Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (64 page)

Her lips parted.
Take me,
she wanted to scream.

Her breath caught as she imagined Logan’s face, not the demon’s, his big body braced over top of her as he penetrated her.
Yes.

He tugged harder at her neck, and more of the euphoria pumped through her body like a drug. A drug she never wanted to sober from. A sensation like none other.

She needed him. God, did she need him.

Rolling her head against the blanket did nothing to calm the sensation wracking her body. Scissoring her legs beneath him failed to ease the ache at her core, and his strength bearing down on her made any movement near impossible.

Beast or man, it didn’t matter, he was Logan and she wanted him with a fierceness she’d never experienced before.

As if he sensed her need, he released her neck and entered her slowly.

Yes! Oh, God, yes.

Calla writhed, pushing her breasts into him, wanting every inch of her skin in contact with his.

“Are you okay, tazschla?” His distant words echoed in her head. “Calla, am I hurting you?”

The sound of her name arrived like a caress. As if he’d claimed ownership just by saying it. All she could rouse was a shake of her head.

A strong and powerful scent penetrated her senses, watering her mouth, like a delicious cologne permeated from his body—one she recognized as his own, but carried a heady sensual undertone, as if they’d had sex hours straight.
Mmmm.

He scarcely had to move as her body underwent wave after wave of pure pleasure just holding him inside of her.

He purred an erotic chant in her ear at the same time he pumped in and out of her, each thrust demanding yet gentle.

Stiff muscles passed beneath her palms as she roamed his body, from his broad shoulders down to the tight small of his back—unable to get enough of him against her fingertips. Her male. He belonged to her. Raw power trapped in her embrace.

“Mine,” she whispered with a smile.

A growl rumbled in his throat and he upped his pace. Sweat beaded across his skin and Calla licked it from his shoulder.

Fingers dug into her scalp, and his tongue traced circles where he’d bitten her neck. Every tiny sensation had become exacerbated, as if all of her senses had heightened, and the tickle only added to her growing need.

Mounting.

The pressure contracted her stomach and thigh muscles as each glide inside of her eased the ache still brimming at her core. Tightening with each thrust, her body gave its best effort to resist the slamming of his hips against hers, the grinding, his sex filling her, the masculine grunts in her ear.

Whether she admitted it or not, he was
fucking
her—with the same reverence and adoration as a God-fearing man in missionary, but ten-fold the excitement and fervor.

Release was inevitable. Building. Muscles trembling. Stiffening. Much more intense than before until … “I love you, Calla.” His ragged whisper breezed across her cheek.

A rocket of pleasure shot up her spine and detonated in the back of her head.

Blinding light flashed behind her eyes and heated tingles spread to every part of her body.

Logan’s curse in her ear followed by the sound of her name issued another explosion.

She cried out between moans and bellowed his name.

Sweet release
. Like nothing she’d ever felt before.

Pulses of warmth spilled inside of her as Logan’s body shuddered in her grasp.

Still, the sensation didn’t end. Didn’t disappear as she remembered before. Instead, the pleasure persisted, making her eyelids heavy, her body wanton for him again.

She closed her eyes and smiled at the press of his lips to hers. As though she’d been starved for it, his taste abated the deep-seated craving she hadn’t realized she needed so badly until right in that moment.

Two souls connected by a kiss.

“Logan,” she breathed. “What’s happening to me?” Her voice slurred, her passion-addled brain unable to process a single thought, and she opened her eyes.

“You feel that?” His voice carried a smile. “That’s love, baby.”

He pulled away from her, looking like
her
Logan again: the gorgeous olive toned skin and those brown eyes that seemed to radiate something she’d never seen in them before. Happiness. Pure contentment. The sight, so beautiful, brought tears to her eyes.

“From now on,” he said, “when we come together like this, time will stand still, the world will cease to spin. All that will be is us.”

Calla smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I think I can deal with that.”

He stroked a hand down her face. “Good. Because I have no intentions of having it any other way. I’m yours forever, Calla. Even in death, I’ll carry your heart with me.”

“Shhhh.” She placed a finger against his lips. “Don’t talk about death. I want to hear more about forever.”

Tucking his head beside her ear, he whispered, “You’re mine, Calla. That’s what my forever is about.”

EPILOGUE

Ava stepped through the debris—the black and ashened mess was all that remained of the torture chamber where her brother had wreaked havoc. Skeletal remains of the victims that’d burned blew upward in a cloud of dust as she kicked it with her boot.

Hellsfire, no doubt, the only element that could annihilate the way it had.

Beyond recognition.

A smile crept across Ava’s face. Free. Like waking up to a lottery winning, she’d finally scored her freedom. No Ryke and his iron fist.

Distanced from the fallen altogether.

Where would she go?

Her brother had been her source of belonging for centuries. Ryke was all she knew.

A sinking feeling in her stomach brought her to a crouch. Only one place came to mind for where she wanted to be, and she’d screwed that up royally. Calix would never take her back. Not after she’d betrayed his brother’s female.

He’d always view her as the enemy. Untrustworthy. Pain struck her heart.

Headlights crawled up what used to be the back-alley to the ruined building, and Ava skittered across to the other side and knelt behind the dumpsters there.

The headlights beamed bright and three doors slammed shut.

Shoes clicked against the pavement of the alley toward the mess.

“To the fucking ground,” Ava heard one of them say.

Smooth gray hair lay perfect against the speaker’s head as he came into view, matching the gray suit he wore. Another man, like a younger version of the elder, kicked at a burnt skull just as Ava had done moments ago.

“What do you want? An apology?”

“I gave you the reins on this one, Oliver. We’ve lost two facilities, countless time, and money in this endeavor of yours. And still your brother remains one breath away from his demise.” Gray hair shook his head. “Does that mean anything to you?”

“Of course it does,” Junior snapped. “Quit accusing me of not giving a shit about Jase.” He cleared his throat. “The girl would have been the more natural route instead of pumping him full of chemicals—her embryos would have naturally carried the Lywa antibody instead of us spending years of trial and error to get it right. Embryonic cells will be the success of this endeavor, father. She would have provided enough regenerative ammunition for an army of Sangs.”

“Well, at this point, it seems the chemicals are the most viable option. We have no connections to these supes now that the nephilim is gone. It’s time to focus on finding that journal. The organism is breaking down organs faster than we can repair them. We’re running out of time.”

“Wade wasn’t the only one capable of brilliance.”

“I know. The brilliance in this family is lying on a bed with his organs half decayed.”

“Yes, Jase was so brilliant he managed to fuck himself.”

“He is a casualty of his own work. Never mistake passion for a lack of genius.” Gray’s face softened. “The girl is out of the picture now. She carries the demon’s child. Her womb will never hold the Sangexzha in its impurity. I, for one, am tired of catering to these supes. They’ve cost me more than I’m willing to invest for a second chance, and seem to be the consistent road block in every one of my attempts to save Jase.”

“So, now you intend to go after the Wrath demons?”

“Call it fatherly love, but, yes.”

“Leave me out of this. I want nothing to do with them.”

“As I expected. Your brother, on the other hand, would have jumped at the opportunity to save you.”

“And I’m certain you would have jumped at the opportunity to let me die.”

Something small and hairy brushed past Ava’s hand, and she jerked back, knocking the crumbled bricks behind her. Stifling a gasp, she twisted her body to hide behind the dumpster—until hands gripped her from behind and hauled her from her feet into the spotlight of the vehicles.

“Ah, what’s this? Not every day the butterfly wanders into the spider’s web.” Gray’s words overpowered the crackled breathing of whatever held her up off the ground. Grunts and the nose-crinkling smell of a rotting animal told her it probably wasn’t human.

She kicked at her captor, squirming in his grasp, but missed.

“Father, I’m asking for one more chance. With her.” The younger of the two pointed at Ava.

“Who are you?” She stilled in her bindings, her heart fluttering like a moth’s wings. “What is it you want with me?”

Gray-hair scowled, eyes appraising her. “The subject must be human.”

“She’s nephilim. Half human,” Junior spat back. “And she may have the strength to carry the Sangexzha elements.”

“She is not virgin blood. Nephilim are born to fuck. She’ll never trigger the mating.”

“Hymensa is triggered by the breaking of flesh. We’ll graft one. Please. One more chance.”

The two argued, and the more they talked, the more Ava’s stomach turned and the more she squirmed in the arms of the beast holding her from behind. “Let me go!”

A thick hand covered her mouth, the scent of pus oozing from an open ulcer just below her nose.

Tears formed in her eyes as her breaths waned.

“She’ll be perfect.” Junior tipped his head as he stood before her.

She focused on the outlines of the men, their features fading into the blackness.

“I’ll have her prepped to mate in no time.”

Please stay awake. Stay awake.

Gray stepped in view behind the young man. “Have your playthings. But know my priority is finding that journal.”

Their conversation drifted into silence.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing a book has its moments of excitement and insanity. I’m grateful to have shared the experience with these wonderful people:

To my husband and my little girls, as always, you remain my lifeline. Without you, I wouldn’t be doing this. Thanks for sticking out my moments of frustration and cheering me on. I know it’s not easy, the days when I’m buried in a laptop, playing with my imaginary friends, but you support me anyway and no matter what, you’re always number one. Love you.

I’m so blessed to have a wonderful family. To my mom, dad and sisters—you’re my rocks. And to stepfamily, in-laws, cousins, aunts and uncles who’ve been there encouraging and supporting me in this, thank you. Thank you to my grandmother, Jacie, for reading and not judging me. Ha!

To my late grandmother, Rita: Aš tave myliu.

Immeasurable thanks to my brother, Ryan, who inspires and pushes me to be better.

This series would be collecting dust inside my computer if not for the continued support and encouragement from my brilliant editor and friend, Julie Belfield. She whips mah boys in line, dots my i’s and crosses my t’s, and annihilates the evil POV breaches so they don’t spread through my story like a literary plague. A lot of heart goes into her edits and for that, I’m truly grateful. She’s helped make me a better writer.

You’re reading this book at its best thanks to these brave souls who beta read an early draft of the manuscript and provided invaluable feedback: my very talented writer friends, K.L. Schwengel and Krista Walsh—I gots nothin’ but love fo ya; Marlena Frontera, Crystal Waald and Catherine Trieu, you ladies rock! Thank you.

A girl needs a muse… huge thanks to the very sexy, Julian Christian, for serving as a source of character inspiration and making the cover of this book hotter than I imagined.

And to the genius behind the cover, David Wagner of Wagner LA—not only a ridiculously talented photographer and designer, but a wonderful person, with whom, I’ve had the pleasure of collaborating ideas.

Thanks to my crazy ass sister, Lisa, for boldly going where no photographer would dare to go and capturing some stunning images of Detroit’s most shattered landmarks. The background shot for the cover is perfect for the story.

To Luca P. and his Italian awesomeness for helping me with the Italian phrases. Grazie!