Chapter 63 Done for
Eryx:
Steam still clung to the mirror like a lover who wouldn’t let go.
I stared at my reflection—broad shoulders, water-slicked chest, cock already thickening again just from the memory of her voice—and knew I was ruined. Completely, irreversibly fucked.
Nyxara had me collared without ever touching leather. One moan from her lips and I was on my knees in my own head, begging for scraps.
Gods.
Gods.
The phone erupted with her ringtone—that dark, throaty purr I’d set just for her, the sound that shot straight to my balls every time.
I lunged out of the bathroom, dripping everywhere, snatched the phone off the rumpled sheets and answered mid-stride.
“Nyx—”
A moan hit me first. Low. Wet. Filthy.
Then another—deeper, drawn out, the unmistakable sound of a woman taking exactly what she wants.
My knees nearly buckled.
A man’s growl followed—ragged, desperate—then the wet slap of skin on skin, rhythmic, obscene.
I gripped the phone so hard the case creaked.
“Nyxara—” My voice was gravel and panic. “Who the fuck is—”
“I’m killing someone,” she said, calm, almost bored, like she was painting her nails while the rest of the world burned.
Another breathy whimper layered under her words. A man’s choked groan. The unmistakable sound of someone lost in the fantasy of burying himself balls-deep in her.
Jealousy ripped through me like a live wire.
“Don’t—” The plea tore out before I could stop it. “Don’t fuck him, Nyx. Don’t let him inside you. I’ll kill him myself—fuck, I’ll burn this city down—”
“I’m not fucking him.”
The line went quiet for one heartbeat except for that distant, obscene symphony: panting, slick sounds, a low masculine whine of pure need.
Her voice came back, velvet and lethal.
“How much do you love me, Eryx?”
I pressed my forehead to the wall. Closed my eyes. Let the question gut me.
“Enough to die for you,” I rasped. “Enough to kill for you. Enough to watch the whole Dominion burn if it means no one else ever gets to hear those sounds from you again.”
A soft, pleased hum.
“Good boy. Because I just killed someone. Come clean it up.”
She hung up.
I stood there—naked, hard, shaking—replaying every moan, every slap, every imagined thrust that wasn’t real but felt real enough to make me want to tear my own skin off.
She’d fed on him. Let him drown in the dirtiest dream of her body until his heart burst from the overload of lust. And I’d heard every second like I was in the room watching.
I dressed in black-on-black fury—shirt half-buttoned, coat slung over my shoulder, boots barely laced—and tore out into the night.
The address she sent lit up my phone like blood on snow.
I followed her scent through the club’s back halls—jasmine, smoke, copper, and the sharp musk of spent desire—until I kicked the door to room seven wide.
Nyxara lay naked across crimson sheets like a dark goddess after a sacrifice. Hair fanned out. Skin flushed. A thin line of blood drying at her temple, another at the corner of her full mouth. Nipples peaked. Thighs parted just enough to make my mouth water and my chest cave in.
Beside her, Elder Darius—very fucking dead—grinned up at the ceiling in frozen ecstasy. Trousers shoved down. Hand still curled around his softening cock. Come streaked across his stomach. He’d died mid-orgasm in his mind, choking on the fantasy she’d force-fed him.
I crossed the room in three strides.
My hand closed around her throat—firm, possessive, thumb pressing where her pulse thundered.
She tilted her head, lazy and dangerous.
“What, lover? Gonna arrest me? I know I was naughty, but this bloated pig hit me, spat slurs, promised to chain me like a trophy bitch—”
I wasn’t listening.
I shrugged out of my coat and draped it over her bare curves in one rough motion, hiding every inch that dead bastard had leered at. Then I scooped her up—bridal style, tight against my chest, her legs dangling, her breasts pressed to my ribs through the thin fabric.
She let me carry her.
I dropped her onto the leather couch, knelt between her thighs, cupped her face in both hands. Thumbed the blood away from her brow. Tasted copper on my skin.
“He did this?”
“Yes.” A small, wicked smile. “What are you gonna do about it? He’s already dead. I drank him dry.”
I glanced at the corpse. At the stupid, blissful smile still glued to his face.
“Next time,” I growled, voice so low it vibrated through both of us, “you call me the second he looks at you wrong. He doesn’t get to die imagining he’s splitting you open. Doesn’t get to come in his own hand picturing your cunt clenching around him. That smile—” I jerked my chin toward the body “—that fucking smile belongs to me.”
Something cracked open behind my ribs.
I lifted her again—bridal, reverent, feral—and spat straight into Darius’s open mouth.
Then I snapped my fingers.
Black fire—living, light-eating shadow—exploded from my palm and raced across the room. Velvet. Leather. Wood. Flesh. All of it curled, blackened, screamed.
Shouts erupted down the hall.
I didn’t care.
I carried her through the smoke, her arms looped around my neck, lips brushing my jaw.
“Black magic is forbidden,” she murmured, voice like sin against my skin.
I said nothing.
Just got her into the passenger seat, buckled her like she was precious and explosive, then drove—fast, silent, city lights bleeding past like open wounds.
At the house I carried her straight to the bathroom.
Hot water roared.
I peeled my coat off her—slow this time, reverent—then burned it to ash with a flick of black flame.
She watched me, eyes molten gold.
I stepped under the spray with her—still half-dressed—and started scrubbing. Shoulders. Collarbones. The valley between her breasts. Down her stomach. Between her thighs. Every place his eyes had violated. Every place his fantasy had touched.
Halfway through I shattered.
My arms locked around her from behind. Forehead pressed to the nape of her neck. Water pounded us both.
Tears—hot, helpless—mixed with the shower.
“Please,” I begged against her wet skin. Voice broken open. “Let me be yours. Let me be the weapon. Second-ranked killer in this fucking Dominion and I still couldn’t stop him from putting his hands on you. From dreaming about fucking you. Use me, Nyxara. Use my hands to choke. My mouth to devour. My cock to claim. My life to end anyone who looks at you too long.”
I tightened my hold until I was trembling.
“I’ll kneel,” I whispered, lips dragging along the curve of her shoulder. “I’ll bleed. I’ll burn. Just—don’t let me stand by helpless again. Don’t let another man get hard thinking about you. I’ll carve their eyes out. I’ll rip their hearts out with my teeth. Just say the word and I’m yours—body, soul, murder, everything.”
Her hand slid back, fingers knotting in my soaked hair.
She arched—slow, deliberate, pressing her ass back against my aching cock.
No words.
Just that roll of her hips.
That quiet claim.
I groaned—low, wrecked, grateful—and sank my teeth into the soft place where neck met shoulder.
Hard enough to mark.
Hard enough to promise.
She was mine.
And gods help anyone who ever forgot it again.