Page 21 of Blood

CAL

I try to remain inconspicuous as I watch the stone-faced guard enter our room, carrying five pizza boxes. He all but dumps them onto the nearest table, the scent of gooey cheese and tomato sauce permeating the room.

Barret, leaning against the wall opposite me, nods slightly, indicating for me to begin.

It was Balor, of all monsters, who realized that we weren’t completely cut off from our magic and powers. Whenever a guard enters the room, the enchantments that keep our abilities at bay waver, but only as long as it takes the guards to deliver our food and leave—no doubt to protect themselves in case we try to attack. It’s so imperceptible, I wouldn’t have noticed it if Balor hadn’t pointed it out.

But now, I feel my familiar magic—that of an incubus and dark fae, creating one of the first cupids in years—rippling directly underneath my skin. It nearly overwhelms me at first. Glimmering mate bonds, all of them expanding from our chests and leading in the same direction toward wherever Violet is, briefly capture my attention. I want so desperately to follow that bond back to my mate, but I hold back.

It’s not safe for her.

Not with this damn rune etched on my skin.

On first glance, it appears insignificant, almost like a pretty tattoo, though the skin it rests on is raised and red. Two lines sit horizontally of one another with a slash cutting through both. A crescent moon shape dangles over top, curving steeply downward until it punctures the bottom of the design in a sharp angle.

How can one seemingly innocent design cause such havoc and heartbreak?

At least I’m still handsome. Even something as grotesque as this can’t deter from my naturally good looks.

I force my attention away from the hideous rune keeping me from my mate and instead focus on the guard. We decided that I would do this part of the plan.

If we can keep the guard in the room, we will have access to our powers.

I ignore the throbbing mate bonds—all of them brimming with pain and loss and love and lust—and push my energy into the steely-eyed guard. He has just finished opening a box of cheesy breadsticks when I bombard him with my powers.

Almost instantly, his eyes glaze over and his jaw unhinges.

He slowly turns toward me with heated eyes, his cock already half-hard in his pants.

Yuck.

I’m at least a ten, and he’s probably a two on his best day. His receding hairline emphasizes his sweat-coated bald spot, and his paunch practically engulfs the waistband of his jeans. Even if I wasn’t happily mated and in love with Violet Dracula, I still wouldn’t entertain fucking this man.

I close my eyes and focus on the first thing I can think of—the chair Dimitri Gray is now sitting on.

Fuck.

The guard—who I think is named Royce—peels his attention off me almost instantly and focuses his hooded gaze on a still weary and tired Dimitri.

Our headmaster sits up almost instantly, his ice-blue eyes sharpening into icicles, his hands balling into fists.

“Cal...” he warns, slowly rising to his feet and backing away from the prowling guard.

Normally, I’d be the first to admit that Dimitri Gray is a fuckable monster. How could he not be, with all that snow-white hair, penetrating blue eyes, and chiseled features? If Violet ever wanted to have a foursome with me, Barret, and Dimitri, I wouldn’t complain. However, the last few days have taken its toll on our normally impassive headmaster. His white hair hangs limply around his shoulders, in desperate need of a wash, and his cheeks are sunken and hollow. I don’t know if his disheveled appearance is a product of being tortured by Zeus for weeks...or of being away from Violet.

Knowing the headmaster, it’s probably the latter, though the stubborn asshole would never admit it.

“Relax,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. “You may be a walking sex god—even when you look like shit—but I won’t have my good pal Royce over there start humping you.”

“Then what—”

Dimitri’s question is answered when Royce saunters toward the chair Dimitri abandoned, a sultry look in his eyes.

“I’ve heard you've been a bad girl,” Royce purrs at the chair. He reaches forward to caress the wooden backing before sliding his hand down to the cushioned seat in a gentle caress. “Does someone need a spanking?” The sound of flesh hitting wood reverberates through the room.

“What the fuck am I even seeing?” Vin asks, aghast.

“I can’t look away.” That has to be Jack. I don’t think Hux has ever sounded so timid or scared in his life.

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