Graysen wants one thing: for Nelle to confess what is in her heart. The problem is, that girl is spiteful and cruel as all Nine Hells. He tries to convince her to be honest about his feelings... but unfortunately, it ends badly with her striking out and pushing him off the rooftop to the Keep.

This story was contributed by Ava Larksen

Where is he, where is he, where is he...

My bare feet slapped on cold stone as I hurtled down the spiral staircase. Blue flames guttered against the curved adamere walls, the wildfyre stirred by my swift movement as I ran to find him.

I'd spent the day at the top of the tower, unable to do anything but pace, as my mind descended into regretful chaos.

The Crowthers had been tasked by Upper House Novak to annihilate The Widowmakers and end the crime syndicate's rebellion against The Horned Gods. Graysen, his brothers, and their warband had left the estate as buttery sunlight stretched across the sky. But before he'd left, I'd been spiteful and cruel. I might have told him I'd hoped he'd trip and his stupid sword would skewer him right through the heart.

The heart—because I'd been desperate to crush what lingered in mine.

As shadows lengthened across the plush carpet, I'd finally heard the Crowthers return.

I'd stilled, listening to the thunder of engines as the convoy entered the inner courtyard, the creak of metal, rapid heavy footfall, and clashing of urgent shouts.

Where's the goddamned physician?!

I'm fine, Jett, fuck ... I'm okay, I'm okay!

You call Novak—I'm sure as hells not calling this clusterfuck in.

Where's Gray?

A pause. I thought he was with you?

Bone-biting fear had my heartbeat racing. My sharpened senses picked through the reek of gasoline and oil, the stale sting of magic, and the tang of blood.

Blood...

Silence.

Utter silence but for the sheer panic that hollowed out my mind, and something ancient and cunning, hissing at me to—Find him, find him, find him...

I'd lasted five minutes pushing back at the rising terror before I'd bolted from the room.

I knew Graysen was alive but something was wrong. I didn't know exactly where he'd be in the vast, imposing fortress. I let my senses take over and be guided by the filaments of dark magic that vibrated a discordant hum ... where my feet blindly carried me.

My heart stumbled to see the SUVs riddled with bullet holes and cracked windshields. I soared through the Keep, past limping soldiers. Flew down the twists and turns of hallways, and up the corkscrew stairwell that led to the rampart.

Breathless and frightened, I burst onto the roof of the Keep.

The dying sun set the black storm clouds on fire in an eruption of violent crimson and orange. I shivered in the wild wind as my hair snapped across my eyes like strands of silken webbing.

Where is he, where is he, where is he...

I jittered on the spot. The air around me crackled and sparked, nipping at my senses like it always did when he was nearby. I swung my head wide and located him immediately.

Relief leadened my limbs and I blew out a pent-up breath.

Graysen stood on top of the parapet. The unruly locks of black hair were teased by the wind as he stared across the ancient forest that surrounded the Keep. Stormwinds blustered the forest's canopy, ruffling leaves much like a white-capped ocean. He'd unstrapped his wyrmblade and it leaned against the wall. Adamare armor clung to his lower body, the intricate fishscale-cut dusty from wherever the hells he'd come from. I held back the snort, because he couldn't fucking help himself... while the jacket had been discarded it was neatly folded next to his booted feet.

He was fine. Okay, even. I knew I should have slunk back down inside the Keep, but I lingered, wondering at the melancholy shadowing his features

Guilt was a bitter tang because I was responsible for it.

A bottle of whiskey dangled between his fingers. He leaned back on his heels, spine bowing, as he swallowed a mouthful, hissing at its burn.

I refused to acknowledge the warmth flooding my chest and the skittish wild nerves as I drank him in.

I did not care.

And the thing inside me coiled around my bones. Its voice, feeble with the frayed connection between us, rasped—Liar.

I silently hissed my irritation at it, denying the truth.

Its delighted chuckle at my blatant lie rumbled like far-off distant thunder.

I didn't think Graysen was aware of my presence until he said in his low, gravelly voice, "I know you're there, little bird. Come out of the shadows and show yourself."

Surprise cracked through me. I chewed my lip, wondering if I should ignore him and simply run away. Instead I left the muted shadows that blended into the gloaming. I tried to appear casual in my approach, not as if I'd been in a mindless panic when I heard his brothers return and saw the bloodied mess of their warband.

I tsked. "Still alive, Crowther? What a shame."

He didn't look my way. His voice was bland when he replied. "Your father certainly didn't want me walking out alive."

"Can't blame him."

He swiped the beads of whiskey from his lower lip with his thumb. "Nope."

"Perhaps I can remedy that." Weathered stone grazed my palms as I curved my fingers around the parapet's sharp angles. I rose up on my toes and peered down at the sheer drop and the flagstone below. I whistled long and low, the sound snatched up by the gusty breeze. "It's high up here." I arched an eyebrow. "Careful Crowther, maybe you'll slip. Maybe someone will push you."

I frowned. Normally he'd spark with glee at my wicked tongue. Parry something back to make me bite. But there was nothing at all, except for the hardening of his features.

I sighed. "Pity the fall wouldn't kill you." Certainly not from this height, and with his mother's bloodline that infused him with unnatural healing he was hard to kill, as my father had discovered.

"Go on. Do it. It'll make you feel better." Black eyes slid to mine. "And that way you can keep lying to yourself."

Our argument this morning was still on his mind. It probably had been the entire time he was dealing with the Widowmakers, and now it seemed he intended to pick up exactly where we left off: me spewing wrath, and him slamming the door on his way out.

Earlier this morning, he'd been honest and open about what he'd felt for me, and like a coward I'd panicked and struck out in self preservation.

I didn't want to tell him what was in my heart.

He could break me so easily.

So I'd broken him instead.

The hurt that had flared across his face had cut me deep, but it still hadn't stayed my traitorous tongue.

He angled his head toward me. A guarded look. "Why are you here?" He twisted around on the parapet and folded his tall figure to crouch before me. "You didn't run all the way up here to make sure I was dead."

"Can't a girl hope?"

His eyebrows slashed together into a harsh line. He scanned my face, soaking up my secrets, and was pissed off I was still in denial. His hand suddenly snapped out. I gasped as calloused fingertips pinched my chin. He angled my face towards his. "I see the way you look at me when you think I'm not looking. And I know what you feel for me scares you too."

I hated that he could see through me.

Hated that he was pushing at me once again to admit my feelings. I hadn't wanted to hear his confession earlier. I didn't want to hear him now.

Fire burned beneath my skin.

And that dark power slithered along my bones, breathing embers of sunshine.

"I feel nothing for you, Crowther," I spat back, tearing my chin from his grip.

Anger tightened his mouth and erupted in his gaze. "There you go again, little liar. I don't need the sweet tang of your lies to coat my tongue." He jabbed a forefinger to his chest. "I feel you in here." He then flung his hand wide, exasperated. "You're under my skin, Wychthorn. Hells, I'm burning up with your fury. And beneath it all, what you truly feel—"

"Don't you dare!" I roared, cutting him off.

I recklessly lunged forward, my hands raised to push him off the rampart. I pulled back just in time, my breath ragged pants.

He held my furious glare with his own, and he purposely let go of the whiskey bottle.

One heartbeat, two...

A faint sound of shattering glass.

He tipped up his chin and taunted me. "Do it." There was no heat to his words. There was just acceptance in the fall of his shoulders. "Do it!" he barked, this time enraged. "Or admit it!"

"I can't!" I screamed in wrath and pain, furious at him. But more furious at myself because it was the truth and both of us knew it

I rushed forward and shoved, hard.

He could have easily remained sitting where he was. He could have pushed back to remain upright. But as soon as the heel of my palms met his hard chest I felt the shift in his body, how he relaxed into it and he let the momentum tip him backward off the Keep.

And the dark power inside, snarled at me, furious—Spiteful thing!

In that moment—one blink, one heartbeat—I disappeared, my mind spearing back to a cliff rushing past and my hair flailing around me as I stared up at a blot of darkness in a sea of blue.

"Graysen!"

Astonishment exploded within his eyes.

I flung myself forward, and as I reached down—he reached up.

We locked our hands around each other's forearms. His heels dug into the ledge, legs locked taut.

I pulled and he levered himself upright, staring at me with awe shining in those fathomless black eyes.

Safe on the parapet, I let go of his forearm, backing away, almost tripping over my feet.

Holy Skalki!

I'd made a grave mistake.

What the hells had come over me?

I'd gone and saved his sorry ass. Not that he would have died, but the gesture...

Like one of those great beasts that hunted the Savanna, graceful and predatory, Graysen jumped down from the parapet, his landing silent.

He didn't smile, but it was distinctly there, whispering across his features. He tipped his head to the side and inky locks slid across his forehead. His eyes shone animal bright. "What did you just say?"

I briefly squeezed my eyes shut.

Shit, shit, shit...

I hadn't spoken his name aloud since the moment my foot crossed the threshold of his ancestral home and I'd been swallowed up by its ruthless shadows.

I'd refused to.

Not since he ripped my heart out and roughened fibres itched my neck.

But it was there beating in my chest, the truth of what I felt for him ... his too.

I rolled my eyes and made a pfft-ing sound. "You'd make a mess, and then who will have to scrape your bloodied bones off the cobblestone?" I waved my hand dismissively at the drop below. "Frankly, I couldn't be bothered dragging your broken body to the infirmary while you wailed in agony like a big baby."

His rich chuckle was delightful, as was the swift, glorious grin. "That wasn't what I asked."

Graysen stalked leisurely toward me. He clicked his tongue thoughtfully. "It wasn't arrogant asshole, and it certainly wasn't fucking prick, either." I walked backward, heading toward the rooftop's entranceway. "Nor was it Crowther, or you."

"I'm quite partial to di—"

"Yes, you are," he cut in smoothly before I could finish my favourite insult.

I jolted when my back met cold stone.

"Say it," he rumbled, dark with challenge.

He cupped the side of my face while his thumb swept gently over my lips. He softened. A knowing smile, small and a touch sorrowful. "I know it terrifies you ..." He took my hand and spread it across his chest. My fingers contoured around muscle and were warmed by heat, my palm pressed against the raised scars of the serpentine beast branded into his flesh. He emphasised his point by threading his fingers through mine, spread above his heart. "I feel you here, bright as sunshine."

My bottom lip wobbled and I shook my head, denying it. The words broke. "I can't..."

He pressed his forehead against mine and his midnight locks slid through mine, cast in moonlight. "Say it," he whispered.

My eyelashes fluttered shut.

As it always did, his heart synced with mine. The twin-beat was a sonorous vibration, loud in my ears, and kicked beneath my palm. Bittersweet misery pricked the back of my throat, thickening it, and I swallowed through the pain. Heat spilled in wet lines that rolled down my cheeks.

I can't, I can't, I can't...

I sucked in a sharp breath as I felt warm lips gently pressed against my skin, once, then twice more, the corner of my eye, my cheek, my jaw, before his mouth ghosted mine, salt wisping across my lips, damp with anguish. "Say it..." I knew what he wanted. And perhaps it was because he whispered my name first, hot against my throat, followed by the nip of sharp, hungry teeth. "Just once..."

My fingers bunched into his t-shirt. "Graysen..."

A smile brushed along my collarbone. "There it is ... Again, Nelle ... Again."

I softly chanted his name ...Gray, Gray, Gray... as his hands followed the shape of my curves and his open-mouthed kiss glided along the arch of my throat. He lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around his hips, both of us fitting perfectly together.

My name was a soft exhale as his mouth closed over mine. The first kiss was achingly sweet, a mere sweep of his lips against mine. Our twin-heartbeat stumbled in pleasure as his tongue nudged my mouth open, and when he deepened the kiss, his tongue licking in, my body ignited and I breathed a helpless moan.

He was parched earth and I was the storm. He swallowed me down like rainfall in great greedy mouthfuls, desperate for more.

Merciless. Blissful. Torture.

"What are we doing?"

"Don't care..." he murmured in between kisses.

"Your family—"

"Can go to Nine Hells."

Like it always did, the air surrounding us thrummed with vast power. Thunder erupted and lightning exploded through black tumbling clouds. Savage wind tore all around us. It was as if we were the heart of the storm, invigorating and ferocious. We commanded its wrath, and drove tempestuous squalls to hunt across the sky and rage against the Keep.

As rain fell in fat icy droplets, soaking us both, I bit his lower lip, a gentle bite, but sharp enough to make him gasp. He stared back with fiery, lust-drunk eyes—quicksilver flooding the black. I grinned before I reclaimed his mouth and made him moan my name sweeter.

And that ancient beast, slithered beneath my skin, and yowled in delight.

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Ava Larksen A.K.A. Ava the Cruel, is a writer of darkness, mayhem and kissing. Read more from Ava here