Page 17 of Soul Redeemed

Wrapping her arms around her mid-section, she gave a nod.

Calix licked his lips and gave one more yank of the chain, one that she resisted. He tugged anyway, until she stood before him and he could feel her hot pants of breath fall against his skin. “Do you think I’d have let you stay this long if there was another? Do you think I could disrespect my female that way?”

When she glanced up at him, her brows knitted to a frown as she seemed to study him for the first time. “Gods, Calix, you’ve been starving yourself.” The drift of her fingertips down his face was heaven, setting his skin on fire, but Calix snatched her wrist, and she lowered her hand. “You don’t trust me. You shouldn’t. I betrayed you.”

She’d also tried to flash away, which meant she’d become infected with the Sang virus. Not that Calix worried about that so much, but things were beginning to add up to something he didn’t want to believe. That perhaps she had been sent to him.

“You’re not to leave. You’ll remain in my bedroom, attached to Diablis steel.” It killed him to speak to her so coldly, when she clearly had suffered something, evident in the bones peeking through her skin and the dark circles under her eyes. And no matter what they’d been through, bottom line—Ava was a Nephilim. One of the species in the underworld that few others trusted, for good reason. Pulling tricks happened to be one of their strong points, and Ava had pulled that shit once on him already. “I’ll see to it that you have everything you need. Like blood.”

Her gaze fell again, and she swiped at her face. “I’m infected. Disgusting. Maggot of the underworld.”

The words hurt Calix’s heart, and still he kept his guard up. “How did you become infected? And how long?” The cold tone of his voice didn’t even begin to reflect the pain of knowing she might’ve suffered.

“Injections. Probably months?”

“Why haven’t you turned? Like the others?”

She shrugged and her fidgeting fingers told Calix the questions made her nervous for some reason. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before I look like one of them.”

Calix would see to it that didn’t happen.

His brother’s mate, Calla, had survived the virus, reversed its effects with her pregnancy. Having the fetus’s demon blood circulating with her own had somehow made her stronger, until she’d fully recovered and didn’t require a human bloodmeal, at all.

If it came down to it, Calix would impregnate Ava to keep her from turning. He just had to find a way to forgive her first, because he surely wouldn’t think of knocking her up without bonding first.

His whole body rejoiced in the thought of her carrying his child, though, with her round belly housing his future son, and the beautiful glow to her face that’d easily heal the bruises and dark circles.

The scent of her steeled his muscles and something wicked pumped through his veins. Something dark and carnal that he had to push down inside for fear that, if it took over, he might be acting on the pregnancy shit quicker than he’d planned. Having her so close to him might be dangerous. Could very well set off his cravings, and clearly she needed some rest.

With another tug of the chain, Calix jerked his head toward the bed for her to follow. “C’mon. You need some sleep.”

The old Ava would’ve laughed and told him sleep was for when they were dead. She loved a party as much as Calix and could easily keep him up for days at a time. Not that Calix required much sleep, anyway, but nights with Ava were often fraught with the kind of sex that drained her and kept him buzzing like a goddamn battery. The high of sex couldn’t be matched by any drug in the otherrealm, so Ava had become something of an addiction while they were together. Something he couldn’t have imagined giving up for the three months she somehow managed to stay away from him.

She didn’t fight him. Didn’t smile that wily smile, at all. Instead, she nodded and followed him toward the bed. Whatever had happened to her in the last few months had clearly changed her. Even so, the moment she climbed onto the mattress, Calix secured the chain to the bed. The beauty of the collar was, only the one who held the end of the chain could unfasten it, and because it was made out of Diablis steel, she couldn’t flash away, either. No other binding required. The only way she’d be leaving the bed was if she up and severed her own head.

“Will you lie with me?” she asked.

“No.” The word killed Calix. He wanted nothing more than to climb in beside her and hold her until she slept. Perhaps that time would come, if she somehow proved that her coming to him wasn’t a trick.

Because one thing was certain—Calix sure as fuck wouldn’t forgive her twice.

9

The building that stood in front of Zayne looked like it had been stretched through lenses that gave a soft and fuzzy blur to the edges. The hit of Abyzz, paired with the Elysia he’d taken before leaving his hotel room, would’ve probably killed any other demon. At least knocked them the fuck out.

Zayne feared his lack of full-on fucked-up-ness might mean that he’d become totally immune to the drug. Turned into a straight-up junkie. Nothing would kill his reality anymore.

And nothing would give him the brass balls to walk into a place like Pandora, asking about a young succubus.

But that was exactly what he planned to do, as he stumbled forward, making his way toward the front door. The bar, owned by the Fallen, had certainly seen its fair share of strung out supes, which is why Zayne had sought it out.

Drug deals, prostitution, mind-jacking—all that shit went down in the place that had a cold industrial front on the outside, made up of steel and concrete. Etched with the same swirling demonic design as the box on the sign out by the road. To the human eye, it’d be just another club like any other in the city, but those etchings told demons all manner of debauchery was welcome.

The dark hallway swallowed him as he entered the club and made his way toward the main floor, with the pounding of bass beating against his skull. He hated the techno shit, much preferred alternative, or even heavy metal, over it. Laser lights bounced off a throng that’d gathered in the center, creating designs on the ceiling. The crowd swayed beneath a flashing strobe light, and when Zayne eyed the Nephilim at the opposite side of the building, sitting in a booth alone, he made his way through a sea of vibrating bodies, until he reached the person he’d specifically come to see.

The guy across from him looked to be about twenty-five, wearing a hoodie pulled up over his head, with black curls peeking from it. Scanning down to his throat showed the signature track marks of a slave—the scars, equally spaced, where a spiked collar had been drilled into his throat. Sexual fetishes and torture happened to be two prominent ingredients in a Nephilim’s diet, and if Zayne had to guess, the guy’d probably enjoyed his time as a slave.

“You look like shit,” he said, as Zayne fell onto the leather seat and leaned back in the booth. He slid a palm across the table and flicked his fingers, eyes on Zayne’s hand.