Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (27 page)

A wily smile spread the female’s lips.

He shook his head and his vision cleared once more.
Goddamn
.

The female’s long-tortured moans turned to cries.

The room wreaked of sex.

He’d taken Isabelle first. Wherever she’d gone, he didn’t know and didn’t care. After the first orgasm with her, he went for her friend, still hard on the drugs.

Eyes closed, Draven tipped his head back and pretended to inhale the smell—that clean, pure smell that Calla wore as her own personal brand.

Visions of her passed through his head: her bent forward in front of that demon prick Logan as he pounded her from behind.

Draven’s eyes flew open, his muscles tense, adrenaline coursing.

Calla’s face appeared again, smiling. She mouthed the name,
Logan
.

Draven went rigid. Lips tightened. He yanked the woman’s hair, eliciting an outcry as she arched in his grasp.

“You’re nothing but a dirty whore. A whore!” He smacked her ass and continued his assault. “That’s why I fucking killed that prick. It was
me
who put a knife through your lover’s heart. Me!” Draven gritted his teeth. “How’d you like that, slut?”

The blood swooshed through him. Tension mounted. His muscles grew so taut they quivered, holding tight to the woman. On his release, Draven cursed and screamed Calla’s name.

Over and over.

He collapsed on top of the woman and slid over her slick body onto the bed. Exhausted.

She buried her head into the pillows, muting the sound of muffled sniffles.

Crying?

A knock at the door jolted Draven up onto his elbows. “Yeah.”

Ryke stepped inside the room.

Draven’s body signaled an internal alarm at the sight of the nephilim, but he was far too messed up on the Shine to care—a dull concern at best.

Ryke stood just inside the room and smiled. He sucked in a long inhale. “I love the smell of staunch sex. So many things tied into that scent. Desire, arousal, release, and my
personal
favorite … anger.”

Draven glanced at the woman beside him, who wiped tears from her cheeks. His expression must’ve given away the sudden remorse running through his head.

“Now, now. No need to apologize.” Ryke edged closer. “That’s what she’s for. Isn’t that right, Nat?”

The woman nodded.

“She’s new. Forgive her emotions. She hasn’t yet learned not to take it personally.”

“I didn’t—” Draven started.

Ryke interrupted with a raise of his hand. “I’m curious about something, though. This Calla. Who is she to you?”

God, how long had he been standing outside the door? Had he heard everything?

“She’s …”
Fuck
, he’d need to choose his words wisely but, at that moment, Draven’s head was cloudy. “She’s nothing. Some cheap whore from the streets.”

Arms behind his back, Ryke paced at the foot of the bed. “Ah, I see. And I’d be inclined to believe you.” He reached out for the footboard and leaned in. “Except for the fact that Logan isn’t known for picking up cheap whores off the streets.”

“I’m sorry, my head’s kind of …” Draven swatted at his temple. “It’s blurry right now with the Shine.”

“I have something that can fix that.” Ryke grinned. “Because I really need to talk to you about this demon prick you stabbed to …
death
?” He rubbed a hand across his smooth chin. “See, odd thing is, I saw him waltzing through a cemetery tonight and he looked perfectly. Fucking. Alive, to me.”

Draven kicked himself back against the headboard. “What … how? No.” He shook his head. “Impossible.”

Ryke shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

The two paleskin supes from earlier in the night entered the room and stood beside Ryke. Their faces had a glow to them in the darkness, a stark contrast to their dark hair.

“Let’s go sober you up a bit,” Ryke said.

Both paleskins lurched toward him.

* * *

The sensation of floating nudged Calla awake.

Warm skin slid beneath her cheek and she probed the surface with her fingertips. Solid. Her head fell back.

Nothing but black and ... blond hair, maybe?

A man?

Square jaw, Adams apple, spicy scent.

Yep, definitely man, branded with an indiscernible mark that appeared to be a tattoo outside of his right eye.

Silver flashed in her eyes and metal brushed past her fingertips. A nipple ring? His pec muscle flinched.

“Zeke?” She slurred.

“Are you Zeke’s woman?”

A hiccup escaped her and she slapped a hand to her mouth. “No, no. I’m
no one’s
woman.” She spoke against the back of her hand. “I’m my own damn woman!”

“Independent?”

“Yeah.”

Damn, why couldn’t she hold her head still?

“I like that.” His arm shifted beneath her head so she lay against his chest again. “So, where do you sleep Ms. Independence?”

“Wherever the hell I want.”

A deep rumble vibrated in his chest. “And where do you want to sleep tonight?”

“Where?” Calla could hardly focus on the conversation as blackness pulled her in the opposite direction.

Another voice filtered in with, “Logan’s room.” Sultry, familiar, but Calla couldn’t seem to place it.

Their conversation faded in an out.

“Logan’s female, huh?” Deep, full-toned vibrations in the blond’s chest tickled her ear as he spoke. “That makes sense.”

“You been around the brother, lately? Giving off the
vibe
.”

“Bonded?”

“Sh’yeah. Edgier than shit. Went after Gavin earlier.”

A slight jerk followed by a thump, as if her transporter had kicked the door open, and seconds later, lush softness enveloped her. Flashes of her surroundings danced through her head, like a movie coming in and out of focus. “Ooh. Too much.”

“What’d she have?” The proximity of the blond’s voice told her he’d moved away.

Fingertips pried open her lids. Cerulean eyes and jet-black hair peered into hers.
Calix?

“Ayden said they got into the Samhain.” He grinned. “She’s fucked for the night. Logan’ll appreciate that.”

“Should we leave her like this?” the Zeke look-alike asked.

“You want to get all cuddly, be my guest. I’m sure as hell not touching Logan’s female.” Calix cleared his throat. “’Sides, I’m due at the casino in ten minutes.”

Calla slid her hands down her body and toyed with the button of her pants for a moment before pushing them down her thighs.

“Whoa!” both males said in unison.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” Calix still stood beside her.

“Getting comfortable.”

A yank of the sheet came from beneath her and tented over top of her. “Do what you gotta do.” Calix’s voice spoke from behind the black shroud. “And hurry. I don’t want Logan seeing me do this.”

Beneath the sheet Calla shimmied out of her pants. The cool sheets glided past her skin as she scissored her legs. The tingling pleasure of comfort blanketed her as soon as Calix dropped the sheet.

She turned over onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillows. “Mmmm. These smell so good.” Her voice fell trapped inside the satin folds.

The beat of a ringtone kept sleep from stealing her away completely, and she turned her head to the side.

“What the fuck? Gavin? I’ll be right there,” Calix said before he strode from the room.

“G’night.” The blond bent forward and smoothed the hair out of Calla’s face.

“Zayne?” The black of his unzipped muscle hoodie drew her attention. His stiff gladiator frame remained in the corner of her eye as relaxation tugged at her, beckoning her to the land of sleep.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry I … Zeke is so … find him.” She caught a flicker of pain in his eyes before she was overpowered by the sleep pulling at her lids.

“Sleep well,” she heard him say as she went under.

CHAPTER 22

Logan followed behind Gavin’s Mercedes into Sanctuary’s underground parking garage, taking one of the spots nearest to the elevators, before cutting the engine and climbing out.

Adjacent to where they parked, the blood red elevator dinged, and Calix flew through the half-opened door on a dead run toward Gavin’s car. He skidded to a halt, threw open the passenger door, and carefully lifted Ava from the seat. “Drechler’s waiting upstairs to check her out.” Calix’s face tightened as he stared down at Ava passed out in his arms. “Fucker is dead. Dead.” His eyes held a shine in the dim lights of the parking lot.

“Be up in a minute, Calix.” Gavin patted him on the back. “Got some shit to deal with first.”

Burying his face in Ava’s hair, Calix carried her to the elevator and disappeared behind the closing door.

Gavin opened the Mercedes trunk.

Empty chains lay in a heap.

Logan did the same—nothing but loose chain piled in the small compartment. The male he’d bound with it gone.

The slam of Gavin’s trunk echoed like a canon firing through the garage, and he stood rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, this whole night was a waste of fucking time, now, wasn’t it?”

Logan kept his eyes forward, focused on the chains. “You ready for a drink yet?”

“Yeah. I am.”

At nearly midnight, the casino would still be pretty busy. Both brothers took the elevator up to the first floor bar and restaurant, where Daria, Sanctuary’s most affable waitress, in her leather skirt and fishnets, met them at the bar.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she said. “What can I get for you two sexy bossmen?”

“Usual.” Gavin slumped into a barstool.

His usual was some prissy ass drink the humans liked—from a fountain, no less.

“Everclear.” Logan turned to Gavin. “Why don’t you drink something that will put some hair on that girly chest of yours?”

Gavin shot him an apathetic glance. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

“That’s the brother I miss.” Logan chuckled, giving a light punch to Gavin’s shoulder.

Two drinks slid in front of them.

Logan tossed his back and set the shot glass out to the edge. “Daria. Another. Add some Elysia to that.”

Her eyes widened. “You sure, boss?”

“You heard me.” His voice sounded gruff. “Make it a double.”

A slightly taller glass with a hint of amber slid in front of him. Again, Logan tipped it back and squinted as he shook his head while the burn coated his throat. “Ah … can’t beat the demon shit.”

“You’re gonna be shit-faced before I take my first sip.”

He patted Gavin on the back. “You’ll catch up.” Already, the warmth of the Elysia spread through his veins, liquefying his muscles.

Without doubt, the demon stuff was hard hitting. Elysia was the only drink that Logan could be certain would get him drunk quick—take his mind off of Zeke.

He stood from his barstool.

“Where you headed?” Gavin leaned back against the bar.

“Find something that’ll keep me from killing every supe in here.”

Gavin twisted in his seat. “You find something that works, come get me.”

Logan stumbled through the crowd toward the elevator and waited for the group to exit. “Holy shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he backed up against the elevator wall. For whatever reason, the encounter with Calla popped into his head.

What the hell kind of sick joke made a sorry bastard who hadn’t known a female’s touch in years suddenly fall prey to a virgin?

A juicy steak with killer legs dangling in front of a starving lion.

Like a rim-shot to the question, two human females, one of them wearing some vampy red getup, with a plunging neckline and fabric that hugged her many curves, entered the elevator and turned their backs to him. The doors closed and the vamp-chick glanced back with a smile on her face. It wasn’t her, though, that seized Logan’s attention. It was her blonde friend in the sleek black dress.

From behind, she looked like Calla.

Logan leaned in, his mouth close to her ear. “What’s your name?” he whispered. She shrugged her one shoulder and slanted her head toward her friend. Her smile turned business like he’d picked the wrong one.

“Unavailable,” she answered.

A glance to the side confirmed Logan’s suspicions as a smile spread across vamp-chick’s face. “I’m not.”

“Excuse me.” Logan slipped past both of them and exited the elevator.

Mack, one of the security guards, stood against the wall, watching the crowd.

“Mack!” Logan called out as he approached from behind.