Page 33 of Hellish Fae
He really is just too fucking trusting.
“Because sheisthe result of mixing fae magic and demon magic. And you three, you three are the only things that might be more repulsive to the fae world than she is. She’s creating creatures just like herself because there is safety in numbers. And you’re too stupid to see that.”
His big palm strikes out fast, and I react as soon as he grips my wrist. But pathetically, I don’t react the way I should. Instead of kicking him in the balls or slamming my fist into his pretty face, my lungs instinctively release the most desperate breath. It’s a pathetic little gasp of lust. To make matters worse, my back arches until my hard nipples skim firmly against the planes of his chest.
His brows lift at my body’s ridiculously weak reaction to his tight hold on me. I, too, feel surprised at the moment.
What. Is. Wrong. With. Me?
Am I possessed by stupidity as well as a demonic spirit?
I straighten and pull back until there’s a healthy amount of space between us. I clear my dry throat, but he still hasn’t released my wrist.
His face lowers, and I feel the growl of his words before he speaks them.
But when he opens his mouth, it’s a groan of pain that comes out.
He’s no longer gripping me but clinging to me. His big body stumbles into mine. His face twists in pain, and all I can think about is how this strong man is being taken to his knees, and I’m lowering right down with him. He hunches over. His hand is in mine now, and he squeezes it hard as a whimpering growl shakes through his clenched teeth.
“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” My palms skim all over his chest and arms. Every part of him is burning up with heat.
His only reply is harsh sounds of agony. It makes my heart pump harder, my hands fumble faster, to find a wound of some kind.
When he turns away from me, I see it.
Sharp black spikes pierces through his shoulder blades where soft white wings probably once were.
“Oh no,” I whisper as my body tenses with hard realization.
Blood slides down his skin where the talons of something large and jagged presses beneath his flesh.
They’re demon wings.
11
The Pain of Demons
Aries
The screams of torment are a sound that you never want to hear in your entire life. It’s a ripping pain that tears viciously right from the chest without mercy, and somehow the person’s still whole.
Still whole but bitterly broken.
Zaviar and Ryke came storming downstairs as soon as Damien’s groans turned to violent pleas of helplessness. I followed numbly behind them as they flew him up the winding stairs and into their nest at the top floor.
Shivers and sweat control Damien’s massive, strong body. All I want to do is cuddle him and tell him everything’s going to be alright.
But it’s been hours, and the wings are still caught within him. Only a couple of inches of black talons protrude from his tattered, bloody shoulder blades.
“Shouldn’t they have formed by now? Why is it taking so long?” I can’t help the way my voice catches like I might cry for him, since he hasn’t shed a single tear through all of this torture.
“Takes longer,” Ryke whispers as he stands at the edge of the platform looking down on his friend with concern in his eyes. “The runes slow the demon process. Something that should take seconds might take hours.” His large arms fold sternly over his scarred chest, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s remembering how he went through this very same thing.
Except he was alone then.
And Damien is surrounded by people who just want to help him.
Even me.
