The House of the Wicked (The snake and the raven #1)

13. Nora

Nora

you fuel the darkness inside m e

A fter pouring my thick thighs into a black leather miniskirt and shoveling my boobs into a sheer long-sleeved bodysuit, Thalia styles my hair into an elaborate ponytail—a bubble braid she calls it—and then we leave.

The heat from the day hangs heavy in the air and once we’re on the sidewalk, tipsy and laughing, Thalia makes exactly one attempt to hail a cab.

“It’s a block down the street. We could walk,” I offer. Despite my alcohol-induced wobble, I take one step in the direction of the club.

“Yeah, fuck it. Let’s go,” she agrees.

Our short walk is slow, filled with giggling. And, for the first time in ages, I get to be a woman, just a woman in my twenties, out for the night with my best friend.

We see the line before we see the club. People dressed in everything from skintight dresses to baggy jeans and t-shirts hover outside. The crowd wraps around the side of the building as heavy bass pounds from the dark doorway. D espite the number of people waiting outside, Thalia walks straight up to the cordoned off entrance, flashing a showstopper grin at the muscled bouncer.

“Thalia.” He smirks at her. I may be a ghost of Ricky’s making, but Adam and Thals are as social as they come. “Come on in, girl.” He winks at us before unhooking the thick red rope that keeps the have-nots outside. Smiling as he stamps my wrist, I follow Thals inside.

The narrow passage that leads from the club’s entrance to the main floor is dark. Lights pulse along the walls as the music gets louder. Rounding a corner, the dark hallway melts away, giving way to a large industrial space packed with people. The dance floor is as crowded as the long bar counter, waitresses rushing by clutching silver trays loaded with drinks and shots. I take it all in. Thalia elbows me in the ribs playfully, nodding toward the bar.

“Drinks, then dancing,” she shouts over the music.

My face aches from the depth of my smile. All I can do is nod and trail her as she shoves her way to the bar.

She leans over the counter, trying to catch the attention of a nearby bartender. Reaching into my purse to pull out a handful of bills, I wave them around, hoping the cash will inspire some action from the bartender because Thalia’s puppy-eyes don’t seem to work. After a few minutes, he strolls over.

“What’ll it be?” he shouts.

“Four shots of tequila, two beers, and a water,” I yell my reply.

“Not pacing ourselves tonight, then.” Thalia giggles beside me. I roll my eyes at her just as the bartender sets down the four shots.

“Let’s go, Thals.” Nodding to the salt-crusted shot glasses, before turning back to the bartender to ask, “Can we get some lime?” An exasperated look flashes in his eyes, but he returns a few seconds later with a saucer stacked with lime wedges.

“Ugh God, this is gonna be brutal.” Thalia scrunches up her face before grabbing the first shot. “Down the hatch,” she mutters as we swallow the first one.

“Fuck, that’s gross,” I shout before grabbing the second. Four shots later, with our beers in hand, we move to the dancefloor.

It’s packed; bodies press against bodies as all of us move in tune to the racing beat of the music. It’s fast and hypnotic and when the beats slow and begin to build up to what feels like a life-change bass drop, collectively, we go wild. Thalia moves against me, beer sloshing down my back. I don’t care. Right then it’s me, the music, and the darkness. It’s like the pool; I give myself over to it completely.

Hands settle on my hips, and I glance over my shoulder. A man who looks like a caricature of the quintessential finance bro winks at me before pulling me against his chest. He’s not my type. I come to that conclusion easily because just last night I had established my type was stabby, murderous, 6'4, and covered in tattoos... But I don’t twist out of finance bro’s hold. I want to dance. I don’t care that it’s with him.

My eyes search the space next to me, trying to find Thalia.

There she is, a finance bro of her own gyrating against her ass, but unlike me, she definitely doesn’t seem into it. I’m about to move, to extract myself from the arms of the man behind me to rescue Thals, when the space behind me empties. The body that was once pressed against my back is gone. The shift is so jarring; I forget about Thalia for a second and spin around.

His arm snakes around my waist. I feel everything, each brush of his fingers against my body as he pulls me against his chest. He moves, almost in slow motion, droppi ng his head until it’s level with my ear. Full, soft lips whisper against my skin as the rough scratch of his day-old stubble tickles my jaw—a contradiction that fries my brain. “Little raven.”

His voice makes me weak. It always does, but here, in this club, with alcohol surging through my limbs and his lips dusting the shell of my ear, my knees feel like they may actually give out. “You’re not where you’re supposed to be,” he murmurs the words, a hint of amusement threads through his husky rasp.

Thalia appears next to us. “This dick bothering, Nor?” she asks while continuing to dance her way out of finance bro number two’s arms.

“You must be Thalia,” August replies, not making a single effort to raise his voice despite the loud music. “I’m not bothering her at all. In fact, I’m here to take you both home.”

Thalia’s eyes bulge a little in her head. She looks down to the spot where August’s arms are wrapped around my waist.

“Is this the guy?” she demands, her mouth hanging open in what I can only assume is hot-guy-induced brain rot. I don’t answer, and she doesn’t seem to care, because her eyes are crawling over every inch of August’s body. “ Him ?” she practically shouts.

Finally, a crumb of common-sense returns to my brain. Pushing myself out of August’s hold, I snap, “How did you find us?”

Ignoring my attempt to break free from his hold, he threads his fingers through mine. I grab hold of Thalia, determined to keep her close. “You’ll never be able to hide from me, little bird. Let’s go.”

August practically drags us out of the club before loading us into a black SUV with tinted windows. The back door slams shut, while Thalia and I watch in mute def eat as he jogs around to the front of the car and climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Thalia, where do you live?” he asks. That dark, lethal voice sending bolts of need pulsing through every corner of my body.

“I’ll go to Nor’s,” she squeaks—literally squeaks. Good to know I’m not the only one affected by his presence. “That okay?” She looks at me for confirmation. I nod back.

The drive back to the house is painfully silent. More than once, I catch August’s eyes in the rearview mirror as he watches me, his expression indescribable. Dark, magnetic, depraved…

Like he wants to hurt me.

In a way I’d absolutely love.

W hen the car finally crunches over the gravel driveway, Thalia and I bolt, not waiting for August to even turn off the ignition. Flinging the front door open, I watch as she races up the stairs to the loft. I move to follow.

But August’s behind me. I can feel the imposing weight of his body close in on mine. I try to force my stupidly drunk legs to move faster. Get us to the stairs. I silently beg them, help us get away from this demon before we do something stupid, I urge. My thoughts are as drunk as my body, apparently because I’ve barely placed any actual distance between us when a hard yank forces me back.

He’s grabbed my fucking bubble braid, wrapped it around his fist, and used it to anchor me against his chest.

He s pins me; I go from facing the stairs to slamming against the wall, my back against the wood paneling as he presses the entire length of his body against mine. With my hair still tightly gripped in his hand, I twist, trying to free myself, trying to get away from the darkness I see in his eyes, the darkness I’m desperate to drown in.

I suck in a breath. Every inch of him burns into every inch of me as he uses the weight of his body to hold me in place against the wall. One of his knees slips between my thighs, my eyes close; like me, they can no longer weather the heat in his gaze. He pushes his knee forward, up—all the way up—until it’s wedged against my pussy. All that separates the heat of my core and his denim-clad kneecap is the drenched scrap of my lace panties.

“I thought we agreed, Nora. No more sneaking out?” The way he says my name. God —it takes every ounce of my remaining will to stifle the moan clawing its way up my throat. August moves the blunt cap of his knee further against my core and—God help me—I grind against it. Shameful and desperate and so fucking hot.

“We didn’t agree. You made a request. I don’t recall acknowledging it,” I stutter in a breathy whisper.

He smiles down at me then, eyes hooded with lust. “Let’s agree now. No more sneaking out.”

“How’d you find us?” I repeat my earlier forgotten question, not bothering to answer or agree to his request. But once again, my thoughts are derailed as he moves against me. My breasts graze the soft fabric of his shirt as I lean further into him, into his knee. His goddamn fucking knee with the most delicious pressure to my clit. I close my eyes like the horny coward I am and simply allow myself to feel it. All of it.

But August doesn’t let me feel, he doesn’t let me fall. “There’s nowhere you could run where I wouldn’t find you, little raven.”

Then I chuckle. At least I think I do. It comes out more like a whimper. “Maybe I’ll test that theory, Auggie,” I murmur, stupidly poking the bear.

His fingers brush my chin before he grips it painfully, forcing my head back, forcing me to meet the inferno of desire banked in his eyes.

“Do you know what made me good at my job in the military?” he asks; I shake my head. “I love the chase, Nora. So, take these words as the warning I intend them to be, my sweet raven—you fuel the pit of darkness that rages inside me. Run from me, and I will relish every second I spend hunting you down.”