When the Wolves Cry (Twin Flames Duet #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

TALA

Black silk hugs my body like a custom-made glove. A V-shaped plunge runs through the center of thecorset-liketop, exposing a sliver of my sternum, thin straps draping delicately over my shoulders. The silk running from the top, wrapping around my hips and flowing to the floor, has a slit high up on the hip that reveals my left leg with each step.

I wasn’t worried about what dress he picked out for me. But I didn’t expect to be blown away by a beautiful silk dress that I personally would pick out. And I definitely didn’t expect it to fit my body like he had my measurements memorized.

Taking the last large roller out of my hair, I lean into the mirror, popping my cherry red lips. They’re glossy, darker around my lip line, fading into a raspberry shade in the center. My eyes are tight lined and smoked out into a siren look.

I blast my hair with hair spray, then shake the body waves out. My usual down the middle and pin straight hair is parted to the side, a voluminous swoop falling over the right side of my face, leaving the rest to wave and bend elegantly around my frame.

Even with the curls, my hair still falls to my hips.

I’ve been growing it my entire life and refuse to cut it. Trims are fine. But no more than an inch or two. I’d feel like nothing without my security blanket and my identity would blow away in the cold wind.

Now that I’m not busy and just staring at my reflection, anxiety is clawing at my chest.

“Four seconds in. Four seconds out,” I murmur.

I’m about to be face to face with the man that murdered Jax’s dadandmy grandparents. The man that was sending people out to kidnap me—and I was fucking blind to it.

I don’t know what I would do without Jax. And that thought is scary to have because I’m really scared to lose him. I’ll admit that. I don’t think it would be a conscious decision on his part to leave. But I have this gut feeling that something bad will happen—and I’ll never see him again.

Right, because those plaguing thoughts really help your anxiety, you dumb bitch.

I give myself a slow blink, then reach for my bottle of Black Opium. After spritzing my neck, I take a deep breath and open the bathroom door.

The simple black heels he got me have fur lining the toe straps and are tucked neatly in a black box on his bed.

I pick them up, noticing the white note on the bottom with Jax’s pretty handwriting.

Rolling my eyes, I smile, walking out of his room and down the hall. I have to gather the silk in my hand while taking the stairs. I don’t trust myself to not fall and I know Leon is at the kitchen island. That’d be pretty fucked up if I took a tumble in front of him.

Faint familiar bickering makes my face scrunch.

I fly down the last few steps, targeting the long, gold dress that’s harmonizing with caramel skin and honey brown waves.

Her back is turned towards me and she’s arguing with Maverick who’s leaned over the concrete island in his black suit—with undeniable lust in his chocolate eyes.

He’s even wearing a gold tie to match her. But they “hate each other.”

Leon’s to her left, scratching his buzz cut awkwardly as he endures the battle that no one ever wins.

As I get closer, Maverick spots me and straightens his spine with a bright smile. “Hey, killer!”

Nadia whips around, honey waves tousling over her shoulder, and Leon swivels in his stool. Nadia’s jaw drops and I note the slightest tic in Leon’s jaw—which I choose to erase from my note, burning the paper it was sketched on.

Walking into the kitchen, I pan over the numerous eyes that are boring into me. “I will circle back to what you guys are doing here in just a moment. Does anyone know where Jax is?”

“Downstairs, mija. Either in the armory or playing his guitar,” Leon draws out, eyes practically smoking as he forces them to stay on my face.

Why wouldn’t Jax be isolating himself to do something hot?

The mental images of both possibilities make me want to moan. I roll my glossed lips so that I don’t. “Thank you,” I say softly, gently moving the hair from my eye.

Leon nods, and I dart my attention to Nadia who looks like she’s seeing a woman for the first time. “Why didn’t I know you guys were coming here? I would’ve had you come up and help with my hair,” I say lightheartedly.

She dramatically slurps her saliva up. “I’m sorry, all I hear is haunting music coming from your juicy lips. You look so fucking hot,” she says earnestly, then bumps her brows.

I tighten my lips, nodding in appreciation. “Thank you. You look hot as well, but I’d really like to know what the hell is happening.”

Maverick rounds the island and stops in front of me, shoving his hands in his pockets. “The more eyes on you the better. Jax is perfectly capable of keeping you safe. But you know all too well what a labyrinth that place is, and with Brutus being there, it’s not the time to take any chances. That guy is slick and has an in with Jenkins.”

I sigh heavily, the stupid bees swarming under my skin. “Okay, I’m going to go find Jax before I start throwing up everywhere,” I say tonelessly.

Maneuvering around Maverick, he gives me a light shoulder rub in passing. I grin and tap his hand to acknowledge his comfort, then head towards the staircase tucked away in the dining room.

Gathering the long silk in my free hand, I walk cautiously down the glossy stairs, the sound of an electric guitar flowing through my ears. I was raised around music, so I shouldn’t be getting butterflies from it. But I’ve never seen the demon himself strum something sexy.

I take the last step into a vast second living room. All that sits in it is a black couch similar to the two couches upstairs. He doesn’t even have a damn rug down here.

Following the sound that’s getting louder, I turn left down an empty hall, passing a steel vault door on the right. I’m sure that’s his armory. I’d steal a peek if it wasn’t literally vaulted shut.

Coming to the end of the hall, the door on the left is cracked open, spilling out the slutty sounds of him shredding an electric guitar.

Swallowing roughly, I drop the silk and push the door open to a dimly lit, cave-like home studio. Sound panels line the black walls with a few guitars in frames hung up to fill space. That’s all I can see, though. I’m fixed on the Dark God in an all-black suit, playing a satin black electric guitar.

It’s absolutely fucking criminal.

The suit hugs his muscle definition, forming to his behemoth body like it belongs on him. The ink wrapping his throat and flowing down his chest is out, exposed through the two buttons that are undone and allowing a glimpse of his dog tag that’s tucked away. Messy tendrils of his black hair are falling from his middle part, hanging over his concentrated obsidian pools.

Stopping a few feet from him, his hunter gaze sails up to me, and he slaps his palm to the strings, cutting off the notes. His sharp jaw tics, drinking me up like I’m the tallest glass of water and he’s dying of thirst in Hell.

I tilt my head, brushing the swoop from my eyes with a smile. “You look ridiculously handsome, Jax. It’s kind of sickening,” I rasp.

Sirohi hops down from the leather couch, stretching front to back before regally walking to my side and sitting by my feet.

I pet his sweet face, being pinned down by speechless Satan.

Jax slips the guitar off, walking away to put it back on its stand. As he turns around, he roughly rubs over his eyes with one hand, running it down over his mouth in disbelief.

The prolonged silence and predator eyes have my cheeks warming. His reaction is a stark contrast to how he usually is. He’s always so quick and smooth with his words, filled to the brim with his God complex.

He stalks back over to me, slowly circling me like a wolf to prey.

Hot tingles mix with icy chills. They roll down my spine and follow his eyes around my waist. Landing on the split high up on my hip, he stops in front of me, reaching out to run his hand through the opening, firmly skating his palm over my thigh. Hooking behind it, his free hand slides around to the small of my back, and he lifts my leg up, stepping into the small space.

I drop my heels to the side, latching my fingers together behind his neck, staring up at the savage wet dream.

Out of all of the times he’s made my heart race and beat out of my chest—this moment takes first place. It’s thumping so loud, the beat is traveling up into my throat and hammering against my breastbone.

“There are no words that could perfectly describe your hypnotic, otherworldly beauty. You look like you came from the goddamn ocean. And notjustthe ocean. An untouched and unseen dark abyss that men get dragged into to be eaten.” His hand slides lower, bending down to lightly rest his lips on mine. “You’re a fucking siren, baby. And I’m in that trap of yours. I’ve been there. I’ll always be there. In death and in every lifetime.”

He tenderly presses his lips to mine, being attentive of my lipstick that will smear and stain, and he kneads the back of my thigh. “Mmm,” he groans, pulling away a mere inch. “The things I want to do to you, little wolf—would have Satan himself blushing.”

My mouth runs dry. I’m swallowing nothing, gazing into the obsidian that’s thin with the weight of carnal thoughts.

Apparently, thoughts that are so wild, Satan would stroke his horns and kick his feet.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

His brows furrow. “For what?”

For not mentally abusing me, or hitting me, or raping me, or calling me derogatory names.

I tilt my head, getting the hair out of my eye. “For always making me feel good.” I grin softly.

A breath hitches in my throat as his rough palm slides down to my bare ass cheek. “I can make you feel so much better,” he whispers against my lips.

Sex would take my mind off stuff for a while.

But I’m ovulating and this asshole doesn’t pull out.

Even though his dark whispers elicit goosebumps over my chest, tightening my nipples against the silk, I pull my leg down and drop my hands from his neck. “The one time I do my hair, you want to ruin it,” I tease, rolling my eyes.

Hand still on my ass, he forcibly squeezes and pulls me back in until my chest crashes into stone. “You want a reason to roll those pretty eyes?” he asks gruffly.

Yes.

I shake my head, knowing he’ll detect the lie on my tongue.

He relaxes his grip, massaging over the pain. “And why’s that? I know it’s not because of your sexy waves that almost gave me a fucking heart attack. So please, enlighten me as to why you don’t want me to get on my knees, move your silky, cheetah print thong to the side, and worship your siren pussy with my tongue,” he says brusquely, tone sharp with hunger.

Already battling the ovulation discharge, my wetness increases tenfold alongside the thrum that’s radiating like a flame.

When I have nothing to say, he bends down, pressing his wet lips to my neck.

I sigh in ease, then do something stupid like turn my head and press my lips to the side of his neck.

It leaves a glazed cherry mark. I laugh at the innocence of it, and he straightens up, looking at me as if he’s offended.

“You should get that tattooed there,” I titter.

Realization wipes out his tight scowl, and he arches a brow. “Okay,” he agrees easily.

The silk falls back over my leg as his hand leaves my ass, and he turns around to grab a paper from the desk next to a drum set on the farthest wall.

“I was kidding, Jax,” I huff, peering at the Devil returning to me.

Holding it up to my mouth, he says, “I’m not. Kiss the paper, Tala.” He drops an octave on my name, finalizing the debate.

“Okay, well-” I snatch the paper “-let me at least make it good.”

He blinks. “You have the juiciest fucking lips I’ve ever seen. There’s not a chance you could make it bad.”

I smile, a small laugh filtering out over the wordjuiciestcoming from Satan. I need to be serious though. So, I blow away the giggles with a deep breath and relax my face, kissing a piece of paper with notes on the back of it.

“As you demanded, sir,” I quip, handing it back over.

His jaw tics, and he steadily brings it closer for inspection.

Leaving him to it, I grab my heels from the floor and walk over to the couch, sitting down next to Sirohi. I scratch his side, smiling at the way he slumps into the leather and kicks his hind leg in the air. “You’re so cute,” I croon.

My heels get stripped from my hand, a rough palm sliding up my left calf—and the pressure returns.

He’s on his knees before me, paying attention to my face and to the slow movement of his hands slipping my heel on. He presses my heeled foot to his chest to hold my leg up, and his fingers trace over my ankle, hunter eyes gazing at me salaciously.

“How many men do you think I’ll have to kill tonight for looking at you?” he questions, fastening the thin ankle strap.

“However many you want,” I reply.

Coasting his hand up my calf, he grins in approval. “Attagirl,” he drawls. Then, raises my leg to press his lips to the top of my foot.

I’ve never had my feet kissed before. The chills it waves over my skin makes me tense up.

Observing my reaction, he smiles and kisses up my ankle.

“Jax, we have to leave soon,” I say with bated breath.

He sets my foot down, giving the same worshiping treatment to the other, trailing his kisses farther than my ankle. He teases the silk up with each one, not stopping until he gets to my inner thigh.

His thin obsidian zips to the cheetah print a few inches from his face, and he bites his lip, contemplating something I won’t be able to protest.

The temperature shoots up, his fingertips working up my inner thigh and through the crease of my hip, hooking into my thong and pulling it to the side.

He licks over his teeth, starved eyes fixated on my pussy. “So fucking wet,” he whispers, bringing my leg over his broad shoulder. He leans in, opening his mouth and flattening his glistening tongue over his bottom teeth.

My cheeks flame furiously, and I reach into his hair, dropping my jaw on a heavy breath as the silkiness glides over my pulsing clit. “Siro-Sirohiis right next to me,” I pant.

His hellish eyes flick up to me. “He’s a dog, baby. He doesn’t know what the fuck is happening.”

He might be fine with it. But I still feel awkward. It was bad enough when he was watching from the floor last night. Now, he’s lying next to me and boring into me with his beady eyes.

Slapping my hands to the leather, I swing my leg over his annoyingly perfect face and push off to dart out the door. The clicks of my heels echo in the bare hallway, carrying me away from Satan that was trying to go to chow town on my vagina in front of his nosyHellhound.

I love Sirohi. I’m just fucking flustered right now.

I don’t get far. I never do.

A muscular arm wraps around my waist, lifting me off the ground and up into the fucking sky. “Jax,” I growl.

“I shouldn’t have been able to get you off the floor with one arm, Tala,” he saysvexedly, hauling me down the hallway as if I’m a disciplined child.

Since he can’t see, I roll my eyes. “Right, because I can break out of a stealthy cobra constricting my waist,” I snip. “Will you at least fix my underwear?”

The seam is tight against my pissed off clit. I very well could get off just from it rubbing with every long step he takes toward the stairs.

I wiggle my hips, trying to do it myself without moaning.

He sets me down on the third step, sliding his hand over my waist and swiveling me to face him. In his other hand, he’s holding a bouquet of red peonies up. “Yes, ma’am. Take your flowers and I’ll happily reach in between your thighs,” he says smoothly.

My eyes soften over the gesture, a light smile lifting my mouth as I take the fresh peonies from him. “Did you use your portal to go get them?”

“Hm,” he growls with an amused smirk. “I ordered them. They just so happened to get here this morning while you were still asleep.” He reaches through the silk, grazing my thigh in pursuit of my soaked thong. “You don’t have very many peonies on your walls.”

The flesh of his fingers skim over my bud, swarming my stomach with butterflies. “No one has really gotten them for me,” I murmur, focusing on where his fingers are going.

His long middle finger runs through my slit, easing down to my entrance, and he cocks his head. “Are you saying all those flowers you have hung up—are from other men?” he asks, dripping with ire.

I pop my lips, giving him the answer without saying it.

The flowers are dead.

And so is any relationship I might’ve had with them.

His grip on my side turns malicious, and he pushes his finger inside me. I suck in a sharp breath, gaping at the twitching lip in my face.

“You wear my mark, my blood, and my name,” he snarls. “Yet you live with constant reminders of men who aren’t me. Bad, bad girl, Tala.” Slipping his finger out, he raises it to his mouth. And with thin, vexed eyes, he cleans it off and walks past me up the stairs.