Page 13 of Unbroken

“Oh. . . I can’t. . . Oh God. I can’t—” I thrash underneath him as my body erupts and I cum so hard I feel like my body transcends. I am nothing but pure light, unravelling, no longer in my Human body but more. I disperse, my body a spectrum of power, I float in the ether as all the threads of my bonds and Tethers dance around me. I collect them, pulling them into me one by one as I levitate in another plane of existence in vast darkness. I see with new eyes as I look inward and see the purple pulsing bond that is solely Lyrik’s. The threads that bind me to my Tethers, the brand is almost complete, except for one.

“Micah!” I snap back into my body as Lyrik roars his release, calling out my name like I am an altar at which he kneels to pray. I lose myself in the feel of his body on top of mine. The feel of his hard cock still buried inside of me.

“Eu te amo, Micah,” Lyrik whispers as he pulls out of me. He rolls us over until he has me gathered in his arms. I search his face and he smiles softly, reading my mind. “I love you, Micah Jones. You are truly the greatest of treasures.” He kisses me softly and my lips chase his as he pulls away. My eyelids feel heavy, my body is wrung out, but I want to stay here in this moment with him. Considering I just woke after two weeks, the last thing I want to do is sleep.

“I thought I lost you. I tried to hold it all together, help the students, keep myself busy because I couldn’t bear to sit here and mourn for you. None of us were sure if or when you would wake. I couldn’t feel you.” He strokes my face, peppering kisses along my temple like I am the most precious thing in the world and my heart stutters in my chest.

“I thought I lost you. All of you. I love you too, Lyrik.” He wipes away a stray tear as I come down from my emotional high. I’m so tired of going from one chaotic event to the next. I just want to be still for a while. I want to slow down and finally settle into a life with the people I love, but that won’t happen until I do what is needed to make this dream a reality. Instead of thinking about the insurmountable mountain I have to climb, I put it aside, at least for now, and allow myself this grace. My eyes flutter as Lyrik pulls me closer, tangling our legs together, his breath intermingles with mine as our hearts beat as one.

“Sleep, meus amor, because I am not done with you yet,” he says as he kisses my forehead and I relax, safe in his presence.

“Aren’t you tired?” I ask with a yawn, rubbing at my eyes despite trying to force myself to stay awake.

“I’m an Incubus, meus amor. I don’t have any limits.” He gives me a panty melting smile before he bends over me and takes my breast into his mouth, kissing it like he would my lips, tonguing my nipple gently. I arch my back, pushing my breasts into his face as he licks and sucks them both until I am a puddle of want and need beside him. I moan as he presses his hard length against my hip.

“Lyrik, please,” I whisper as his fingers slip between my slick folds as he caresses my clit, sending electric pulses of rapture through my body.

“Aren’t you tired?” He lifts his brow repeating my question with a smirk on those beautiful pink lips of his.

“Never,” I say breathlessly, letting my fingers roam over his skin, cataloguing every inch of him.

“Good,” he says as he lifts my leg over his hip and slides into me again, inch by glorious inch.

“You’re insatiable,” I say as he begins to fuck me slowly, the slow burn of an orgasm already building inside me.

“You have no idea, Micah. No idea.” At the sound of my name on his lips, I throw my head back, screaming his name. This Demon means to wreck me.

ChapterEight

MARCUS

They say when someone loses a limb, there’s a phantom sense the limb is still there. The brain takes a while to recognize said limb is gone because the nerves don’t forget. The nerves remember the feeling of the missing part and send signals to the brain in hopes it will remember too. Phantom limb syndrome, or at least that’s what I think it’s called. For me, there’s no physical pieces missing but the concept is still the same.

My fingers brush over the now white scar in the middle of my chest where my sister severed my ties to what almost felt like a hive mind. Michael is no longer at home in my head but there are traces, remnants of the hold he had on me. Rubbing the slight pain in my chest, I take in my surroundings of the Underworld and I still can’t believe I’m here. If you told me a month ago this is where I would end up, I would have asked when are we leaving and who am I killing?

I chuckle humorously at my naivety. My ignorance of this place is telling and I can’t help but clench my fists in frustration at the lies we’ve been fed. It’s not what I expected. The various hues of red streaked across the sky, the harsh mountainous landscape in the distance towers over the homes and castles of Demons who reside here. The clear demarcation of different territories, ruled by other Fallen, or the Demon Kings who were already here before the battle for Heaven and Earth spread out as far as the eye can see. From the balcony of the tower I have a clear vantage point, giving me an aerial view of the varied landscape below.

I shift from my seated position and stand with a groan. It’s taken me two weeks to heal from Mi’s Angel Fire. The stubborn wound refused to heal faster, much to the dismay of Micah’s father. Fuck. Micah’s father. Bishop. I am eternally grateful for his continued efforts to take care of me, for Micah’s sake. I don’t think I would have survived without him. Honestly, without any of Micah’s Mates or Soul Tethers. Again, I can’t believe I am saying any of this about my sister. It’s like we are living in this surreal alternate universe.

I dropped my sister off at HellNight Academy only weeks ago. Now it feels like we are worlds apart. She’s lived a lifetime in a matter of days, while I have lived shackled in the recess of my own mind. I shake my head in disbelief at it all. My father, Kalob, is not her biological father, but he is the only father she’s ever known. He protected her even when we thought he was overbearing and hard on her for no reason. He shielded her, loved her, and I wish he was still here.

No, Micah’s real father is the former Archangel of Death, Azrael. Talk about mind blown. Nothing about him or The Underworld itself is anything like we are taught at Caelum Academy. There’s horror and death on Earth, so I know the same applies here, yet, the Demons and Imps I’ve met in my wandering have been nothing but helpful, respectful, and kind. This entire place sits in a gray area in my mind now. What do I do with that?

What do you do with the knowledge that the Angels, who you thought were your allies, are the ones killing and causing harm? Using Light Guardians like puppets to kill. . .to kill my father.

“Shit, Marcus, you need to pull it together,” I say through gritted teeth. I need to make Michael pay for what he did to my father, and my mother. Is she even still alive? Fuck! I can’t fall apart when we finally say our goodbyes.

I wipe my eyes quickly, pacing the balcony, waiting for Micah to show up. It’s been two days since Rook appeared and told me she was awake but would come and see me when she was no longer indisposed. I don’t want to think about my sister’s sex life. Ugh. I don’t want to think about what a starved Incubus could possibly be doing to her at this very moment. Hot poker to the brain, I need to forget that all together.

A soft knock on the door has me turning toward the sound coming from outside. I take a step and stop.

“Fuck.” I groan in frustration as I consider the possibility that Trys is on the other side of the door waiting to pull my spine out through my mouth. No lie, his actual words. I’m a Light Guardian. . .well, I was. At the top of my game, I don’t scare easily, but nothing prepares you for an unhinged Necromancer with an axe to grind. I shudder at the thought of his mismatched eyes lurking in the shadows waiting to rip my soul from my body. I shrug. Maybe I deserve his wrath for not being strong enough; for not being able to fight Michael harder. The image of me stabbing my sister in the heart, the crunch of her breastbone as I punched a hole in her chest will haunt me for the rest of my life. I know it wasn’t me, I was just a passenger pleading for my sister’s life. The horror and guilt I felt as Michael’s control of me slowly slipped away when the Angel Fire took hold, will remain forever seared into my heart.

The doorknob turns slowly, I watch it move with slight unease. I really don’t want to fight. I am not in the best shape considering I’ve been bedridden for two weeks, but I will not let some psycho kill me, regardless of how justified they are. Hell no. At least let me see my sister first. I pull at my locs, then interlink my fingers together to rest them on my head, cursing under my breath for not checking if I locked the door after breakfast earlier. I ready myself for whatever comes through, as I stand on the threshold between the balcony and the bedroom. Rolling my shoulders back and bending my knees, I shake out my arms as the door pushes inward.

“Come at memotherfu— Mi?” My mouth falls open as my sister stands in the open door looking at me in confusion. She knows me, her eyebrows are raised as she tilts her head at the sight of my fighting stance.

She turns to look behind her, as if the assailant is somewhere behind her, and then back at me. “Are you expecting someone else, Panda?” she asks as she takes a step into the room, closing the door behind her. I take a moment to give her a once over, the first notable change is her eyes, they’re shining like bright embers, a warm golden orange color. She is wearing her Micah standard uniform of black yoga pants, white tank top, and trainers with her braids mirroring my locs piled high on top of her head. Micah is always ready to fight. I guess she has our dad to thank for that.

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