Primal Beasts (Darkly Ever After, #3)

by Mila Crawford

Sex and blood. The perfect description of the images before me. A man in the corner getting his dick sucked while another girl saws off his arm. A girl on the other side of the hallway eats from a bowl as a fiery brand sears her behind. Two men kiss as one stabs a blade through the other’s penis.

My body instinctively reacts to the men with a mixture of fear and attraction. I mistakenly make eye contact with the stabber. He lifts the blade out of flesh and smirks at me while bringing the blood-stained steel to his mouth. A pink tongue protrudes between his lips, and he licks the crimson. “You want to cut or be cut?” he asks. “I like both.”

I glare at him, annoyed at all the theatrics. “I already gave it to your buddy on the other side of that door.” He steps up to me with his teeth bared and growls. I assume this works on most people who step into his orbit. Rolling my eyes, I whisper, “Blood river.”

“Are they dead?” The left side of Alaric’s lip turns up. “Does it matter?” What kind of question is that? Of course, it matters. I’m not some idiot who’d risk her life for a couple of corpses. “A couple of dead guys are no use to me. The three of you are many things, but you have a reputation for being honest and direct when someone asks the right questions. Hence your nickname of the Fay brothers. It’s almost like you’re incapable of direct deceit.”

Alaric crosses his arms over his chest. It may be my imagination, but the deep slash on his right cheek appears harsher than usual. He’s still beautiful, almost ethereal. Guess the devil has an ethereal beauty too.

“Well, I don’t suppose you’re willing to give up the goods without putting me in danger?” Alaric laughs. “No. I don’t like you enough to care if you live or die.” I stick my hand out. “Give me the details, so I can get this over with.”

Another twig cracks under my feet, reminding me I may be dead in a ditch by six am tomorrow morning, my body mangled and unrecognizable. But I’ve been through things worse than death, acts so heinous they would break the strongest will. But not mine—I learned how to bend instead of break.

That’s how I’ve survived my entire life, reinventing myself to be saved. A chameleon, changing color to suit the predator in my midst.

I enjoy the quiet. It’s the only time I don’t have to pretend. When I can explore the recesses of my mind and strategize. But here, the silence is an alarm, a...

Surely, if God is real, He would not let my demise be here in His house. “Let us fall into the hand of the Lord, for his mercy is great; but let me not fall into the hand of man.”

Usually, I’d break in, take what I needed and bounce before anyone knew something was up. But this isn’t the usual job of stealing from some geeky tech billionaire. These three men are demented. The stories circulating about them are so extreme and brutal that they’d make the devil himself sit up and take notice. You only have to look at where they’re living to know how messed up they are because these three aren’t poor. Far from it. They’re rich. God-like rich, yet all three of them sleep in this dilapidated, forsaken structure that should’ve been demolished years ago.

My memory drifts to the last time I was in a church and how religion and everything holy were used to mark me as perverse. A virgin called a Jezebel by my adoptive parents, who held me down as the son of a preacher raped me while they called him a real man.

A raven perches beside me, his beady eyes connecting with mine, both of us anticipating whatever or whoever waits once the door opens. His wings expand, mocking me that if the shit hits the fan, he’ll fly off while I’ll be stuck in the nightmare.

My hand instinctively shoots into my pocket, and I grip the handle of my blade. It won’t help if someone comes at me with a gun. I’m the idiot who brought a knife to what could be a gunfight. But based on what I’ve heard about the beasts, they prefer hand-to-hand combat. It allows them a slower execution, and their sadistic nature leans toward the brutality that a blade or other sharp object allows over the quick death of a bullet.

A state-of-the-art kitchen is on my right, with a Wolf stove and a built-in fridge. Three bowls lie on a large marble table, all different sizes, with cutlery scattered beside them—a half-eaten meal abandoned as if they were in too much of a rush to clean up before they left. They may have left in a rush, but they could return just as quickly.

If anything would make me run screaming from the church, it would be what I’m witnessing right now. Moonlight shines into the room like a dim flashlight, displaying walls covered with plastic. A tear in the plastic in the center of the space serves as a makeshift door. Behind this is a large surgical table filled with various tools. My hands sweat, and I fight the urge to run as a massive bloody chainsaw catches my eye.

Hooks hold a flood of torture devices. Floggers, whips, canes, and batons. Some have puncturing tools at the tips, while others are more benign. On the left side of the torture wall hangs a shrine to Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary. The room is a fucked-up shrine, highlighting sin and salvation.

The next three rooms are much different. Bedrooms. One with a giant bed, the other with a regular queen bed, and the third sparse, with a simple mattress on the floor.

“She can’t be alone,” Iblis whispers as he hovers over the pretty little thing lying on my bed.

He makes an action to hack but stops as he reaches her flesh. “She’d make pretty souvenirs.” I observe my twin’s demeanor. Usually, Abaddon wouldn’t hesitate. He’d have a limb amputated before I uttered a word, yet he hesitates with this woman. Fascinating. I had a similar urge not to harm her. Probably a moment of weakness.

I drink in her beauty, her hair fanned over my pillow, her scent invading my senses with brute force. The glow of her soft skin and curvy frame makes my mouth water, and my fingers twitch with the desperate, illogical need to touch her.

“We’ve got to kill her. She broke into our place, and we can’t leave that unanswered.” Abaddon’s voice is a blizzard in my mind, washing away the fiery desire that was there a moment ago. Leave...

I’m an idiot because this girl is an interloper, here to ruin the small moments of peace we’re granted as we burn in eternal hell.

Deep in slumber, her serene face calms me, something I haven’t experienced in the last twenty years. Besides, I want to grill the girl to see how she found this place because it sure as fuck isn’t a coincidence. The video footage confirmed it when we watched the little beauty move from room to room like a damn ninja.

Iblis is on his knees facing the wall with a rosary in his hand. His fingers flick the beads as he chants a prayer. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.” Not sure how he still thinks he’s worthy of salvation after the fucked-up things he’s done.

Abaddon and I accepted our fate a long time ago, embraced it even, but Iblis is still desperate for the love of a deity that abandoned him from conception.

“We can let her go.” “Let her go?” I ask in disbelief. “She could have accomplices. We got our freedom, thanks to Dariyus and Malachi. Do you want to go back to someone owning or hunting us?” If not for those two men, we’d still be in debt to the monster who owned us.

Iblis casts his eyes down, fully aware of his part in making my brother and me what we are. I don’t blame Iblis for what happened to us anymore. Dominic Roads fucked with him as much as he did us. So what if he was older? It’s not like a ten and eight-year-old differ much in mental capacity.

Eventually, the hate and resentment turned into love and acceptance, at least for Abaddon and me. But though Iblis loves us, deep shame courses in his veins like a life force keeping him alive. If I were a better man, I’d help him heal and deal with his internal d...

“I’ll let her go once I’ve drained her body of all its blood and fucked you in it.” “Then fuckin do it,” Iblis spits. “KILL her and get it over with. There’s no point holding her here to contemplate her death. Put the girl out of her misery.”

“Maybe I should fuck you while you kill her for us. That’s a new game, isn’t it, Iblis? I’d like to see you in the gutter with the two of us. After all, it was you who dragged us here, wasn’t it?” Iblis hisses, and his head falls back like it always does. Iblis, the little slut who wants to be chaste.

“I could cut her clothes off, Iblis, and make you tongue-fuck her like Asmodeus fucks your tight little ass. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Iblis moans, rubbing his rosary beads as he mutters another prayer.

“Keep praying to your God, Iblis. But you know as well as I do that all you’ll ever be is evil.” I inhale his scent and graze my fangs along his jugular vein. “The darkness is your blood, a narcotic in your veins, making your heart beat faster.”

“It’s true I’m many things, Asmodeus, but I’m not a rapist.” He lets go of my hair and takes several steps back as if being close to the sleeping woman is too tempting.

“Kill her and get it over with,” Iblis snaps. I growl at Iblis, wanting to get under his skin, “Nah, I think we’ll keep her around as a little plaything and make you watch.”

Sins and virtues mingle in my mind as I struggle to cast one out and embrace the other. Lust and Chastity are the two that burn the brightest. Right now, for example, as my cock strains against my pants, all I can think about is sucking a cock while being fucked in the ass.

If I were stronger, I’d cut my balls off to kill the dark desires within me. “And if your eye causes you to sin, tear it out. It is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than with two eyes to be thrown into hell.”

Abaddon and Asmodeus hover over the girl. Her clothing marks her as a temptress, black leather hugging her curves. But the way her chest rises and falls mixes with the sweet contours of her face, which resembles the most pious of angels. I’m a little shocked that the twins haven’t ravaged her yet. They have a penchant for wanting to mutilate and desecrate people and places they view as pure. Unlike me, they’ve accepted their place at the mouth of hell, the hope of salvation extinguished from their hearts. Yet a part of me is still desperate to save them, more than my need to save myself.

Abaddon’s blade glides up and down the beauty’s body, and I know it’s taking everything in him not to prick her with the tip. He licks his lips like a wolf about to devour...

I see the need for blood in Asmodeus’ eyes. His lips part slightly, and he moves his tongue along his fang-shaped incisors. Abaddon may appear to be the most unhinged of the three of us, but it’s Asmodeus who is ruthlessly lethal. He takes a sick, twist...

Abaddon uses a saw to remove the limbs he finds desirable, while Asmodeus feasts on t...

I step forward as shame consumes me because as hard as I try to avoid temptation, a part of me craves it like a junkie craves a needle full of heroin. My addiction to these men is an illness. I’m an addict who lies and says this is the last time, yet I return repeatedly for another hit. I don’t think about the future, damnation, or how I’ll be judged and persecuted. I only think about the moments they use me, and I’m free.

Panic rises as Asmodeus bends his head to my neck and digs his teeth into my flesh. Chills wrack my body as his warm tongue licks at the wound he’s inflicted, tasting my blood. “Don’t worry, slut. I’ll make sure it hurts.” Blessed relief. One thing about being with the twins is that they know me to the bone. Their knowledge of my body, mind, and needs keeps me calm as they use me for gratification. I associate the pain and humiliation with penance for my sin. It allows me to partake in things I desperately crave and prevents me from falling into an abyss.

“You know what I like about this?” Asmodeus asks as he squeezes the metal cilice around my upper thigh with one hand. “Easy access. It’s like a tap I can drink from any damn time I want.” A moan escapes my lips as he presses down on the cilice, and his other hand grazes my balls.

The words want to funnel from my mouth like a whimpering prayer, but vocalizing it hurts my relationship with God. The fucked-up notion in my mind says if I don’t voice the sin, I can beg for forgiveness, but saying it out loud will put it in the world. But the twins don’t care. They crave the words.

Asmodeus falls to his knees in front of me. His hands cradle my face as he tells me we’re the product of our master and we do what he commands. Roads is not a monster; he’s hell personified. Since the age of eight, that man has made us witness and commit horrors most people would never experience.

His large, tattooed hand caresses my head. It’s his way of showing compassion, something he rarely expresses. “You know I love you.” I’m unsure if that’s true. I know the twins would kill for me—a miracle after what I’ve done to them. I nod, desperate to make his words true.

Part of me lies and says this is penance for creating him, but another part of me basks in his cruelty, knowing that I would whimper like a dog at his feet and thank him for kicking me.

“Look at you, getting hard at the idea of being used like a cum rag. You’re pathetic, aren’t you, Iblis? A useless little fuck boy. Maybe I should offer your ass to random men on the street.”

“Such a good little whore, Iblis. I bet if I shoved this knife in your tight ass, you’d squeal like a pig and love every moment.” Pre-cum beads at the tip of my cock at the idea of being ruined by this man. I don’t think he’d ever go that far, but hearing him say it allows a small percentage of a chance, and that excites me.