Unearthed (28 page)

“The next step,” he continued, “is something you’d never get to do outside of the Heights and a few very kinky underground human clubs.” Not that she would have to deal with any of this shit if she wasn’t part of the Heights. “Humans get the worst of everything—weakness, guilt, and morality. But you’re not human, right? You wouldn’t be like this if you were. So prove it by taking what you want and seeing what actually happens once you get it.”

“It’s not about impure thoughts or temptation.” She was silent for a moment. “I liked it.” Three words spoken so simply, exposing the deepest sense of shame Davyn had ever seen. “I
came
during…” She lowered her head, aiming her whisper at the ground. “When he used me, drank from me or when he made me drink from him, I…liked it.”

“That’s—”

“How could I have liked that, Davyn? What’s wrong with me that my body could feel good even though he forced me? When I was covered in my own blood. How am I supposed to accept that?”

This would’ve been a great time for a pep talk, but Davyn couldn’t think of a single thing to say. His mind was overpopulated with horrible thoughts, though.

Like how slowly he wanted to take Lamere apart for what he’d done to her.

Like how every minute Davyn spent with her made it more dangerous for both of them.

Like how much he would give to take that look off her face, the self-loathing out of her soul.

Like how he wanted to help her more than he needed the earth under them.

Oh shit, was he in trouble.

“I liked what that psychopath did to me.” There. She’d told him. She’d told a demon something she’d never even put together for herself. Because until you admit something to yourself, or someone else, you can make it seem like an illusion, a fantasy, a misunderstanding. But once the words are all in a row and you say it out loud, you can’t pretend anymore.

Keira stood still, her feet stuck to the floor, afraid she’d fall if she moved. She’d been wearing armor for so long, she’d forgotten how weak she’d be if she ever took it off. How weak she
had
been, how afraid. She thought her armor kept everything painful from reaching her, but it couldn’t protect her from herself, from what was trapped inside.

Me
. The one thing she would always be afraid of.

“So that’s what makes you less human?” Davyn asked. “You think you’re the only one? Every day I see what people fantasize about, want, or wish they didn’t want. It’s not all hearts and flowers. In fact, I see very few flowers.”

She felt so small and insignificant standing in front of him. Why didn’t he just toss her out the window or set her on fire, burn all her ugliness away? Why was he waiting for her answer?

“Those things are fantasies,” she said. “This isn’t. There was no safe word, no consent. And I still want it. I hate it and try to pretend it isn’t there or isn’t real, but I know it is. Whenever I stop fighting long enough to think or dream, I remember I’m just pretending.”

“This is real life. Not a dream. Not a nightmare. It’s what you got and what you have to deal with.”

“But it’s him. It’s him inside me. Making me want things, feel things.”

“That’s what vamp blood does to humans. In my opinion—which is the only one that matters right now—all it proves is that you’re pretty damn human. Don’t base your entire past, present, and future on something you can’t control.”

“Maybe originally it was the magic, but I’ve tried. With human guys, without…it’s not what I need. But when I fight, when I hurt someone, I feel good. His blood tainted me, made me like him.”

Davyn came to her, lifted her knife from its holster. She didn’t try to stop him. Part of her hoped he would stab her, replace this pain with another. At least it would end. Her heart pounded in her chest with the unknown, with the admission she’d just made. He was the only one who knew, so it seemed fitting he be the one to punish her. He held the knife up near her chest, taking her hand and placing it on the handle, curling her fingers around the wood before putting his own on top of hers. She couldn’t look at him, didn’t dare. Instead, she stared at his hand on hers, the glare of steel.

“I’m a demon—the one being you can torture for eternity and it won’t matter, won’t be anything I haven’t felt before. So use me. Let’s see if you’re right. Do it so you can get over all this bullshit that’s ruining you.” He didn’t turn the knife on her—he slowly guided her blade to his chest. When the tip made contact with his skin, she saw the blood well, hypnotizing her, pulling her in. He slowly dragged downward, making a line of red across his chest, marring its perfection. Turning it into another kind of perfection. She shuddered, hating herself for her quick breath, the warmth radiating from her core. Lamere’s ‘gift’ poisoning her mind and her body, making something horrible look beautiful.

“I don’t want to do this,” she said, looking up into Davyn’s eyes.

“The thing about temptation is that it only holds the power you give it.” He lifted the knife away from his chest, only to replace it against his skin an inch away from the first strike, dragging it down again.

“I have this theory that needs testing,” he said. “And that test starts with you experiencing what you think you want. Then I get to show you what I think you need.”

She couldn’t look at it, afraid to, watching a brief grimace touch his face when a new slice began. Deeper than the first. The third was deeper still, cutting through muscle, unleashing more blood. Four. Five.

“Stop. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“
I
want it. Because it’s going to prove something to you. You’re not inhuman or sick—you’re just wrong. You got fucked over and haven’t dealt with all the leftovers that asshole put on you. So…” When Davyn brought the blade up again, he let go of her hand, giving her time to decide what to do and if she could do it. “I can’t have you the way I want to, but I can give you this. I can help you stop being so afraid of who you are. If you let me.”

Lowering her blade, she stared at him, his belief, his concern. He was a demon. He shouldn’t care, but he was offering her an experience she lived in terror of, to be there with her so she wouldn’t be alone.

“Leave it to the demon to offer me everything in exchange for nothing,” she said, her laughter sparse, forced. “After making such a shitty deal, you might not be able to call yourself a demon anymore.”

“Shut up. I’m going to convince you that hurting or being hurt were never the reasons you came. It was the orgasmic-rich blood of a magical being that did it. And to test my theory, we need a baseline. So, scale of 32 to 212”—he took her hand and wiped it through the blood on his chest, the wounds already beginning to heal—“how turned on are you right now?”

“Very.”

“I don’t know where ‘very’ belongs on a thermometer.”

“‘Very’ is how turned on I was on the airplane or during that gross and awkward kiss we had or—”

He leaned down so their mouths were an inch apart, but as he spoke, he brushed his lips along her jaw to her neck. “Then I’d say ‘very’ is pretty damn close to boiling, wouldn’t you? ’Cause that’s just about where I am. Go all the way, hunter. I promise I can take it.”

She had no doubt that he
could
, but he wouldn’t. Because of some stupid rule that protected humans, not someone like her.

When she finally spoke, it was with that in mind. “Take off your pants.”

He flinched back a step. “Um… I heal pretty quickly, but I
feel
everything, and I’d like to keep all my parts. So I kind of thought we could keep everything above the belt.”

“I won’t castrate you, don’t worry;” she said, her laugh hiccuping, almost as if she was crying. “If you want to do this for me, then I should give you something in return.”

“Like what?”

“Pleasure. Maybe I…”
Say it.
“I want you inside me.”

“Not nearly as much as I want to be there.” Hurt filled his expression, more than she’d seen the steel cause. A struggle between what he wanted and what would happen if he got it. “But we can’t.”

“Neither one of us follows the rules, so why start now?”

“You’re human.” He shook his head while his body pressed forward, his hands out to the sides as if he was afraid to touch her, burn her. “Demons can’t mix with humans. It’s not meant to be.”

“We’re not like everyone else. What do you think this is, why we’re so drawn to each other? Because we
are
meant to be.” She put her blade back in its holster and grabbed him by his waistband.

“That’s not—” The muscle in his jaw twitched. “That’s not part of this. I’m trying to prove something to you. That you don’t need what you think you do”—he stepped back, prying her hands off him—“including me.” She followed, taking two steps for every one he did, smearing the blood on his chest as she reached out for him.

“You would let me hurt you but not pleasure you?” she asked. “In what world does that make sense?”

“In ours. If we were in any other, I’d have had you under me, on top of me, and on your hands and knees weeks ago. Believe me, there’s no greater torture than being around you and not being able to take you the way I want to. I mean, do you have any idea how good you smell? Since I met you, I’ve turned into a damn mouth-breather so your scent doesn’t fuck with my mind constantly. Not that the rest of you doesn’t anyway. But even more than how much I want to be with you, to feel every inch of you, I don’t want to ruin you more.”

His back against the wall, he had no choice but to stop. He could disappear any second, leave her standing there staring at emptiness with his blood on her hands. So she slowed her movements, not wanting to scare him off.

“I’m not going house shopping tomorrow, Davyn. I want to be with you now, that’s all.” And she knew he wanted the same thing. “You just finished saying the way to weaken temptation was to experience it.”

“I wasn’t talking about us! If we came together, it wouldn’t weaken anything. It would destroy.”

“I trust you.” He wouldn’t destroy her.

“Then trust me about this.” His breath came fast, his heart racing. Torn. He looked so torn. She nodded, not knowing what she was agreeing to. To stop? To move forward regardless of the consequences? When her gaze landed on his chest, the blood a symbol of both their pasts and eternities, she whimpered.

He stared into her eyes with an expression that held none of his usual condescension or anger. His gaze followed the tears as they crested her eyelids and fell onto her cheeks. “Hunter, I…” He wiped one away with his thumb, turning his hand towards him and looking at his finger.

“Does it hurt?” she asked softly. There wasn’t enough salt in a tear to cause him much pain, but she didn’t want to cause him
any
.

He didn’t answer immediately, as if he were gathering his thoughts. Thinking before he spoke didn’t seem like something he did often. When he actually started speaking, she understood why he’d hesitated.

“I’ve seen millions of tears, been responsible for a lot of them, but I’ve never
felt
them before.” He rubbed his thumb and finger together. “They hurt.
Yours
hurt me, in a way I can’t describe. It’s something…internal. Where I imagine my soul would be if I had one. That’s not possible. I don’t have one. I’m never going to.” He shuddered, his eyes closed. Then they shot open. “Make them go away.” He wiped her cheeks, her jaw, his movements and his voice rough. “Keira, make them stop.” He leaned back into the wall hard, smacking against the brick.

“We can’t do this.” When he slammed himself against the wall again, she yanked him forward. The sudden change in momentum made him stumble into her, his greater weight pushing her over backwards. He reached out and slipped his arm under her head, so she didn’t crack her skull open. Not that she was much better off.

He was so heavy. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make up for the air that had been knocked out of her when they landed. Her lungs couldn’t expand. She clawed his shoulders and arms, pushing the chest of a man built like steel and weighing just as much.

As soon as he realized she was in trouble, he rolled off her and onto his back, each of them sucking in air as if they’d just fought for their lives. She stayed like that for a while, her eyes closed until her breath evened out and her panic had gone, listening to him speak in a language she’d never heard before but sounded like it came straight out of a horror movie…or hell.

“What just happened?” she asked.

“Seeing you…cry…because of me… Don’t ever do that again.”

“What
are
we doing? With each other?”

“Being self-destructive.”

It had been like this since they’d met: He fought her and then saved her, she could breathe and then she couldn’t, everything happening in opposition. All because of someone else’s definition of what they were and should want, a war he didn’t care about. Neither one of them played by the rules or avoided risk, except in this.

He smoothed her hair off her face, continuing down her neck, her shoulder, her arm, lifting her hand and wrapping his around it. His breath was so hot against her cheek. When his lips brushed her eyelids, she felt as if she were melting. When he moved away, she opened her eyes and saw him lick his lips, tasting the last of her tears, looking confused and astounded at the discovery.

“Salty.”

She turned and wiped his lips. “Then why did you do that?”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know why I’m doing
anything
anymore, not when it comes to you or anything to do with you, which is…pretty much all there is.”

She bit her lip, feeling more overwhelmed and confused than ever.

“Not again!” he said.

“Sorry.” She blinked really quickly—she’d cried twice in the last three years, and they happened within ten minutes of each other.

“No more of those, or I’m gonna want to blindfold you,” he said, starting to smile. “Which I want to do anyway, but for a much kinkier reason. Are you all right now?”

She nodded. “Are you?”

He shook his head. “I’m not strong enough.” And then he kissed her, forcing his way into her mouth with a powerful swipe of his tongue. So deep inside her.