Thirst (Hellish #4)(8)

“Agreed,” Niall growled against his throat.

Niall’s dick hit all the perfect spots. Cin’s tight heat milked Jonathan’s cock. The pleasure was too much. Jonathan reached for relief. Without warning, an orgasm slammed into him, stealing his breath. The room went dark as its intensity robbed him of sight.

Niall gasped. “Fook, Jonathan. That’s it. I need that ass sucking on my cock.”

Cin’s orgasm washed over Jonathan’s brain, combining with his. When Niall’s pleasure filled his head too, Jonathan collapsed. His body couldn’t contain the intensity of their ecstasy. Wave after wave of sexual satisfaction locked down his muscles, paralyzing him. Jonathan was trapped in its web. His back hit the mattress. Cin’s and Niall’s tongues filled his mouth. He reveled in how they entwined, taking turns savoring one another. Sweat and cum slickened their skin. The room smelled like sex and love. It was Jonathan’s version of heaven. He wouldn’t stop until Lire, Dougal, and Faolan had the same.

Lire, bring me Kallus. First born son of Mammon. Send Faolan to collect Baptiste at my command. Leave Dougal here to help me prepare a demon trap.

Anything, my king.

Baptiste might not think he cared about the mate who’d abandoned him, but as Jonathan snuggled in the cocoon of his mates, he knew better. There was no length he wouldn’t go to protect his men. It was time to see if Baptiste would be the same.





3





With rage coating his brain and darkness streaking the sky, Baptiste skipped walking past the sea of knowing gazes and appeared inside his bedroom. Fuck all. The new king knew about Eirik and Kallus. He’d seen everything. Baptiste had felt the Nephilim penetrating his every thought and memory. Everything felt raw and exposed. No one understood the insanity. Baptiste tore up the floor, pacing from one end of the room to the other. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw Eirik’s face—felt his mate’s fangs piercing his skin. Then his eyes would open and Eirik would be gone, forever isolated from Baptiste, even in the next life. As a Viking, Eirik would rest in the halls of Valhalla. As a Druid, Baptiste would be reborn, over and over again until the end of time. That was why he’d chosen to turn vampire to begin with. At least as he was now, he’d been allowed to choose the form he would be forever. Forever had never seemed so unending. Without Eirik, he felt every drawn-out second as it ticked by. If their fates were different, Baptiste would’ve joined Eirik in the next life long ago.

Baptiste felt Kallus a half second before the demon’s image filled his mind. Fingers encircled Baptiste’s throat, gently urging him back against an unnaturally hot chest. Baptiste’s eyes fell closed. In a detached way, Baptiste recognized Kallus wasn’t really there. Everything was inside his head. The desperation he felt at Kallus’ touch was all on him. It was the ghosts of his memories. The demon’s greed couldn’t touch him like this, but he could invade Baptiste’s mind and drive him insane.

Baptiste hissed as Kallus brushed his lips across the shell of his ear. His knees weakened. As always, with just one touch, Kallus owned him. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home. You know I’m not a patient man.”

“You’re not a man at all,” Baptiste argued, because it was better than begging.

Kallus ignored him. “Where have you been? I couldn’t see you where you went.” He pressed his nose to Baptiste’s neck and inhaled. “You smell like power.” Kallus hummed. “Damn. You know how much I love that scent.”

Fuck. Baptiste hated him. Not as much as he hated himself, but still. Baptiste hardened his heart against Kallus and stepped out of the demon’s hold. When he turned and met Kallus’ gorgeous blue gaze, Baptiste saw all the weakness inside himself. Kallus was beautiful. With his iridescent light blue eyes, tall frame, black hair, and perfect lips, Kallus could fill any heart with instant greed. Every time Baptiste set eyes on the demon, it was just like the first. His heart squeezed in his chest. Every heartbeat came faster than the last. His throat went dry, bringing about the deepest thirst. Except it wasn’t water he craved. Baptiste wanted to drink in every ounce of Kallus, owning the man in ways no one else ever could. Each time he saw Kallus, he felt the same. The thing was—he already owned Kallus in a way no one else ever would. Kallus was his blood mate, and Baptiste meant nothing to him at all. These imaginary meetings were just one of Kallus’ many tricks. He toyed with Baptiste’s mind and heart.

“What do you want?”

Kallus smirked. “Everything. You used to love that about me. Come on,” Kallus said, moving in close. “Play with me, Little Mouse.”

The pain in Baptiste’s chest stole his breath. “Don’t call me that.” He couldn’t hear the pet name Eirik and Kallus had used for him right now.

Kallus mimicked his Cajun accent. “My shy little mouse,” he taunted, closing the final gap between them. “If people could only see the pervert living beneath the awkward shell, I’d have to fight men off with a stick.”

“Exorcizo te, omnis te mentiri dicas.”

His demon’s smile fell. “No.”

Baptiste couldn’t hear it. “Exorcizo te, omnis immundus corde. Oro, audite me.” The image of Kallus disappeared from Baptiste’s head, leaving him disoriented. The exorcism took Kallus away, but not the greed and longing. Baptiste’s body betrayed him. His knees nearly hit the floor.