All Chapters of My Ex Sold Me To The Devil: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

LioraThree days.That was how long it took the fever to break, according to Brenna, who announced this the way she announced everything else in her domain –without asking whether anyone wanted to hear it, and while stirring something that smelled like burnt sage and old socks over the cookfire."Three days is fast, for Alpha sickness," she said, not looking up from her pot. "We had a woman here two winters back, took her three weeks to stop trying to claw her way north. You're either stronger than you look, or that bond of yours isn't as deep as it thinks it is.""It's deep," I said, before I could stop myself.Brenna's eyebrows went up. She was somewhere past sixty, built like a woman who'd spent those sixty years doing things that would have killed a softer person, with a long grey braid and hands scarred from what I was fairly sure was both cooking fires and combat. She'd looked at me exactly once, the morning after the fever broke, sniffed hard enough to make her opinion known, a

LioraThe candle flame bent sideways.I almost missed it. I was half-watching Mael where he lay on the fur rug, half-listening to Wren narrate an elaborate story about a fox she'd apparently befriended over the summer, and the candle on the shelf behind them guttered like a draft had caught it. Except there was no draft. The shutters were latched. The fire in the hearth burned straight and undisturbed six feet away.The flame bent toward Mael. Held there, a slow curve of gold leaning like a compass needle finding north, for three full seconds, before it snapped back upright like nothing had happened at all. Strange.I told myself it was the fire settling. I told myself the same thing two days later when I found every dead leaf in a wide, unnatural ring around his basket had gone soft and green again, as if autumn had reversed itself in a two-foot circle and nowhere else. I told myself a great many convenient things, that week, because the alternative was sitting with what Maren had s

"Don't stop."He didn't. His hand slid up under the hem of my borrowed shirt, his palm rough and warm against my ribs, and slowly sliding up my breasts… My fingers found his hair, his collar, the laces at his throat, pulling him closer, greedy for more of him. I could feel his cock already getting hard against his pants. And oh how wet I was too. If it weren’t for the cold, I would’ve been wet the very day i laid eyes on him too. He was beautiful! He is beautiful! “Oh, Liora, fuck! You are delivious!” He groaned against my skin when I arched into him. The sound went straight through me."This alright?" he asked, mouth still at my throat, voice wrecked."If you stop asking, it will be."A huff of laughter, breathless, against my collarbone, and then his teeth grazed the same spot, gentle enough to ask, hard enough to make my knees forget their job. I could feel slick pooling down my thighs. I couldn’t help it… Oh goddess I couldn’t My shirt came loose from where I'd tucked it, his

StilesThe horn never reached his lips.I hit him low, shoulder into his ribs, and we went down together in a tangle of snow and cursing. The horn spun out of his hand and vanished into a drift somewhere to my left, and I stopped caring about it the second his elbow caught me across the jaw and lit the whole side of my face up white.He fought like Vanguard. That was the first thing my body understood, ahead of my mind. Not the wild, all-teeth scrabble of a rogue with nothing to lose, but something trained, economical, every movement paid for and nothing wasted. He knew where to put a knee. He knew how to turn his weight so my grip slid off his arm instead of locking. I'd fought a hundred men in the years since I left that life, and not one of them had made my hands remember drills I hadn't run since I was a boy.We rolled. Snow packed down my collar, cold as a blade. He got a forearm under my chin and pressed, and for one bad second the edges of my sight went soft and grey and I thoug

Eleven Years Ago -Valrok EmpireStilesThe frost has already crept into the scrub by the time we lie down in it, belly-flat, watching the torches move along the north wall. I can feel it soaking through the front of my shirt. Neither of us moves to fix it. You learn young in the Vanguard that the man who shifts to get comfortable is the man who gets seen."You're sure about this??" Ric whispers. His breath fogs white and hangs there a second before the wind takes it. "Last chance to not throw our whole lives on the fire, Stiles.""I'm sure." And I am. Gods, I am. "You've seen what he does, Ric. The culls. The border villages. The murder. The fucking... blood! You held that boy's mother back yourself while they worked. You were there, same as me. Tell me you can wear that crest another twenty years and not turn into the thing that made you hold her down."He doesn't answer right away. That's the thing about Ric. He weighs a thing before he lifts it. Around us the cold ticks in the dead