Shadow Guardians: The Beast
Chapter 17

As her hand drew up his torso in a slow sweep, while her mouth lingered and suckled in his neck, Draven couldn’t bring himself to feel any of the warmth of Fiona’s caresses. He didn’t close his eyes in bliss as she kissed him, though he stroked her right back. It was part of the act, so he did it and pretended there wasn’t a big gaping hole in his chest while he was with her or with any of the other females who came calling to him. And there was no shortage.

Fiona, especially, kissed him everywhere except his mouth. She couldn’t stand the look of his scarred face, though she carefully tried to hide it from him. He didn’t care. He wished that, on a certain level, it would keep her away altogether—all of them. Besides, if she tried his mouth, she would only replace embarrassment, like so many others had. He never kissed them on the lips.

Her hand drifted south, he caught her wrist before she touched him there, and brought it back up to his chest, gently. He sighed, knowing he had to take control now, or she’d think he didn’t want her touching him. Which was the honest-to-gods truth.

“Let me take care of you,” he said to her. He pushed her backward until she fell onto the bed. He trailed kisses along her body, his mouth warm but his soul cold.

Eventually he joined his body with her, and as he rode, he wondered if he’d ever feel any sort of connection with anyone. He was doing this simply for the muffled pleasure of release. The pleasure of climax had steadily declined for him over the years, and he wondered when the day would come when it vanished completely and all he felt was numbness. She orgasmed beneath him, an expression of pure bliss on her face.

He looked away from her so she wouldn’t see the sinking feeling in his eyes and silently wished he had the willpower to remain celibate like Magnus had. But he would’ve been celibate for his entire four hundred-something years. Never in all that time, with all the females he’d met, had he ever bonded. He wondered if it was even in him at all. At one point, he questioned if he was even heterosexual. But when they had to take care of Magnus and all three of them were naked together in the shower, he felt traumatized enough for all of them. So clearly, he wasn’t wired the other way.

Gods, he was disgusted with himself. He forced the thoughts from his mind before they impacted his performance. He finished, and let out a closed-mouthed groan. He might as well have chosen not to, it was that unremarkable. But he thought he ought to pretend it wasn’t too bad for Fiona’s sake. He didn’t want her to feel self-conscious.

At least the calm, languid feeling after release still washed over him. That was one of the things he sought from it. He climbed off her and pulled on black pants, a gray turtleneck, and boots as she lay on the bed with a look of pure satisfaction on her face.

“I love you,” she said to him.

Yeah. Sure. He smiled at her. It was bullshit. And even she knew it. She’d been with him three times, and the hell knew why she even said it. Maybe she was acting too. For his sake. He was a tool to be used. The most convenient tool in the house.

That was just fucking sad.

“See you around.” He said, pulling his black duffle jacket around his shoulders.

He left her there, in one of the guest rooms, while he went down to the ground-floor library, which also led into the massive vault. He shoved the sex out of his mind and forced himself to focus on something else.

The sound of his heavy boots echoed in the hallways as he made his way to the elevator. When the doors opened, there were three females chatting. Their conversation abruptly stilled when they saw Draven, and two of them smiled seductively. Those two glared at each other when they saw the other one pining for his affection. Well, he had a reputation. And every female knew it. So he wasn’t exactly sure what their problem was. It seemed to be more with each other than with him. He was just the cassanova. The tool. He fought against the temptation to pull up his nose in disgust. Why the fuck was he still doing this? He didn’t even know anymore. Maybe it was just a perverted habit.

Maybe he held onto some small thread of hope that he might bond with someone—that he might feel something.

They ambled out of the elevator, one female throwing her hair over her shoulder in a bid to get his attention, the other swinging her hips more provocatively. The third one kept her eyes anywhere but on his face, the disgust evident. He wasn’t sure if it was him or the scar. He didn’t care either. He got into the elevator when she awkwardly passed him by, clutching her purse tightly.

On the ground floor, he passed the grand hall and avoided eye contact with anyone. He wanted to take another look at the artifact that Nelo’s team had brought in and maybe take a picture of the thing later so he didn’t have to touch it more than he had to. The evil radiating from it even made him feel uneasy. Maybe he could replace something about it in the Archaic Chronicles.

He had an inkling of what it was. Demons were arrogant bastards. The really powerful ones liked leaving relics of themselves behind as a way to inspire fear. It was a way to boast about their power. And usually, when all the pieces were put together, they formed their own unique symbol. The Shadow Guardians could then use it to identify the demon. Of course, the shitty part about it was that said bastard was going to go hogwild with the mortals in the meantime.

It meant, in essence, that this particular nuisance was going to target quite a few religious establishments before they could figure out who he was.

He pushed open the heavy baroque oak doors of the library, replaceing Magnus behind one of the trio of sturdy desks with one of the Chronicle books. He wore a black turtleneck, a long-sleeved shirt, and jeans.

The scent of timeworn, dusty books filled the air, carrying out the volumes that were stacked back-to-back in the rows of bookracks that stretched up to the ceiling. The floors were walnut, while the paneling on the walls was mahogany. Behind the three desks that were placed in a u-shape, there was a massive bomb-proof door that led into a large walk-in vault, packed with artifacts of obscure nature, ancient as Methuselah.

“Why are you up at this time of day?” Draven asked Magnus.

Magnus glanced up from the seventh volume of the Chronicles at his brother. “Couldn’t sleep. Don’t you have a girl to be with?”

Draven ran a hand over his long black hair, then took out a band from his pocket and tied it back. “Done with all that for now.” Wish I could be done with it forever. “I wanted to see if I could replace something on that relic that was brought in. You reading the fossil version of Sports Illustrated?"

Magnus snorted. “That’s more your thing, ain’t it?”

Yeah right. “What you lookin’ at then, brother?”

Magnus leaned back in his leather chair, and laced his fingers on his stomach. “Katherine had some, nighttime visitors.”

“Oh boy,”

“One of them marked her.”

Draven raised his brows.

“It was Fyre,” Magnus added.

Well, that was lucky. Would’ve been sad if the new love of your life turned out to be the daughter of thine greatest enemy. Would’ve given new meaning to despising your in-laws.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “He marked her with an ankh. Etheria was there, too. And what was really odd about the dream was that he told her to open the gates, and he sounded pretty desperate.”

Draven dawdled over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of brandy. He didn’t ask Magnus if he wanted any, just poured it because he never turned it down.

He brought over the glasses and sat one down on his brother’s desk.

“Thanks,” Magnus said, taking the glass in hand and swirling the liquid.

“I’m trying to replace something about what the symbol might mean to her beyond the Egyptian connotations.”

Draven went over to the bookcase that held the thirty volumes of the Archaic Chronicles. There was information on different kinds of demonic stones spanning all of them. Which meant he painstakingly had to go through all thirty two-and-a-half-inch books to try and replace a match. And then, the relic might still not be linked to a name. The stone may come up for more than one demon. Only when all the pieces were put together and they could see the shape of the relic could they know for sure who the Boss-bastard was. He sighed and took the first volume.

It would’ve been so much easier if they had all the volumes scanned into a hard drive. But that was just too risky. People could hack into computers, and they liked stealing tech. And they were often controlled by demons. No one cared about old books in the modern age, however.

“Maybe Fyre will come to her again,” Draven said, sitting himself down at his own desk. “She could ask him what the heck he was talking about.”

“Something’s wrong. That’s what my gut tells me.” Magnus said, turning over the delicate yellow page of the book. Most of what was written inside was in the Old Language, in bold, curved characters that seemed more like small works of art than alphabetic letters. Some were so old, even he couldn’t read them. “Not sure how she fits in with it all. If I think about the key symbol on her body, and with what he said, it tells me he wants her to open the gates of the Abyss.”

“Why would anyone want to do that?” Draven asked, sipping brandy. “No one knows how to do that except the demons.”

“Yeah, I have no idea.”

“You see that relic that came in from that chapel you trashed?”

“I didn’t trash anything.” Magnus said innocently.

“Yeah sure, blame it on your split personality.” Draven snorted.

“You know, I have no memory of what that thing does. I just kind of roll over and let it roar. Otherwise, it zings me out.”

If he fought it, it was like it shot an electric current through his brain, like being hit by lightning. It was a rush, the kind one has when they have a seizure.

“Well, they brought in something that looked like black glass. I’m hoping we can identify the bastard if we can identify the stone he left behind.”

“Looks like we’re both going to be sucked into books for the rest of the day,” Magnus said wearily.

Draven blew dust off the volume and coughed. He narrowed his eyes and waved dust away from his face. “Yay for us. I’m going to filter through it all until I replace the sketches of the succubus.” Maybe he could get off on that. Man, that was stooping low. “Hey, want me to put on some ACDC?”

“Yeah. I’ve been hankering to deck you for a while.” If there’s one thing Magnus hated, it was loud noises while he was trying to be studious. It was enough to constantly have the beast’s humming in his head while he tried to concentrate. He didn’t need the extra distraction. Especially with Katherine’s safety on the line.

“So, is she going to drink from you?” Draven asked carefully.

Magnus sighed and wiped a hand over his face. “I don’t know. I can only hope. Her time’s running out.”

“She’s got a couple of years, yeah?”

Magnus met Draven’s gaze. “I’m not so sure about that anymore. She’s really weak.”

Draven regarded him with quiet concern. He didn’t envy his brother going through the trauma of losing a mate again. No vampire should have to go through that. And he worried if he would survive it a second time. “What will you do?” He asked.

Magnus leaned back and downed his glass of brandy. “I’m not above throwing it down her throat.”

Draven whistled low. “She’s going to be angry.”

Magnus shrugged and smiled. “But only for a century or so, right?”

They laughed.