Read Soul Avenged (Sons of Wrath, #1) Online
Authors: Keri Lake
Tags: #paranormal romance, #revenge, #werewolves, #demons, #vengeance, #adult fiction, #brotherhood, #steamy, #lycans
“
Did they
sip that sweet blood from your thigh? Have their long pink tongues
between your legs as they sucked and licked, sucked and licked?
Maybe you enjoyed it?” His whisper taunted her.
“
No, sir!”
Ayden barked, her eyes in a dead lock, blinded by the lights that
hung down over the steel table upon which she’d been
strapped.
Ayden heaved
with a series of kicks to the dummy’s torso.
Fuck you.
Her
ears pounded. Her teeth ground into each other. Sweat dribbled down
her temples.
“
I’m not
sure I believe you,” the voice hissed. “Look at the way you tremble
when I touch you. You want my filthy Lycan hands all over your
body, don’t you?”
He caressed
her thigh with a forced moan.
The wound had
already closed. Warmth spread across her flesh. Her own blood.
“
How is
that for you?”
His hands
continued to roam as he spoke of the wolves. Her muscles tightened.
The chains that held her dug into her skin. The pressure building
inside mounted as if she’d burst into flames any second. Links
popped. Ting! Ting! A haze of blackness filtered in.
Ayden froze,
her fists up tight against her body. Her dewy skin glistened back
at her in the mirror of the gym, nothing more than a blurred haze
of light. Beside her, the torso finally came to a standstill.
“
Get her
ass up.”
The dead, flat
tone of his voice pulled her from the darkness, where the single
light shining above didn’t reach.
She searched
the other side of the reflecting glow that showcased only her.
Masses of gray
indicated that others circled around her. She could just make out
their shadowy forms in the dark, as grunts and snorts identified
them.
Berserkers.
Halflings gone bad.
Wade’s
unpredictable and uncontrollable experiments he kept locked in the
deepest recesses of the basement, free to destroy each other or
starve.
And he’d let
them loose. With her.
“
Turns out,
princess, I don’t take kindly to having my head nearly severed.
Let’s see if you do.” Wade’s voice came through an intercom. Not
even he, their twisted creator, would chance being in the same room
as a Berserker.
As the grunts
grew louder, her instincts forced her to her feet. She stood atop
the shiny table, the light reflecting down enough to blind anyone
else.
The first
Berserker dropped a heavy fist against the steel tabletop, its skin
so mutilated—probably by the others—that white bone peeked through
the wrist. His roar filled the small room.
She smiled as
the sound tingled up her spine .
Unaware she’d
begun moving again, Ayden kicked and punched the torso before her
until it fell over onto the mat.
Gone.
She climbed
atop it, still lost in her reverie, and mercilessly pummeled the
lifeless object. “I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill every last one
of you!” Her voice reverberated back, the hatred piercing her
skull.
Blue flowers
drifted from the archway, catching in the white tulle of her dress.
Laughter. A kiss. Strong fingers entwined in hers.
She drew back
a fist and paused with heaving breaths, staring off at nothing.
What’s happening?
Anger shattered into wonderment.
Memories. Just
… memories.
A wave of
something unfamiliar—calming—washed over her; it relaxed her
muscles and pulled back like the tide, stealing away some of her
fury.
What the hell
is this?
Her mind
roused nothing more than she’d already seen. Only the gateway to
the darker images of her past lay beyond them.
No. No, no,
no.
She yearned
for the familiarity of her fury. The pictures pervading her
thoughts weren’t right.
What is this
princess shit?
Ayden dropped
her fists and bent forward, placing her hands on her thighs as she
took deep breaths.
Damn stupid,
happy thoughts had scrambled her brain.
Pressing her
fists to her temples, she squinted her eyes, her body tensed to
release a scream. Only silence passed through her opened mouth. Not
even pounding at her own skull could undo what she’d seen.
Go away.
A sensation
she hadn’t felt in a long time unfurled from its dormant state in
the pit of her stomach—panic.
Anger was a
necessity. A survival mechanism. Cheery bullshit like
flowers
and
laughter
didn’t belong in her head.
She fell into
a sitting position and pulled back the mesh sleeve. White scars
marred her forearm. A tattoo written in black Latin script circled
her tiny wrist. Her hand swiped the dagger at her hip, hesitant for
a moment. then removed the blade from its holster.
It’s been too
long. Just one time.
She hated that
the aberrant memory had somehow conquered her thoughts like a
foreign invader, trampling her fury in one sweep. She steadied the
knife over a skinny patch of unaffected skin, a narrow space
awaiting its mark.
Her arm
trembled beneath the blade.
Fuck you.
The madness of
temptation had already begun to seep into her bones. The knife
broke her skin, a surge of overwhelming relief trailing behind as
she bled her veins of the rage seething within.
Not deep
enough.
The tiny bulb
led a red stream that pooled into her palm. Seeing it brought her
back to center.
She released a
groan.
So good.
Like it would
a drug, her body welcomed the sensation and delighted in the
pain.
A sick twist
churned in her gut as the wound immediately began to seal, the
sliver ridge edging inward to form a white memory in its place.
Hundreds of those memories lay in close succession down her
forearm. Everything healed quickly, but the scars always
remained.
The escaped
blood dried in a time lapse and flaked away. Her lip curled as she
pushed the sleeve back in place.
The pain
disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
Never long
enough.
Anger bloomed
in her chest, the contradiction of curiosity and frustration vying
for power. Something begged inside of her to feel more.
What,
though?
Happiness?
Her dark
thoughts stamped it out. Maybe killing the lycan would eliminate
the images that had become etched in her mind.
Too late. She
couldn’t kill him.
Not yet.
“I’m pretty
sure that’s not how you’re supposed to use that.” In spite of the
words, the voice held no humor.
Ayden looked
up to find Logan sitting on one of the benches, wearing a tattered
muscle shirt, a small towel wrapped around his neck. “You’re
working out at this hour?”
“What were you
doing a minute ago?”
“Blowing off
some steam.”
Logan’s eyes
examined the dummy on the floor and her on top of it. He lay back
on the bench and curled his fingers around the barbell. “Perhaps
you should take Zeke up on his offer next time.”
She shook her
head and smiled, tucking the emotions of earlier into some virtual
pocket for another time. “Not that kind of steam. Oh, and thanks
for roughing up the lycan. I couldn’t even get him to talk.”
He pushed up
and lowered the barbell to just above his chest. “What’d you need
him to talk for?” he asked, his voice strained as he urged the
weight upward again. “More importantly, why the hell did you bring
it into our home?”
Ayden swung
her leg over the dummy and slid onto the floor, crossing her legs.
“I don’t expect you to understand.”
Logan’s
muscles contracted as he lowered the weight back down. “Whatever’s
going on in your head needs to stop. Now. Kill it. And get it out
of my house.”
She grinned,
though she wished she knew herself what the hell was going on in
her head. Her smile faded in the silence that hovered between them.
“Logan, you’re in dire need of a woman. A good one. You’re getting
pissy in your old age.”
“I need a
woman like I need a knife through my heart.” The clank of metal
echoed around the room as he hung up the barbell. Steadying
himself, he curled his fingers tighter around the bar. “You’re all
a bunch of fucking trouble.”
“And the
half-wit trolls you scrounge at the bars are saints?”
“They know
exactly what I want from them. And they leave afterward.” He lifted
the barbell again and pumped with more force.
“Lucky
girls.”
“You’re one to
talk.”
Smiling,
“Touché.” Ayden rose from the floor. She stood over Logan, peering
down at him. “I’ll kill the lycan. I promise.”
“You better.
It gets in my way and I’ll snap its neck without thinking
twice.”
She watched
him for a moment. “What do you get out of this?” She motioned to
the barbell. “I’ve seen you lift cars, for chrissakes.”
“Ever try
lifting one?”
“No.”
“I don’t
recommend it. They’re not made of iron.”
Ayden nodded
then made her way over to the dummy and up-righted it. She quickly
wiped a dot of blood off its surface and headed toward the locker
room for a rinse.
Logan’s right.
I need to get this shit out of my head. Focus.
In the shower,
water trickled down her face and over her body. She closed her eyes
as skinny rivulets tickled her sensitive new scar. The delicate
wounds captured the sensation more than any part of her body.
Even if they
weren’t her memories, something bright had already begun to fill
the gaping black hole in her mind. In a dark existence like
Ayden’s, though, anything bright summoned danger.
She turned off
the faucet, dried off, and dressed in a new T-shirt the housekeeper
kept supplying her in one of the lockers.
The drawer to
the right of her housed perfect rows of combs and brushes. All of
them had a place. A yawn took her by surprise as she selected one
and ran it through her wet hair. Her reflection caught her
attention—the tulle of a white veil tumbling about her shoulders
and arms.
Somehow, it
just didn’t fit the picture.
Ayden pulled
the mesh hoodie over her head. She looked more like a goth druid
than some princess bride.
Those memories
belong to someone, but it sure as hell isn’t you.
Another yawn.
“Stop it. Damn,” she muttered, setting the brush back beside the
others and heading toward the bedroom.
Ayden slumped
in the chaise beside the bed holding the passed out lycan. She
crossed her booted feet over one another, watching him for a moment
before she pinched the bridge of her nose. It’d been a while since
she’d slept well. Only times she felt safe enough to fall into deep
sleep were the few sporadic nights she stayed with the Wrath
Demons. Since sex with Gavin was off the menu, the excuses to stay
overnight had dwindled. Most times, she slept on the streets or in
abandoned buildings. Not the same places the ignorant druggies
slept—she at least cased them for wolves before setting up
camp.
Lycans weren’t
the root of her fears, though. Shit, the lycans were nothing more
than feral mutts compared to her own kind—the Alexi soldiers who’d
delivered her from death.
The same
soldiers she’d abandoned to pursue her own agenda.
No one left
the Alexi and survived. No one. They were born to hunt—so she could
pretty much bet they’d find her eventually.
Lycans had
become the human affliction. And as with any disease, constant
bombardment typically gave rise to new strains, powerful enough to
resist. That was how the Alexi came to be. As the lycan numbers
began to increase, so evolved their destruction—a silent, festering
pulse, cloaked by the night.
Unlike most
humans who succumbed to the effects of the lycan venom, a select
few showed signs of resistance, limited and weak at first, until
Jackson Wade, or
General
Wade as he preferred, stepped in.
Years working as a biochemist in some covert bioterrorism unit for
the government made him sadistic enough to lead the Alexi cult.
While secretly studying the lycan venom, he stumbled upon the Lywa
antibody in a young woman who’d been bitten and survived. Her
course of change had slowed, bite wounds spontaneously healed. When
the venom eventually strengthened in her blood, overpowering the
antibody, he was forced to kill her, an act that got him discharged
from his position in both the military and the lab for ‘unethical’
behavior, though the details of it remained a mystery.
Still, his
research continued.
In its purest
form, the antibody would render its host briefly unsusceptible to
lycan venom. Briefly. Within hours, though, the victims died. The
venom began ‘teaching’ the antibody to attack
its own
human
cells, leaving the human host violently ill and ultimately dead.
General Wade infused some sort of super-concoction that not only
increased human strength but also sped the production of the
antibody.
The result? A
lycan ass-kicking machine. The Alexi soldier. An almost
indestructible human—almost.
Many of the
lycan features remained apparent in the Alexi soldiers: fang-like
teeth, changing eyes, though Wade injected a biochemical compound
that made his soldier’s eyes turn gold instead of the trademark
silver. Humans with the highest concentrations of the natural
antibody circulating in their bodies would yield the greatest
outcome: exceptional strength, speed, agility and brain function.
Better yet,
most
effects of the venom were completely
reversed. A cure, perhaps.
Unfortunately,
General Wade had no interest in saving lives. His only drive: to
build an army of soldiers that would fight against the human
enemy—and not just the lycans.
Ayden
stretched out her legs and tipped her head back. Her body twitched
as muscles began to relax. Nothing would breach the compound
guarded by hellish ghouls that she’d never personally seen since
they dwelled in the catacombs of the manor. Catatones, they were
called, fiercely protective of their demon brethren and violent in
their methods of disposing trespassers.