Jegudiel (Deadly Virtues 2)

He couldn’t make sense of anything lately.

A hand on his back shocked him from the dark and endless pit he kept falling into. But the warmth of the soft touch made him breathe deeper. The hand moved up and down in a soothing, hypnotic rhythm.

“You’re okay, baby.” Noa’s sleep-ridden voice hit his ears, and his frantic heart calmed. She shifted to her knees and moved in front of him, cupping his cheeks with her hands. “Do you remember anything this time?”

Frustration hit Diel hard and strong, blanket bombs dropping on his frantic thoughts. He shook his head, and Noa nodded in understanding. He lifted his hand to his hair and pulled. Pain from his scalp splintered down his spine.

He wanted to hiss in relief. Pain made things better. Pain always made things better.

Before Noa could stop him, he threw back the sheets, stood from the bed and paced before the hearth. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” he spat. His muscles were tense, and he could feel the darkness within him begin to spread its ink along his veins. He was fucked in the head. So motherfucking messed up in his head.

He always had been. But this time … this time … he couldn’t get a fucking handle on it. He couldn’t think or calm himself down. Something, some weight was crushing his chest. He didn’t know what it was or how to get it off. He couldn’t think clearly enough to find a solution. He just kept getting crushed and crushed, the nightmares never-ending. They’d begun by sinking into his sleep every now and again; now they were a thousand-strong army, attacking every time he even closed his eyes.

He was tired. Diel was so fucking tired. He was sick of fighting. His entire life had been about fighting.

On a loud roar, Diel hit the side of his skull with his fist with as much force as he could muster. He paced faster and faster, back and forth, until every turn felt like a blur.

“Ever since the collar was taken off me, I’ve been fucked!” He grabbed the fire poker and slammed it over the large mantel. Several shattered chunks fell to the floor, then he threw the poker into the flames with a bellow of uncontained wrath.

He needed to kill. He needed to kill people, one after the other until the cavernous pit in his stomach was filled, until enough blood had been spilled to sate the monster within. His monster was pushing to the surface, breaking from the perfect meld between monster and man that came when Noa had freed him from the collar. Inside him raged an Armageddon, war and fire and fury. Death and pain and evil.

Suddenly Noa was in front of him, an angel in a fiery halo pushing him backward by a firm hand on his chest until he fell back on the bed. Diel scrambled back to his feet, his body braced to pounce, to fight. He needed to fucking tear something apart with his bare hands. He needed to purge the hell inside him.

He tried to push past Noa, to get out of this fucking torture chamber of a bedroom. He would find Gabriel and tell him he needed a kill. He didn’t give a shit if destroying the Brethren was their family’s new focus. He needed some fuckers to ruin. Gabriel could get him that. He had to get him that, or Diel feared he’d turn on one of his family members, one of their staff … or worse, a sister from the Coven.

But as Diel raced for the door, Noa pulled him back, swiping his legs from underneath him in one fluid, well-practiced move. He crashed to the floor, ribs aching from the contact, and Noa straddled him where he lay. Her thighs were like steel, keeping him in place as she planted both of his hands above his head.

“Get the fuck off me,” he hissed.

Noa’s smirk was only more fuel to his inner fire. His monster bristled at their woman taunting him, pushing him. He tried to buck her off, but she held him down firmly. “We have training,” she said calmly, and Diel fought against his violent tics—his incessant blinks, his jerky head movements. He looked over to the large bay window, to the rising sun that was cresting over the horizon. Day was breaking, but he felt like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

The Coven and Fallen were due to attack the Brethren this week, at one of their precious fucking meetings. Days. Diel only had to wait days until he could kill someone, many someones. Then he could fully embrace the monster he was inside, finally kill, and release all the tension that had been slowly building over the past two months.

The light from outside pierced his skull like a stiletto blade through his brain stem. They were beginning their war on the motherfucking Brethren this week. And he was completely fucked.