Frost (Queens of Hell Book 1) Page 4

  “No,” Lilith grinds out through clenched teeth the moment Thalia enters the room. She can smell her, feel her in her blood almost as the Fated do. This connection is different however, it’s between a Vampire and their life essence versus their…equal if you will.

  “Always,” Thalia is quick to refute, stepping up to her throne and yanking her long sleeve quickly up her forearm. “You must, Lilly.”

  “Absolutely not. I will not risk your life, Thalia.” She forces the words out of her mouth, but I can already feel her energy faltering at the offer of food.

  “I am strong enough and you know this. Give me the Bite and let me take care of you. Stop being so fucking stubborn.” Thalia’s voice takes a frustrated turn and my eye brows dart upwards at her dominant remark. Even my sisters aren’t quite as bold when addressing Lilith. But Thalia has always been a fighter, ever since we found her on the streets of Puerto Rico.

  Lilith doesn’t say a word, but I know her decision is made when she forces her head to the side and refuses to look at Thalia any longer. Her chest is heaving with each labored breath, and I’d love to say her resistance is waning—but it isn’t. And I know there’s only one thing I can do in order to make Lilith fucking feed.

  As soon as I have the thought, I react. Because I know it’ll be mere split seconds before Lilith is responding and my sisters are intervening. So, in an instant, I reach for Thalia’s arm myself and drop my fangs, piercing her skin deep enough to spill blood on the granite floor below us.

  Lilith snaps, everything inside of her coming alive and on fire at the threat to her loved one. I knew this was dangerous, and I’d most likely die if she had any sort of considerable health still flowing through her body. But as she launches herself directly at me and my hands fly up as I release Thalia, I underestimate just how weak Lilith truly is.

  I’m knocked on my ass in a mere second, the wind escaping my lungs as an intense shockwave of pain washes through me. Lilith’s fangs are bared, sharp and extended in a way I know she means to rip out my entire throat for touching what belongs to her. I can vaguely hear Thalia in the background, but she isn’t screaming, she isn’t angry. If anything, she sounds mildly bored, and she’s calling for Lilith to feed rather than kill her favorite sister.

  I manage to wrap my hand around her throat, my fingers gripping her jaw tightly as I force her head back and toward Thalia once again. I nod Thal’s way, urging her to step closer so my sister can get a better scent of her blood.

  The second she does, everything changes. Lilith’s body goes cold and still over mine. The signs of hunger bloom again across her skin in an instant, and a single swipe of her tongue is all she needs to taste the scent of Thalia’s blood in the air around us. Thalia moves even closer, her wrist offered out and shifting closer to Lilith’s face like a gift.

  An exchange happens between the both of them, something unspoken, but none the less powerful and intimate.

  It’s in that very next moment Lilith is uncontrollably and terrifyingly unleashed in order to feed.

  A deadly task that leaves Thalia screaming and pleading for mercy.

  My mind is a whirlwind.

  Manic thoughts of what happened tonight race through me. I’m replaying every moment, every touch, every word, that voice.

  Over and over and over again.

  What did happen tonight? Genuinely. Actually. How was all of that real in any sort of capacity.

  And that’s when it hits me, the most obvious and logical answer to all of this.

  I’m fucking crazy. I am losing my goddamn mind after all. For fuck’s sake, I know I’ve dealt with some shit over the last couple of years…hell, over the majority of my life. But I thought I’d been handling it decently. Drugs, alcohol, numbing the pain with mediocre methods of temporary satisfaction.

  That’s what all of this is anyway, right? An addict, snorting coke in strip club bathrooms and off dancer’s tits. An alcoholic on her seventh shot of Tequila while every memory of pain and regret quietly slips to the background.

  Background noise. That’s what it becomes. But all of these toxic coping mechanisms are cheap replacements for what we truly want. They’re a quick fix for our deepest needs.

  Being wanted. Being loved, included, welcomed, heard, seen. Fucking seen.

  Do a couple lines if no one’s watching, that’ll change everything. You won’t need any of that bullshit external, shallow validation.

  But fuck, tonight was different. And that one girl—she was a drug entirely on her own. One I’ve never taken and one I’d gladly overdose on in a second.

  It sounds pathetic, but there was an awakening inside of me while she was near. It’s completely dormant now that she’s gone, and I’m damn near desperate to feel whatever that was again.

  A stirring. A clawing under my skin and in my blood. My mind surrenders to the memory of her hands on my skin, and Aggie is all but completely numb compared to the feeling Na’amah. I wish I knew why she was different, but it felt as though a part of myself was designed to rest within her.

  God, that’s fucking stupid and I instantly shake my head at the thought, forcing it free of my mind.

  “Do not get wrapped up in another girl, Skilla. Don’t you fucking dare.” A sudden onslaught of memories over the last few years stampedes my mind. Moments wrapped up in sheets with Ruby, or against brick walls with K. Snarky and detached comments that I fed off of entirely because I was starving. Hungry for an affection I thought I needed. I welcomed their mediocre left overs with open arms, convincing myself it was real when I knew it wasn’t.

  I always knew they felt nothing. But sometimes, living inside a false reality constructed in your mind is far better, far easier than facing the truth. So, I’ve recently taken up reading, intentionally choosing to lose myself in entirely different worlds I know nothing of. There’s something profound about that, not knowing exactly where I’m going while I read. It keeps me distracted, and helps me to actively force my feelings away from the new girl I met tonight. I can’t wait to get inside to finally pick up that book, forgetting about everything I’ve already experienced earlier.

  I step up to the grand white double doors resting at the head of this beautiful home. Four tall, white pillars line the front porch, and a quaint little bench swing silently sways on the right hand side. Green garlands run an aesthetically pleasing frame around the front doors, and two impeccably matching wreaths hand on either side. Greenery with little red berries and flocked leaves of snow.

  This is my home.

  But not really.

  It’s his.

  I slide my key into the lock, twisting it to the right until I feel the deadbolt release completely. Once I’ve tucked my keys between my fingers, I use my other hand to push down the black iron latch and pull the door open. A fresh breeze of cedar and pine wafts over me, a sure sign some of our favorite candles must be burning in the dining hall.

  Holding my breath, I slip out of my heels and hold them in my hand, stepping inside and quietly shutting the door behind me. If I can just sneak in and up to my room before he—

  “Jesus, Skilla, where have you been?” The rough and concerned voice suddenly speaks up from behind me. I checked the time before I arrived here so I know it’s only three AM. I whip my head around toward the front entry way, realizing that all of the lights have been flipped off in this area of the house. In the corner sits a large, emerald green velvet chaise lounge and just beside that rests the flickering flame of the candle I smelled when I opened the door.

  My skin erupts in goosebumps, my stomach sinking quickly and at the same time my heart rapidly picks up its pace. “Working. You know this,” I reply curtly. My lips pull back just slightly, and I finger the key between my knuckles just a bit tighter.

  “You know how badly I worry about you,” he replies kindly. His voice is thick like maple syrup, that Southern accent still tainting every word in country boy charm.

  “You don’t have to worry. I’ve told y
ou this countless times, I’m completely safe at the club.” I finally turn toward him completely, deciphering only the shadowed outline of his tall, wide figure resting in the chair. One leg is kicked up over his other knee, and I can see his hands resting still over his thigh.

  “I’m your brother—”

  “Step-brother,” I remind him, the word slipping from my lips on a harsh whisper.

  “None the less, I care deeply for you, Skilla.” He stands, the old springs of the chair creaking just slightly while his fancy fucking dress shoes click in distinct authority over our hardwood floors. He moves closer, and I instinctually take a step back until my back hits the front door and I’m caught in place.

  “I have to be up early,” I start, and for a moment, I drop my eyes to the ground in order to watch his feet while he moves. I know what’s coming, and I hate to admit that I’m too weak to stare him in the eyes while he does it. His toes come straight up to my own, the shine of his brown shoes glinting in the candlelight. Navy slacks, a thin dark brown belt cinched in front of his waist, and a collared sky-blue button down which he has rolled up and cuffed over his forearms.

  He towers over me, and his left hand lifts directly up to my chin as he urges me to look at him. “Sweet Skilla,” he whispers, almost as if he actually cares. His tone still holds a soothing element, one that sounds as if he’s genuinely invested in my well-being.

  He isn’t.

  I close my eyes, refusing to look at him. I don’t want to see the same face I’ve spent the last eight years of my life with. Ever since our parents died, he’s the one I’ve had to rely on.

  Not that either my mother or her new husband were present figures in our lives. Once my mom met him after my parents’ divorce, she was quick to get lost in the rich Southern life before we moved out to New York. Georgia was our home, and my now step-brother, Rowan, was a kind sixteen year old boy who quickly took me under his wing. Or so I thought.

  I was only thirteen, and after spending most of my life in a trailer park with my mom, Rowan and his father, Daniel, seemed like the heroes we were hoping for.

  But it didn’t take long for the climate to change once we were all nestled tightly under one roof. My bedroom was placed next to Rowan’s, Mom and Daniel’s room on the other side of the house. No matter what I’d say, mother wouldn’t listen. We were finally rich, living in a highly esteemed home with a reputable man and his popular son.

  Money and status were attributes we had never experienced before and they were ones my mother was unwilling to give up.

  No matter what I sacrificed for us to keep it.

  After their sudden death four years ago, I stayed with Rowan in the house he inherited from his father under the guise that he could still use me in the ways he’d been before. So, I pay my rent in his bedroom and then I feel anything I want to with the girls at the club. This is why the attention I received from Ruby and K meant so much to me.

  It was familiar. At least with them I got off, and I actually wanted to be there. I needed to lose the control I so desperately held on to when I was home with Rowan.

  Fuck childhood trauma, right? Neglectful parents and abusive step-siblings. My mind is one dark mess of forbidden desires and misplaced affection.

  His fingers suddenly tighten around my jaw, but his thumb continues gliding across my soft skin in gentle patterns. That’s his move, harsh, but sweet. Loving and disrespectful all at the same time.

  “How much money did you make tonight?” he asks quietly, dropping his lips to my ear as his hot breath blows across my cheek. More goosebumps, and I visibly shiver in front of him while he cages me in.

  “Not enough.” I lie, because I don’t want him taking anything else from me. He has more than enough, and at least while I’m here, I can save and stash until I can afford buying a place on my own.

  He pulls away just slightly, enough to where I can see the evil glint in his hazel eyes while he watches me. His head tilts to the side, his long blonde hair shadowing one side of his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp jawline surrounds his rosy lips, and I can tell he’s smirking just slightly before glancing down to the front of his pants.

  Rolling his hips forward, his already hard cock brushes against my lower stomach. Nausea pulses in my gut and expands through my chest. Fucking sick. I’m as gay as ever and the idea of his dick makes me want to vomit. “Tell me how you’ll pay for your room in this household then, my sister.”

  Sister. He uses the term so endearingly…it’s foul.

  The saddest part is how I know what he’s asking for. He doesn’t want me to simply give it to him, he gets off on hearing me say it. In detail. Every fucking time.

  “Rowan, I’m tired,” I try again to push him away, but I have to be careful, if I push too hard, he fights harder and I don’t want to deal with that tonight on top of this.

  “I am not,” he replies, his tone turning flat and vacant. He rolls forward again, this time gripping my wrist tightly and yanking my hand down to rest over the crotch of his pants. “See? Tell me sister, how can you help me?” His breathing becomes heavy as he steps closer to me, his free hand running along the back of my neck as he pulls me against him. “I want to hear you, girl.”

  In a quick instant, I attempt one escape by shoving my fist forward and into his ribs. My keys are layered between my knuckles, and I dig as deeply as I can while he stumbles back. His hand flies over his side, a sharp groan spilling from his lips. “You fucking cunt,” he bites out, but I’m already turning on my heels and racing up the staircase.

  He’s tall, and before I make it even four steps up, his long fingers are wrapping tightly around my ankle. Yanking me down, my chin hits the edge of the fucking stair and an intense searing of pain sparks along my jaw. My fingers claw forward, struggling to pull me up while I scramble to bring my foot out of his hold and crack is across his face.

  “This is how you want it tonight? Rough?” He spits, his teeth grinding together while his body shifts over my back. “Fucking slut. You like it this way, don’t you? Need your big brother to teach you a lesson.”

  Jesus fuck, he’s vile and a strangled cry escapes my lips while I manage a couple more stairs under his hold. His fingers slip into the back of my panties, and he begins yanking them down my thighs while I fight against his hold. At the same time, his other hand slides into the strands of my hair, ripping my head back and smashing it forward against the staircase a second time.

  Metallic tinges flood my mouth and I can feel the heat of blood and the sting of split skin rush along my face. I cry out, frantically brushing my fingertips over my jaw until the eruption of pain indicates where I’ve been injured. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, noticing how my lip is already swelling against my teeth and tongue.

  In a sheer moment of luck, my foot slips free of his hold and I gain the momentum I need to throw it back against his jaw. I watch as his head whips back and I use that moment to race forward, burying the pain under my adrenaline. In a desperate move, I run straight for my bedroom, throwing the door open and slamming it shut behind me. Rowan is quick though, and his fists are beating against it while his hand incessantly pulls at the knob. I know he’ll break through…he always does. But this buys me a bit of time to figure out any potential way of escape.

  I’m tempted to make a run for my window, but I’d drop two floors and if he made it outside, I don’t know if I’d be able to run away quick enough. I truly didn’t intend on taking it this far tonight, and the thrill in his tone as he screams in both anger and lust have my stomach rolling in disgust.

  Suddenly though, he goes still. Complete and total silence on the other side of the door. One beat. Two.

  “Wait until I finally get my hands on you tonight, girl. You’ve made me bleed. Do you know what that means, sweet sister?” He finally speaks and his tone is eerily quiet. His words slither through lips like a snake ready for attack. It’s the calm in his voice that scares me most and my skin is rippling in goosebumps as f
ear breaks through my blood.

  My chest is heaving with rapid breaths but I dare not speak. I don’t utter a single word in response to what he’s asking. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut while my hands splay flat against the door at my back. I’m using all of my strength to lean against it entirely, and I’m thankful for exactly that in the next moment.

  Because instantly, his fists pound against the door with more strength than I think I’ve ever seen him use. I feel the wood splinter at my back, and that terrifying realization paralyzes me momentarily. For fuck sake, he’s breaking the damn door down and my mind spirals in fear of what this means for me. What this means for my body.

  I worry this will be the worst I’ve ever taken from him tonight.

  “Stop, Rowan!” I shout, his loud and eager voice laughing on the other side of the door. He’s fucking insane, and I can only imagine that this kind of hunt is exactly what he’s looking for. “Please!” My heartbeat is racing uncontrollably, my breath coming short in my lungs while I move into a panic. The door is breaking apart with each blow of his fist and I can only visualize the blood that must be splattering the white paint now.

  But in the next moment, everything goes silent. A sound that both alarms and relieves me.

  I hear nothing. No sound of his breath, no beating fists, no horrid words and frightening threats. My eyes remain closed out of fear, and it takes several minutes of trusted silence for me to finally pry them open and slowly turn around.

  I was right. Blood is everywhere, coating the sharp jagged spears of wood still adorning the door. I lean forward, peeking through the obvious hole he’s destroyed in the middle of it.

  That’s when a wave of confusion rolls through me. I notice his long legs and bloodied fists lying flat on the ground. Cautiously reaching for the doorknob, I pull it open and find him completely passed out on the ground at my feet.

  “What the—” I start, but I’m quickly cut off as my body flies back and lithe fingers wrap tightly around my throat. I’m twisted around in an instant, my chest being shoved against the wall of my room as a tall, powerful figure stands at my back. Their hold tightens even more, forcing my head back and against their chest while nails cut into my skin.