Lord of Chaos (The Dragon Demigods Book 7) Read online

  I wasn’t about to let an animal sleep on my bed, or on any of my furniture for that matter. It’s not like I could let the creature sleep on the floor. I might be an asshole, but I’m not cruel. Then again, I can be cruel but not where an innocent dog is concerned. Of course I bought it! Fuck! I shouldn’t have to explain all of this, so I don’t. “Answer the question!” I narrow my eyes on Stephan.

  “Yes. Your dog—”

  “Not mine!” I growl at him because my last nerve is on the verge of snapping.

  “The dog was here at your front door when we—”

  I curse. It’s a choice expletive that doesn’t make me feel any better. “Really?” I say to the beast, who cracks open one eye. “We spoke about this. I don’t want a dog.” I sigh. “I can’t have a dog. You need someone else. Not me.” She wags her tail. Fucking wags it! All of twice, but I’ll be damned if the action doesn’t make me feel guilty. Like I did something wrong.

  I didn’t!

  Fuck that!

  I’ve walked circles around this animal ever since she arrived unexpectedly and totally uninvited. I go to the already open closet. I take out a leash and a collar. I had planned on giving these to Night and Shannon for their dog. I thought they were too nice to leave at the pound. At least they’ll come in handy right now. I put on the collar and clip on the leash. If I hurry, I might still make it back to the shelter before it closes for the day. “I’ll be back. Clean up!” I growl at Stephanus.

  He frowns. “There are no dishes.”

  Sex has clearly destroyed a part of his brain. “I’m talking about the condoms. And that throw. And while you’re at it, burn that sofa…or take it. I don’t care which.” I turn and leave.

  I open the car, and the dog jumps right on in. “I’m taking you back, and you aren’t going to give me ‘the look’. Are we clear?”

  I need to stop talking to the dog like this. It’s crazy!

  I slide in behind the wheel. Ten minutes later, we arrive. The gate is closed and locked with a chain and padlock. I run a hand through my hair. Fuck! “That’s great! Just great!” I mutter to myself as I look at the times on the sign next to the gate. It’s the weekend. The shelter closes early on the weekend. “You’re going back tomorrow,” I tell the dog, who looks pleased with herself. I know I’m probably imagining it. “Also,” I tell her. “I’m going out tonight, so you’re home alone.”

  3

  Rage

  I fucking hate this place.

  I hate people.

  I hate my life.

  I consider going home. Better yet, I could head to shifter territory and lose my human skin for a couple of hours. Take to the sky and fly hard. Who am I kidding? As much as the prospect of picking up some woman irritates me, I need the release. It’s been at least six months since I last came here.

  I hate it.

  I hate this.

  As much as I want to leave, I don’t. I turn to the bartender. “I’ll take a double of your best single-malt whiskey. No ice…splash of water.”

  The bartender lifts his brows for a second and then inclines his head. This place is as exclusive and as upmarket as it gets. You need to be a member to be able to step through the door. The annual membership is insanely expensive. The whiskey I’ve just ordered won’t come cheap. I don’t care. It’s the best thing here. I’ll savor it. Then I’ll pick someone I think is capable of dealing with my needs, and we’ll leave.

  I sigh.

  I need to fight too. To pound into someone. I make a mental note to have a talk with Manny in the morning about scheduling another bout. The last one with West left me…cold. He threw in the towel. I need to pound my fists against flesh. I need to knock someone the fuck out.

  I take the glass from the bartender and give him my credit card. Transaction complete, he hands me back the plastic, and I turn around, facing the stage. There will be various performances tonight. Right now, a large woman dressed entirely in leather is beating the crap out of some asshole. He’s strung up with rope to the point where he can’t move. Judging from the size of his boner, he’s loving every hard blow to his body. He moans every time her leather crop makes contact with his skin, which is red and glowing.

  I look away, feeling bored. There is a couple fucking on the sofa. At least they’re being somewhat discreet. She’s riding the hell out of him, her little dress covering where their bodies are joined.

  I feel nothing.

  Less than nothing.

  “Hey, handsome…” A gorgeous blonde sidles up to me. I openly appraise her. Her heels are so high I’m not sure how she can walk. She’s wearing fishnet stockings. They’re tacky and unnecessary. Then there’s the gold hotpants and nipple caps to match. Her tits are full and firm. In short, she’s a knockout.

  I still feel nothing.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? I tell myself not to dwell on the answer to that question because I ultimately know why I am the way I am. Dwelling on the why will tear me into pieces from the inside out.

  “Do you want…um, maybe…” she pulls a plump lower lip between her teeth, “um…to go to one of the rooms?” She quirks a brow. I notice how her throat works.

  I definitely don’t want to use one of the rooms in this place. I prefer the five-star hotel just two blocks from here. Problem is, I don’t think this little honeypie can handle me.

  The crop cracks harder, and I hear a loud-ass groan. The guy on stage just lost his load. The leather-clad dominatrix is whipping him, using firm strokes, on his dick. She’s beating him hard.

  On. His. Dick!

  Then again, who am I to judge? I’m a whole lot worse.

  “You want to go to a room…with me?” I ask the blonde. I try to sound upbeat and fail miserably.

  She winces. “I don’t like having sex in public.” Then she gives me a half-smile. At least we have one thing in common, but I’m not convinced. I don’t think she’s my ‘type’. “Or…we could have a drink first?” she goes on when I don’t say anything.

  I take a sip of my whiskey, putting the beverage in my right hand. Then I reach over and casually pinch her nipple through the stick-on. I keep my eyes on hers. I pinch her a little harder than what would be considered appropriate. A kinky, up-for-anything woman will be able to take it and dish out the same.

  Her eyes widen, and she makes a gasping noise. She closes a hand over her breast as I take another sip of my drink. I’m sure her nipple is smarting…just a little.

  It’s my turn to quirk a brow. “I think I might be a little more than you can handle, sweetheart.”

  She swallows again…harder this time. I can see her mind working. She’s still interested. Her chest is heaving. I scent arousal. I also scent fear.

  “I’ll break you,” I whisper loud enough for her to hear. It’s not true, I don’t get off on hurting women. But I need someone made from stronger stuff. She’s like a child playing at dress-up.

  The blonde looks into my eyes. They say the eyes are windows to the soul. Mine are black like a moonless night. So dark, it’s difficult to distinguish my irises from my pupils. Black. Cold. Fucking heartless. She gives an almost indiscernible nod, looking both disappointed and relieved. I watch as she strides away. I wish I could go to a nice bar or club and pick up a nice girl. I wish I could have a nice conversation with her. Maybe we could even date. Have nice, normal sex. It would be so fucking nice! Amazing, even.

  I can’t!

  I’m me!

  I make nice girls cry.

  A lot!

  They come hard, but they cry. I hate tears. Tears fuck me off. I scare nice girls, so no nice girls for me. No normal anything for the son of Ares…god of war and destruction.

  I’m wearing suit pants and a button-down shirt. No tie. The top button is undone. The shirt is a soft pink. I’ve been told that the color is good on me. It softens the harsh vibes I give off. At least to a degree. My scar and my scowl go a long way to ward off the nice girls…mostly.

  The couple on the so
fa are arguing. It looks like he got there before her. I bite back a smile because I don’t smile. Fuck that! There is a clean-up crew on the stage. I don’t envy them. I don’t envy the morning shift either. Poor bastards!

  There are plenty of people milling around. Couples, singles, groups, you name it. The dance floor is heaving…literally. Here at Straight and Narrow – yes, that’s what this club is called. Straight and fucking Narrow…as if – they take dirty dancing to a new level. I see two women eyeing me from across the room. They’re wearing tiny dresses. The one has cleavage from here until next week, and the other has legs that go on for miles. They giggle as soon as they catch me looking back at them.

  Hard fucking pass!

  They think they’re into kinky shit. I would prove them wrong in a heartbeat.

  I see a woman standing alone at the other end of the bar. She looks as bored out of her mind as I do.

  What is she wearing?

  A man’s collared button-up shirt. It’s white. The buttons are done up all the way up to her throat. Her sleeves are turned up to her elbows. She’s drowning in the shirt. I make a noise that sounds too close to the start of a laugh for my liking. All I can say is that she’s sticking out like a sore thumb. Her hair is all the way down her back. It touches her ass. It’s black and straight as an arrow…only…I don’t think she brushed it before coming here. It looks like she climbed straight out of someone’s bed. The man whose shirt she’s wearing, perhaps. Her face is devoid of makeup, but she’s fucking gorgeous anyway. Her lashes are long and thick. Her eyes are huge. They’re a light brown, reminding me of caramel or thick, dark honey.

  She looks my way. Our eyes lock. My dick takes note.

  Hello!

  I can’t remember the last time anything or anyone turned me on so hard and so fast. She looks down and takes a step away from the bar.

  Holy fuck! She isn’t wearing any shoes. Not a great idea in a place like this. I’m intrigued! I’m taking serious note.

  I take a sip of my drink, the liquid is smooth and delicious. I find it interesting that the most beautiful woman in the room is almost completely covered. I can’t see any of her assets. I like that a whole hell of a lot. I’m almost positive she’s naked underneath the shirt. Sexy as fuck!

  My balls tighten. I want her! A couple starts to approach her, but she stops them in their tracks with a look. Oh yes, I think she’ll do nicely.

  I watch with growing interest as a shirtless guy approaches her. He has a good physique and would probably be considered to be attractive to humans. She gives him the look, but he is either an idiot or thick-skinned. Maybe both.

  He offers her a drink.

  She shakes her head.

  He gives her some line that might work on women in general but not on her.

  “Not interested!” Holy shit! My dick lurches in my pants. She has an accent. I didn’t think an accent would turn me on, but it does. A whole fucking lot. I note that she didn’t raise her voice, even though I think she’s angry. There’s fire in her eyes. I almost feel sorry for the guy.

  He starts to say something, but she shakes her head. “Go away!” she says, her voice clear. Her accent, thick. I still can’t quite place it. It’s not British. Maybe Irish?

  I feel my lip twitch as the guy gives up and walks away. He doesn’t look happy.

  I take a sip of my drink, downing half of what’s left. I feel nervous. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. “Fuck it,” I mutter as I walk over to her.

  She keeps her eyes on the dancefloor.

  “I’m Rage,” I say, the words falling from my lips before I can stop them. I never give my real name. Not ever. It’s too late now.

  She levels a cool stare at me but doesn’t say anything.

  “Do you have a name?” I sound pushy even though I don’t mean to. I’m never pushy. It’s not a good idea since a woman like this will tell me what to do with myself quicker than I can take my next breath. I need to watch how I tread.

  “I have several, actually.” She looks back at the dancefloor.

  I frown. “Several…how is that possible?” I suppose she could have a second name…and a third, maybe? Perhaps she’s talking about nicknames.

  “How is that possible?” she says. “I would ask myself the same, and yet, it’s the truth.” She doesn’t look my way. The look of sheer boredom is back. I want her more than I did a minute ago. Up close, she’s even more beautiful. She might look like she just got out of bed, like she was just fucked hard, but I can’t smell sex on her. I find that I want to ask her a whole lot of questions, almost more than I want to rip the shirt off.

  “How about your God-given name? We could start with that one.” I shrug.

  “My God-given…name.” She smiles. Fuck, but she’s beautiful. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Any of your names, then.”

  Her eyes blaze. “Most of them are not very…shall we say, nice.”

  I frown. It makes no sense. Also, I’ve never had to work so hard to get a woman’s name before. “We don’t need to do names.” I shrug.

  “Don’t we, Rage?” She lifts her brows, looking at me like something the cat dragged in. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

  True. She knows my name already.

  “Where are you from?” I ask. “You have an accent.”

  “How observant of you.”

  “No, really, where are you from? At least give the name of the country. Is it Ireland?” I know I’m wrong as soon as I say it.

  “Wales,” she says as her eyes scan the club. “My turn to ask a question. Why do you come here?” She turns her honeyed irises on me. Her stare is intense. Her jaw tight. She looks pissed off. It doesn’t make sense. Why would she be angry? We don’t know each other. Then again, maybe she’s just found out that her husband’s a member. I look down at her hands. I don’t see any rings, but that doesn’t mean anything.

  “Why did you come to this club?” I turn the question back on her. Why does anyone?

  “I was curious.”

  Two women walk onto the stage. They’re both wearing filmy underwear. The nameless beauty is taking them in. She doesn’t look impressed. In fact, I would go so far as to say that she has a look of distaste on her face.

  The women start making out. There is a bed in the center of the stage. Two guesses as to where this is going.

  “You came for sex,” she says, sounding and looking bored all over again. The look of anger is gone.

  I don’t say anything. I don’t have to. We both know that’s why I came here. We both know it’s what I want.

  “I’m disappointed,” she says so softly that I think I might have misheard her because this woman doesn’t know me. Why would she be disappointed in me?

  I look her way. Her eyes hold mine for a moment or two, and then she turns and walks away. I pull in her scent. It’s wild and exotic. I watch her go. I don’t try to stop her. What would be the point? We are here for different reasons. I grind my teeth and finish my drink, putting the glass down on the bar.

  I’m irritated.

  I feel edgy and annoyed.

  I still feel aroused.

  That whole conversation was odd. It has left me feeling off-balance. Not many people can do that to me.

  “Intense, brooding…maybe slightly aggressive,” a woman says to my right. She is looking at me like she wants to eat me whole. She’s dressed all in leather. “I like the silent brooding types.” She winks at me suggestively. “You can call me Kitten.”

  I think she’s a nice girl playing at something she’s not. Her lips are bright red, as are her nails.

  “You sure about this?” I ask her.

  She gives me a slow nod.

  I fucking hate crying women, but I’ll make sure she enjoys herself. I feel nothing. Less than nothing. That’s not true; I’m still on edge. I need this. I tend to get violent when my sexual needs aren’t being met. The son of Ares has no
place getting violent. It can’t happen…period! I need sex, and I need it now. A man can only turn that side of himself off for so long. It’s been too long for me. I feel that familiar buzzing in my veins. I need to feed the monster so that he can sleep.

  “Okay,” I sigh. “Let’s get out of here. I have a room at The Towers,” I refer to the five-star hotel up the road. “We’re fucking…nothing more or less. I’m going to leave straight afterward. I don’t want your number. You still game, Kitten?”

  “For sure.” She smiles.

  Too easy.

  Too nice!

  Fuck!

  “You’ll feel me in the morning. I like it rough. I don’t do sweet or soft or—”

  “I’m game!” she snaps. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she isn’t as sweet as I thought. A guy can hope.

  “Let’s go.” I look at the exit. I wait for her to start walking in that direction and then follow slightly behind.

  Thankfully she doesn’t try to take my hand. “Do you frequent Straight and Narrow a lot?” she asks as soon as we are outside.

  I shake my head.

  “I didn’t think so, since I haven’t seen you before. Are you—?”

  “No small talk,” I say. “No kissing or cuddling. None of that bullshit.” I realize I’ve stopped in my tracks. “You good with that?” I narrow my eyes on her. I’m giving her every opportunity to walk away. Truth is, I’m not feeling it.

  She nods. “Yeah, sure.”

  We get back to walking. This time in silence. Thank fuck.

  “Um…” she starts to say. “I am—”

  So much for silence.

  I look her way, and she stops talking. She licks her lips instead, looking nervous all of a sudden. The street is well-lit. There are restaurants and bars lining this street. Having said that, it’s quiet this time of night. Maybe Kitten is having second thoughts. Sure looks like it. She smiles. “Um…I almost feel stupid asking, but I have to anyway.” She narrows her eyes, “You’re not a serial killer by any chance, are you?” She laughs. “You’re not going to kill me or hurt me?” She giggles, sounding more nervous by the second. “Not that you would tell me if you were.”