Page 9 of Her Blood Revenge

She lifts her already broken arm up and, with a grunt, slams it down on the chest of drawers beside her with all her strength. She screams. A scream that turns into a deranged kind of laughter as she staggers back, her bone now poking through her flesh, and blood spewing to the floor. Tears spill down her cheeks as she releases that enraged laughter, and it makes an icy chill run the length of my spine.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ Shaw yells, trying to grab her as she staggers back. ‘Are you insane?!’

The scent of her blood fills the air, making my mouth water. As he tries to get the crazy little bitch under control, I stare at the blood dripping from her arm and pooling on the floor.

We all do.

She’s still laughing like a lunatic, fighting against the two others trying to pin her down so they can fix the mess she’s made of herself.

I stand and make my way to the droplets of blood. A lick. One taste.

Pixie lands on the bed, Shaw and Dorian towering over her and yelling as they try to get her in hand.

I’m not sure we’ll ever get her in hand again. I think maybe we broke her. The spell was too dark. The blood magic too powerful. We knew it was a risk, forcing her to do that spell.

We made so many mistakes for less than nothing in return. We lost more than we had to start with.

Because not a single one of us ever expected to like the little blood witch we stole. Never mind, fall in fucking love with her.

‘ARCHIE!’ Shaw bellows, pulling my gaze away from her blood on the floor. ‘Fancy helping us out?!’ he snaps, nodding to her. I see him glance at the same drops of blood. See that same hunger. He meets my gaze and shakes his head. ‘Not now. Help her.’

She’s thrashing and screeching beneath them both.

‘I’ll kill you! I’ll tear out your eyes! You’re dead!’

She screams and laughs furiously, thrashing like crazy and sending sprays of blood in all directions.

They pin her down to the mattress. It takes both of them to restrain her.

I stride towards her, bite my wrist and thrust it in her mouth. When she refuses to swallow, I cover her nose.

The mad little witch looks ready to pass out rather than accept it.

I tap into my claiming mark, connecting my will to her body.

‘Drink,’ I order, feeling the pull between us as I take control. ‘Now.’

She does. And the hatred in her eyes as she looks at me intensifies. She didn’t ask for much when we brought her back to the castle.

She wanted space. She wanted us to promise not to use our marks to compel her, and for Shaw to stay out of her head.

Only Shaw has kept his word about the dream walking, and part of me thinks that’s more from the lack of access to her blood than anything else.

Everything else we’ve disregarded. We can’t stay away from her. We can’t, and we won’t. And when she’s got all the anger out of her system, we’ll fix this.

She’ll love us. We’ll make damned sure of it because now we’ve had her, nothing else compares. Nothing else matters.

I’ll take her hatred and wrath if the alternative is nothing at all. I’ll spend an eternity breaking down the walls she’s put between us and embed myself into her so deep she’ll die without me. Without us all.

She swallows deeply and falls into that euphoric state she always does when she tastes us. Dorian snaps her bone back into place, and she screams around my wrist, pulling my blood harder into her mouth to ease the pain. Her skin slowly stitches back together. The bruises fade, and now she writhes in pleasure beneath us all. The scent of her arousal fills the air, and it takes all I fucking have not to widen her legs and see her for myself. To sink my fingers inside her. To slam myself into her and make her pay for being so stubborn and refusing even to have a civil conversation with us.

We share a look. A mutual understanding that now is most certainly not the time to have a play with our deranged little Pixie.

‘That’s enough,’ Shaw says, easing his grip on her and taping my arm. ‘She’s fixed up.’

I keep my wrist to her mouth, loving the feel of her tongue gliding over the wound. Relishing in her littlemoans. In the feel of her breath so close to my skin and how her fingers squeeze so hard I’ll have bruises.

‘Archie.’

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