Page 52 of Shadow Bound

My girl like’s it rough, I don’t hold back with my brutal pace.

The wound she caused on my finger still bleeds freely, every place my hand touches her body is covered in bloody streaks. Bringing my hand back up to her mouth, the blood dripping down my knuckles, her eyes lock on it hungrily. Her chest heaves as she pants. Bringing it back to her mouth, I smear it across her lips, painting her mouth bright crimson. She looks like a piece of art like this—covered in blood. My own personal artwork. Watching Isabeau’s tongue eagerly lick away the blood, I groan. Before she can lick it all away, I wrap my bloodied hand around her throat and bring her lips to mine. I kiss her, tasting my blood on my tongue as I slip it into her mouth. I kiss her until we are both deprived of oxygen.

I don’t need air right now. I just need to feel her.Everywhere.

She holds on to my forearm as I squeeze her throat, she doesn’t once try to pull it away from her. Her muscles tighten around me and her movements become more erratic as another orgasm builds. My own balls are starting to tighten and the tingling sensation at the base of my spine tells me I’m not going to last much longer.

Wanting to get her there faster, I begin to strum her clit with my free hand again. Her breath starts to come in short pants as she’s brought to the edge. When my claws, that have come out without me realizing, sink into her slender neck, it sets her off. Breaking away from my mouth, she screams her release. Her pussy clenches and quivers around me as she comes. The hand that was holding my wrist tightens, I think bones snap but I don’t feel any pain because I’m coming along with her. My cum fills her, splashing against her walls.

Isabeau, still seated on my softening dick, slumps against my chest. Her forehead on my shoulder. My world spins as we both sit there, catching our breaths. Sex with other women was okay, but I never left feeling fully satisfied. I left feeling more frustrated more often than not, but that isn’t the case with Beau. The agitation that always runs through my body is nonexistent and my wolf, who’s rarely settled or at peace, is still and quiet in my head.

Completely calm.

I absentmindedly trace the lines that weave down her arm to her fingertips. I have to bite back a smile when I feel her shiver at my touch—she’s so sensitive but tries to hide it from me. She fails at doing this, since I’m quickly learning all her tells.

“I got it for Alexandre.” Her sudden confession surprises me. “There was a rose carved into a wall in one of the cells we were kept in when we were younger. I’m not sure who left it there—probably an unlucky woman who never saw the light of day again. Alex used to trace his finger over it at night until he fell asleep. This was before he changed of course. But until the day he died, every piece of paper that crossed his path, he’d draw a rose on it. I don’t think he even realized what or why he was doing it. The rose on the wall was a comforting thing to him as a kid, and even when he grew cold and became the monster he was, he still drew the roses. They comforted him even when he didn’t know he needed comforting.”

This is the most she’s talked about her brother to me. I can’t help but feel lighten knowing she’s opening up to me. That she’s trusting me with this personal information.

I keep tracing the lines as I talk. “If he drew roses, why get thorns tattooed?”

“Sterling took our petals and blooms. He crushed the bright flower under his boot, but he left the thorn bush the flower grew on. He molded the thorns until they were sharp enough to kill.” She pauses. “They took the good—the beautiful—parts of our souls and left only the parts that cause harm. Alexandre used to be the sweetest, gentlest person. Never wanted to hurt anyone. I didn’t either of course, but I was better at pretending—playing the part. Nessa took Alexandre away for a month when I was five and when she brought him back, he was never the same. I still don’t know what she did to him—I’ll never know, but I do know that he was never the same.”

I turn my head and kiss her hair. “I’m sorry you lost your brother. I’m also sorry for the part my family played in his death.”

Isabeau jerks away from me, sitting up in my lap. Her pale eyes blaze. “Your family isn’t responsible for Alexandre’s death. Your demon friend may have been the one to pull the trigger, but I’m the one who allowed it. I could have stopped it—I was right there—but I didn’t. I sat there and I watched as the demon filled his body with hellfire.” An expression I’ve never seen on her face appears. It’s one of pain. Remorse. “When Nessa took Alexandre away for that month, the Alexandre I—” She pauses, turning away from me as she searches for the right word. “—loved, died. The man that died in that parking garage wasn’t really my brother. He looked like my brother, and sometimes, I saw glimpses of my Alex in him, like when he drew the roses, but it wasn’t really him. The Alexandre that died that night was the monster that Sterling created, and I hated him. And I hate myself for hating him. It wasn’t his fault he turned out that way.”

Wrapping her thick hair around my hand, I pull her face back toward mine so she can look at me when I say, “Just like it’s not your fault. What you’ve done in the past isn’t your fault. I know I’ve told you this before, but I need you to hear me when I tell you that they failed with you. They may have succeeded in turning Alexandre, but you’re still good, Beau.”

Her eyes soften. “I want to be,” she admits, her voice full of shame, like her wanting to change is an unspeakable crime. “God, Ransom, I’m so tired of being the bad guy. The way Ranger looked at me, like I’m the villain, I’m fucking tired of it.”

My heart breaks for her that my twin—a person that shares my face—looked at her like that. “I’m sorry my family made you feel like that.”

The corners of her mouth twitch. “I’m sorry my mother set off an avalanche and tried to kill you.”

With the chaos of Noah’s looming threat, being tossed into the freezing water and the events that led us to where we are currently, I’d forgotten about Nessa being Beau’s mother. The determination and vengefulness in Beau’s face when she talks about the other vampire makes sense now. The woman who’d brutally trained and hurt her all her life is her mother.

“She’s really your mom?”

“By genetics only, she didn’t give birth to us.” Her eyes dart down to where we are still connected. A flash of shame crosses her face briefly. Fuck… she regrets what happened?“That job fell to some poor woman named Victoria.”

Isabeau lifts off of me, my dick and our combined cum slipping from her. Reaching for a T-shirt I’d left on the floor after shifting a couple days ago, I clean her off. The high I’ve been riding dying quickly in my chest after seeing the look on her face. Not a single part of me regrets it, if anything it solidified what I already knew; there’s something more between Beau and I—an odd connection I want to explore more of. But apparently, it’s not mutual.

She drops onto the seat next to mine, looking around for her backpack. “It’s in the bed with my bags,” I tell her, tucking my dick back in my pants and zipping back up. “I’ll grab it.” My voice is clipped, but I can’t help it.

I’m pissed, I don’t want to be, but I am.

She doesn’t miss my change in mood, her confused eyes meet mine as I climb out of the truck and shut the door. Even in the fresh mountain air, I can smell her scent. I’m absolutely covered in it. Grabbing the backpack from the bed of the truck, I open the back door and toss it inside quickly, leaving her to get dressed.

While she does that, I rummage through my own bag, searching for a change of clean clothes. Not really caring if someone happens to drive by and see me, I strip down on the passenger side of the vehicle.

It doesn’t take her long to emerge from the truck. For the first time since I met her, she isn’t wearing any leather. Just an oversized black hoodie and leggings. She even has a pair of checkered Vans on her feet. No knives are in sight (I’m positive there is still one on her person) and her hair that usually falls around her shoulders is tied into a messy knot on her head. She’d even removed her smeared makeup from her face, leaving her barefaced. Without the eyeliner, she looks so much younger.

She doesn’t look like an assassin right now. She looks relaxed—comfortable—like she’s dropped her walls even more. I want to be happy over this development, but her look of regret is playing on repeat in my head.

“We need to talk about Nessa and Noah,” she says, closing the door to the truck. “What is your plan?”

I pull a clean shirt over my head. “I need to call Winnie’s hacker friend, now that I know who we are looking for he’ll be able to go back and track Noah’s movements for the past couple of months. Noah said he was gathering friends and I need to know who those friends are. He’s planning on bringing them with him to attack my pack and family, I need to know what we are going to be up against.” I still can’t believe that Noah is planning on trying to kill my family for Addison’s death. We never should have let him leave all those months ago. We thought we were helping him by allowing him to have his space, but now I think it did more harm than good. “I also need to somehow get a hold of Jax. If Nessa knows that Pru is alive, that means Sterling has men out looking for her.”

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