Page 53 of Cursed Dawn

CHAPTER21

Seven. That's how many more orgasms they coaxed from my oversensitive pussy, reducing me to a shuddering, sweat-slicked mess with permanent cross-eye.1I dropped into a deep sleep for long, long hours after we cleaned up, as much as we could when we were locked up in Mount Olympus.

When I woke up, at least I wasn't boiling hot and desperate for cock. But I flinched when a familiar voice snapped, "Look at you, such a fucking whore."

I sucked in a breath, hurt blooming through my chest as I searched the room for the source of the voice. Em and Wane were still sleeping, all of us pressed into the corner. But that voice…

"Wyn?" I whispered, getting to my feet and approaching the door.

"You're such a selfish bitch," he snapped, and I spun, searching for him. His voice was here, in the cell with us, but I couldn't see him.

Was this ... his ghost?

"You crossed that threshold, condemned me to death, and here you are screwing your mates instead of grieving me."

"I—I'm sorry," I breathed, my chest cut through with shards of pain. "There's something fucked up with my body, I couldn't help it, ithurt— "

He scoffed, and I spun again, searching for him, aching to see him. My bottom lip wobbled.

"Where are you? Wyn,please.I—I miss you. I shouldn't, you're a complete dick, but I do."

"Sure you do," he replied with heavy scathing, his voice hitting my skin like the lashes of a whip. "You miss me so much you didn't even bother to save me. You're selfish. Heartless. I gaveeverythingto keep those thankless mates of yours alive. And then I saved you from the cave collapseandkept your useless hide safe in the Labyrinth. You should all be dead.Ishould be alive."

"Why are you saying this?" I asked, a hot rush of tears slicking my cheeks, burning my eyes.

"Hales?" Emlyn pushed to his feet, shaking out his wings as he approached me. "What's wrong?"

I swallowed hard, fresh tears veiling my eyes. "Can't you hear him?"

"I can't hear anyone," he gently answered, pulling me into an all-consuming hug, both arms and wings wrapped around me. My breath hitched in a sob, and I recoiled when Wynvail's voice lashed the air again.

"You're happy I'm dead, aren't you? It gives you more time to focus on your perfect mates, instead of the villain. What was it you called me? A monster? Congrats, honey, you got everything you wanted."

"I didn't," I cried against Emlyn’s chest, my throat so tight it hurt. "I'm not happy, I'm fucking miserable—"

"Shh," Em soothed, his arms tightening until I was flush with his big body.

"Haley?" Wane asked, a note of alarm in his voice. Cool velvet pressed against my back, shadows moulding to my body in a matching hug to Em's feathers.

"It's Wynvail's g-ghost," I choked out, a cry smothering my voice until it was a pathetic squeak. "He hates me."

"You could have saved me," he sneered. "You're a pitiful excuse for a mate."

My knees almost buckled; my hand shot up to clutch my chest as a sharp ache cracked through my soul. He was right. I should have noticed something was wrong, should have known he was too quiet, too serious. I remembered the Damned House in unforgiving clarity; he'd been reserved, watchful, and when Wane lashed out at him he stood there and taken it. I should have known something was wrong then. A real mate would have, but not me. A pitiful excuse for a mate.

"It can't be his ghost, itzaia," Wane said so gently. "Even if he had a spirit despite being made by Cronus, it would be drawn into Hell. It wouldn't be here in Olympus."

"Maybe, if he was mythical instead of demon," Em murmured, "he might go to the underworld."

The resting place of gods and monsters. What did that make Wynvail? He was formed from shadows and sunlight—from archdemon magic. But he'd been shaped and brought to life by a titan, like so many gods in the past. What did that make him? I didn't know.

"I hate you," Wynvail sneered, driving another knife into my heart. I breathed through clenched teeth, fighting to get my tears under control.

"I hate you, too," I whispered like a confession, a declaration. I scrubbed the tears from my cheeks and rested my head on Em's wide shoulder, letting his scent fill my lungs and smooth the sharpest edge of my grief.

"It's not real," a new voice called—through the thick wall to our left.

I jumped, air catching in the back of my throat. Wane rushed from my back and approached the wall; I wiped the next wave of tears from my eyes to watch him.

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