Soul Enslaved (Sons of Wrath Book 3) (22 page)

“He left when I was twelve. You asked if he hurt me? The day he walked out, he destroyed me.”

“You loved him, then?”

“It was a curse having had him in my life as long as I did. There’s nothing quite like feeling as if you’re special. Different from the others of your kind, who never knew their fathers, let alone grew up with them—only to find, you’re not special at all. It would’ve been better if she’d drained him.”

Gavin turned to see her fumbling with the paintbrush, a smile on her face.

“I used to believe that bonds between mates were unbreakable. They’re useless. They mean nothing.” She tossed the paintbrush into one of the canisters set beside the easel.

Bonds
were
unbreakable in most cases. “Do you know why he left?”

“Nope. Don’t care. Bastard could be face down in a ditch, and it wouldn’t matter to me. Thirteen years without so much as a phone call, while my sister and I were dragged all over the city from one trailer park to the next? Living with men who would’ve torn our innocence to shreds, if I hadn’t learned how to use my powers early on.”

“Why so early?”

“Jeven. The guy you saw the other night. My pimp. I suppose I should hate him more than I do, but he taught me how to fight back. He gave me a chance.” She began cleaning up her art supplies. “We’re not born with self worth. Most succubi are made to believe from an early age that a
man
defines your worth. That man is your pimp. And from that point on, you’re no longer your own person. You live, eat and breathe to fill a man’s pockets. That would’ve been the case with Jeven, except that I learned how to get by without stealing souls.”

“I thought succubi thrived on the sexual energy of men.”

“They do. Most succubi get pleasure from it. I learned how to manipulate my powers to get energy from their fears.”

“So, you get off on their fear of you?”

“It’s better than stealing their souls, right?”

“Am I to believe you’ve
never
stolen a single soul before?” From what Gavin knew, centuries of existing alongside the succubi, they required sexual sustenance or risked not only losing their powers, but also having to answer to their pimps.

“No, I’ve stolen them. Just … not the way you think. First base and heavy petting, for the most part.”

“How is that even possible? This Jeven lets you get away with not delivering on souls?”

“He’s not thrilled about it, but he’s the reason I’m the way I am. I’m sure he’d love nothing better than for me to turn a new leaf and suck the shit out of every man I encounter. But I don’t know true pleasures with a man. And I don’t see that changing any time soon.” Her eye twitched, and her lips pursed. “I’ve no idea why I told you these things.”

Gavin suspected Jeven’s casual attitude toward her lack of souls might’ve more to do with his own fear. Clearly, there was something more to Sabelle. And, if Gavin’s suspicions about Griffin—ones he had no intentions of bringing up unless warranted—were correct, Jeven might just have reason to fear for his life. “I’ve got a feeling there’s layers upon layers of you that somehow you keep under lock and key. Whatever it was that possessed you … I’m glad.” He nodded toward the portrait that displayed the red script. “What’s the tattoo?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Something he had inked on his arm. I remember it being there. Just don’t remember what it said.”

“It was inked in red?”

“Black. Whatever it said was a lie. So I painted it red.” She raised a brow. “Have you never read Alice in Wonderland?”

He smirked. “Clever. Strange that you remember everything but the actual words.”

“Yeah, well, it obviously didn’t resonate with me to remember.” She sniffed. “He’s nothing but a sperm donor to me.”

“A sperm donor you spend hours painting?”

Her jaw shifted. “And what’s your story, Gavin?” She tipped her head. “What dark secrets lie beneath your surface?”

He huffed, raising a brow. “They’re there. I suppose centuries have just sort of made me numb to them.”

“Have you ever met your father?”

“Yes. A few times.”

“And what do you think of him?” She crossed her arms. “Is he everything you dreamed in a father?”

“Not even close. But I don’t fault him for what he doesn’t know. And the male clearly has never felt for me what a father feels toward his son.”

“What about your mother? I bet she was a Cinderella type. Made up for no dad?”

Gavin glanced toward the floor. “No. Not quite.” An ache coiled in his gut at the mention of his mother.

“Tell me. You’re numb anyway, right?”

Gavin focused on the specks of paint scattered across the wood planks and sucked in a breath before clearing his throat. “She committed suicide when I was sixteen years old.” He caught a flicker of remorse in Sabelle’s eyes, likely mirroring his own. Gavin hadn’t spoken of his mother in centuries, and it hadn’t been his intent to make her feel bad for asking. “Back when I was a boy, sons of princes were hunted. I watched a man kill my brother before I could save him.” Talking of Legarrod took much more courage than he’d learned to summon. His younger brother was, perhaps, the one person in Gavin’s world who’d ever brought him the most insurmountable pain. He gulped and cleared his throat again. “He was just a boy … born of a human father. Not even a Wrath.”

Sabelle’s eyes softened until warm and sorrowful as he told his story, prompting Gavin to continue. “I think my mother wanted to die the moment I presented Legarrod to her. She lost so much more than my brother that day. I saw it in her eyes, the way the shine she always wore dulled away. Bones appeared beneath her skin. Each day, she seemed to grow more stagnant, like a corpse rising from a grave, dying little by little.” The old familiar sorrow climbed from the pit of Gavin’s gut. “As horrible as it sounds, there was almost a … sense of relief when she finally did it.” The colorful specks on the floor merged into a blur as he recalled the memory. “Every day I waited for it—I knew it was what she wanted. But I think she held out until I was old enough to fend for myself, which makes no sense, because I was looking out for both of us at the end of it.” His tongue raked across his back teeth as he debated whether or not to confess what he’d not said to anyone before. Somehow, the event had always left Gavin with a slight twinge of guilt. Shame. As if he’d somehow driven her to it. “I found her hanging from the rafters in the barn. She didn’t want me to live with the memories of it in the house. I can’t even say there was struggle in her expression. Ceferina found me shortly after.” He lifted his gaze to Sabelle’s. “I often wonder … what would’ve been if I’d gotten to Legarrod faster. If it’d been me instead. I knew she loved me. I just think she missed him more.”

Sabelle’s brows knitted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize … it was wrong of me to mock you.”

“I believe, sometimes, death claims the soul before the body. I know she died the same day Legarrod did. It killed me to watch her go through the pain, day after day. Nothing makes you feel quite as helpless as watching someone you love slip away.”

“Sometimes there’s nothing … to eliminate that kind of pain. I couldn’t imagine losing TJ or Janie.” She blinked away tears. “There is nothing more frightening to a mother.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He forced a smile. “Still, I can’t help but blame myself.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Gavin. Motherhood is a condition that has no rules and no bounds—a reservoir of love, incapable of ever depleting. No matter what. That kind of sadness isn’t meant for a son to heal.” Her gaze fell from his. “Do you plan to have children someday?”

Gavin glanced down and smiled. “I guess every male wants a legacy. But children were never in the cards for me.” Even if he had wanted children, Gavin couldn’t bring himself to be the father who bastardized his son, by knocking up a woman and skipping back to Obsidius, where he’d ultimately face death. “I can assure you, if they had, I’d have done my best to be better than my old man.”

“There are days I question whether I’ve made better decisions than my mother. It’s not like this place is so much better, or we have so much more than I did growing up.”

“Forgive my lack of parental experience, but I’d venture to say that your children couldn’t give a shit about
where
you live or
what
you have. Life is about
how
you live and
who
you share it with.”

“You know, for a demon, you say some pretty profound shit sometimes.”

He cut loose his grin. “I have my moments, I suppose.”

She turned back to her painting and, Christ, her thighs peeking out of the shorts damn near broke him. The only redhead Gavin knew with a honey skin tone. Her muscles strained as she raised up to plaster the top of the canvas in black paint. Black. Dark. Devious. The color sweeped through Gavin’s head in images of lace lingerie and leather restraints. Her bare foot scratched the back of a calf as she came down to add more paint to the brush. Draped over the tray of the easel, away from the paints, lay a tiny gold chain, as if she’d stripped her jewelry.

“So … you’ve discovered my secret hideaway. Have a seat.” She gestured toward the stool sitting off to the side. “I need a new subject for this painting.” Her eyes scanned the surrounding white faces. “Something less depressing.”

“You want to paint me?”

“Yes.”

With reluctant steps, Gavin strode across the room and lowered himself to the chair. “Here?”

“Yes.”

“Should I take off my shirt?”

“If you want to.” Paintbrush poised in hand, she watched him slip his fingers beneath his black T-shirt and pull it up over his head. Her chest puffed with a deep inhalation, and her gaze averted back toward the canvas. She cleared her throat. “Your physique … it must take hours … to achieve that.”

“Some of its genetics, but for the most part, yes.”

“It’s … very precise. Symmetrical.”

“Will it be difficult for you?”

She seemed to scoff at the question. “I’ve seen a man before.”

“I meant, having to paint something
symmetrical
, as you said.” He grinned at the flush coloring her cheeks. “You’ve painted a half naked male before?”

“I’ve done nudes, if you must know.”

“Then, you won’t mind if I remove my pants as well?” He shouldn’t have been taunting her, but hell if Gavin could help himself. He could’ve used some humor to lighten the somber mood from just moments before.

She shifted on her feet, brush poised as though she waited to begin.

Rising from the stool, he shoved his pants down to his ankles, leaving black briefs where his obvious excitement in all their play had become apparent. The clearing of her throat, the second in a matter of minutes, kicked his lip into a crooked smile.

“It’s art. There’s nothing sexual about it.”

“So, the art is making you blush, then?” Aside from lightening the mood, somehow their play hadn’t spawned his beast, either. Perhaps his body
didn’t
view it as sexual. All the more reason Gavin was suddenly curious to continue.

“Is it your hope to make me uncomfortable? It’s not going to work. I’m an artist. You’re a subject.”

“Good to know.” He rose up once more, hooking a finger inside his briefs.

“Stop!” Using the heel of her palm, she rubbed her forehead. “What … what are you doing?”

Gavin shrugged, resisting the urge to laugh at her obvious discomfort. “You’ve done nudes. I assumed it was acceptable if I took these off, too.”

“Don’t do that.”

Biting the inside of his cheek didn’t contain much of his smile. “Why?” He tipped his head and pushed on the briefs until the top of his ass peeked out.

“Gavin!” A wet sloshy smack hit his chest, and he looked down to see black paint skating toward his stomach, the paintbrush clicking against the floor. She covered her face with both hands and let out a spasm of laughter. “I’m sorry.” Though she sounded more amused than apologetic. Lowering her hands revealed two splotches of paint across her cheeks.

Gavin chuckled and bent forward, lifting the brush from the floor before casually crossing the room. “You, uh, have something on your face.”

Scowling, she touched a hand to her cheek, leaving behind another splotch, then held them out in front of her. “Oh, shit. It dripped on my hands.”

As she grasped for the paintbrush, Gavin swiped it away. “Here, I’ll get it.” Black streaked across her chin as he dragged the brush against it. “Much better.”

Two dimples caved her cheeks, and she tightened her lips, obviously holding back a smile. A splash of red hit his face, and Gavin glanced down at himself, catching sight of the new paintbrush in her hand.

He lifted his head only slightly, staring at her from below a raised brow. “Now you’re in deep shit.”

Her eyes lit up in the beat of a second it took Gavin to wet his brush in blue and flick it at her. She volleyed another sprinkle, and a burst of laughter shot from her mouth as she backed up and flung another round of paint.

Before Gavin could reload, she’d bathed him in another spattering. And another. His body came alive with excitement, thrilled in the fun.

Her body jerked and twisted, cleavage peeking through her buttoned-down top, paint splashing against her toned thighs.

In spite of the way it left him burning, Gavin felt in control—brimming with lust, of course, but still in command of the beast buried somewhere below the surface. Blindly reaching out, he snatched her arm and tugged her to his body. A scream of laughter tore out of her and Sabelle pushed off his chest, but he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close. “Are you done?”

“Never!” Bristles of the paintbrush scratched against the bottom of his chin.

His fingers tickled her ribs, setting her squirming. “Are you done?”

“I’m … gonna …
no
!” She jerked backed, hysterical with laughter.

“I can go on all night, if you want.” His grip tightened, as her body wriggled and floundered against him.

“Okay! Stop! I give! I give up! Mercy! Please!”

He stilled but didn’t release her. The two stood, coated in paint, breathing heavily, each inhale interrupted by her flinching and giggles. Her eyes slid shut, and her breath feathered his neck. Every part of her body nestled perfectly against Gavin’s, the weight of her feeling right in his arms.