and her words sliced a knife of jealous
possession through the cords of Ash’s restraint. Red Shoes went down hard.

A primal heart, beating
stronger than anything human, took control, and dagger claws tore the girl's
naked skin. Shrieks rose above Ash’s deranged growls.

Blood painted the rock
beneath them, spattering across Ash’s skin. Edward Scissorhands had nothing on
her, a small voice in the back of her head quavered. She terrified herself,
even as her hand caught the
thrall
’s ankle, dragging the worming female
back from her pathetic attempt at escape. So easily broken, the damage didn’t
seem nearly enough
.
The primitive thing inside her was frustrated,
starving for something it knew. It wanted Connal and this female had touched
him.

That feral possession was
killing the
thrall
.

Yet there was no stopping.
Inflamed by the blood, Ash struck again and again, forcing the woman to feel
her punishment. It felt wrong but it smelled so right. Fear and pain, acrid and
sweet.

‘Stop, please stop!’ The
woman’s screams were wet with blood, bubbling out of her throat. ‘Help! Oh God,
help! I’m sorry, so sorry!’

The rambling hysteria only
presented Red Shoes more as prey. The predator relished
that
its quarry
was
making more noise than an air siren.

Ash caught her own reflection
in the girl’s horrified brown eyes. Devil-red irises and sharply lengthened
canines snarled back at her. Her skin was blood-smeared, her hair tangled, and
she bore the scratch marks of the woman’s initial defence before the body
beneath her had gone belly up in submission.

Ash snapped her teeth inches
from the
thrall
’s throat, and the female emitted a lusty moan. Even in
agony, she was drawn to respond. Ash recognised the surrender, could smell it
in the pound of Red Shoes’ heartbeat, and the beast was torn between backing
off and tasting her obedience.

It never got the chance to
choose.

Tackled from the unresisting,
barely-breathing female, Ash found herself pinned, snarling and torquing, under
the King’s colossal muscle. Her back cracked into a whip of pain, like its
collision with the rock floor had shattered the vertebrae. She cried out.

She bucked against his restraining
hands, her hips battling the weight of his. He didn’t give her an inch. His
thighs pressed hers to the ground, ceasing her kicking. Mac was one big,
infuriating shackle. She bared teeth and went for his throat. He reared back
and she missed, but his hips connected with the centre of her body. Ash froze.

She froze because if she
moved, even a little, she’d be grinding on the obvious arousal pressing at the
core of her.

‘Ashling. Calm yourself,’ Mac
demanded.

Calm was nowhere near. Flames
licked between her thighs and left her slick. Her insides purred. Fury had been
diverted to lust in the presence of a male. The feral thing still wanted blood,
but was rendered sluggish by desire.

Ash fought it, tugging her
wrists in the vise of his hand, trying to free herself without wantonly driving
for friction where she ached.

A smirk graced Mac’s lips and
she answered it with a gnash of her jaws.

With the bloodlust
retreating, panic started to slip inside, expanding in narrow airways. There
was blood congealing on her skin. Her gorge rose, nausea breaking a cold sweat
on her heated skin and she whimpered.

‘Be calm,’ Mac’s tone
changed, his weight lifted from all but where he held her wrists. He was being
gentle again, as though sensing the panic rising over her. He soothed a hand
through her hair and her breath stuttered.

Needing a distraction from
his touch, she dared to look over his shoulder and the bloodshed played in HD
in front of her eyes. That poor girl had been torn up pretty good … by
her.
Ash
was teetering on the edge of control, and could see what happened when she’d
given it some rein.

Oh God, what have I done?
Dread seized her heart in its iron fist.

‘You have to breathe,
Ashling. I can help you, but you have to let me.’ Mac sounded exasperated and
exhausted, with a dose of concern.

A commotion came from behind
him. Ash didn’t look this time. She stayed fixed on the pale, feral-eyed
monster staring back at her from the reflection of his black gaze. Brandr was
cursing, stomping about and muttering about the mess. He bundled the injured
girl into his arms and left the room, his voice booming off down a corridor,
calling for their healer.

Oh no … she’d broken his toy.

The others were quiet, but
she could sense them, individual energies wound up by the violence lingering in
the room. Fite’s contemplation was a laser beam arrowed over Mac’s shoulder.
His intensity unnerved her. It sure as hell didn’t help calm her down.

‘Is she dead? Mac … Did I
kill her?’

Ash swallowed, tears wetting
her cheeks. Mac freed her hands and pulled her up, holding her close to his
chest. Despite the comforting gesture, Ash had the feeling he was still
restraining her. His heart was pounding almost as fast as hers. She moved to
splay her palm over that rapid beat and he flinched. She looked up at him,
confused to see his jaw clench. His strong fingers covered hers, carefully
easing out the nails that had slipped like needles beneath his flesh. He
pressed a kiss to her knuckles while rivulets of blood crept down over his
chest.

‘Oh God ...’ Ash pushed at
him, but he held strong. ‘You should go, get away from me.’ She strained to
break the bind of his arms. ‘Please, you make it worse ...’ It was the truth,
her nails would not retract, her body would not calm with him this close.

‘She’s not dead, Ashling.
She’s in shock and has lost a lot of blood, but I am confident she will not
die.’

She was certain he was lying
to her but she stayed silent, tense in his arms. His chest heaved, his lips
skimming the top of her head, voice a rumble at her ear. ‘Let’s get you cleaned
up, and then we can talk.
’

I
t was water. Bright, sparkling, clear-as-sky-blue
water and she never wanted to leave it. Surprisingly warm, it fell hard from a
gap in the stalactite ceiling, making music on the crystal rock floor and
trickling into the small pool basin she stood in.