Claimed By The Four Alpha Demons

10. Mine To Guard

Raiden’s POV

The twenty feet between the shadows and the bar stool disappeared in three seconds.

I didn’t run, running was for prey. I moved with the lethal intent of a predator finally closing the trap. The air inside the Rusty Anchor was thick with the smell of stale beer and sawdust, but cutting through it all was the sharp, copper tang of ozone bleeding off Callie. She was practically vibrating with it, the lightbulb above her head strobing in frantic bursts of yellow and gray that matched the panic rolling off her in waves.

The man in the flannel shirt was too busy leering to notice the monster coming up behind him. His beer-sour breath fanned across her neck as he leaned in, invading the sanctuary of her personal space.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he slurred, his voice grating against my eardrums like sandpaper. “Don’t be like that. I’m just buying you a drink. You look like you’ve had a rough night.”

“I’m fine,” Callie said, her voice brittle and shaking with a mixture of exhaustion and the terrified adrenaline I’d smelled on her in the parking lot. “Please. Just leave me alone.”

“You don’t want to be alone,” the man insisted, his tone shifting from friendly to aggressive. “A girl like you shouldn’t be in a dump like this by herself. Let me walk you to your car.”

He reached out, his thick, greasy fingers closing around her upper arm.

Zap.

The sound was audible, a sharp, stinging crack of static discharge.

The man yelped and jerked his hand back, shaking it as if he’d been stung by a hornet. “Ow! What the hell? You got a taser or something?”

Callie shrank back against the bar, clutching her own arm, her eyes wide with mounting panic. “I told you. Don’t touch me.”

“You little b***h,” the man snarled, his ego bruised. He reached for her again, faster this time, aiming to grab her wrist to punish her for the rejection. “You think you’re too good for—”

His hand never reached her. I caught his wrist in mid-air, the impact solid and satisfying.

I didn’t just stop him. I immobilized him, wrapping my fingers around his thick forearm and pressing my thumb into the sensitive bundle of nerves on the underside of his wrist.

“I think,” I rumbled, my voice vibrating deep in my chest, “she said she didn’t want to be touched.”

The man froze, looking up with widening eyes as he took in my size. I had a good four inches on him and about fifty pounds of muscle, not to mention the tattoos currently glowing a dull, menacing red under my sleeves.

“This ain’t your business, pal,” he stammered, trying to pull his arm back.

I didn’t let go. Instead, I tightened my grip, applying just a fraction of the pressure I was capable of. Bones ground together and tendons strained as I leaned in close.

“It became my business when you put your hands on her,” I growled.

The man’s face went from flushed to paper-white in a heartbeat, and he let out a high-pitched whimper, his knees buckling as he tried to follow the direction of the pain to keep his wrist from snapping.

“Raiden?”

Callie’s voice was a whisper, barely audible over the thumping bass of the jukebox.

I didn’t look at her yet. I kept my eyes locked on the maggot in the flannel shirt, letting a little bit of the glamor slip, just enough for him to see the amber fire in my eyes, the predatory darkness that wasn’t quite human.

“Walk away,” I commanded. “If I ever see you near her again…if I ever see you in this town again…I won’t stop at your wrist. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he gasped, sweat beading on his forehead. “Yes, man, I get it! Let go!”

I released him with a shove that sent him stumbling backward into a high-top table, sending bottles crashing to the floor. He didn’t stop to apologize; he scrambled for the door, clutching his wrist to his chest, running like the devil himself was snapping at his heels.

Which, to be fair, I was.

The bar went quiet. A few patrons stared, but most looked away quickly, sensing that making eye contact with me right now was a bad survival strategy. I turned back to the bar, finally looking at her.

Callie was staring at me, her pupils blown so large her irises were just thin rings of violet-blue. She looked like a wreck…hair wild, uniform rumpled, trembling so hard the ice in her whiskey glass chattered against the glass.

“You followed me,” she said, the words heavy with a numb kind of shock.

“Greyson thought you might need a ride,” I lied smoothly. “The fog is thick tonight.”

“I blew up a hotel,” she blurted out.

The confession seemed to vomit out of her before she could stop it. Instantly, her hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes darted around the bar before locking back on me, filling with absolute terror as the reality of who she was talking to crashed down on her.

“Oh god,” she whispered, shrinking back against the bar. “Why did I say that? I don’t…I didn’t mean that. Forget I said that. You’re…I don’t even know you. You’re my boss. You’re going to call the police.”

She started to hyperventilate, sliding off the stool as if to run again. “I have to go. I’m sorry. I’m just crazy. I’m hysterical, just like he said.”

I moved fast, stepping into her path and blocking her exit. I didn’t touch her, not yet, but I used my body to create a wall between her and the door.

“Callie, look at me,” I said, keeping my voice steady and low.

“No, get out of my way,” she gasped, tears spilling over. “I’m dangerous. I’m losing my mind. You saw the sparks. You saw what I did to that guy. I’m a freak.”

“You’re not a freak,” I said firmly. “And I’m not calling the police.”

“You should!” she cried, her voice rising in hysteria. “I shattered a mirror without touching it! I shorted out the lights! If you knew what was good for you, you’d run away from me right now!”

I stepped closer, invading her space with deliberate slowness. “I don’t run.”

“Raiden, please,” she begged, looking up at me, her chest heaving. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m scared.”

“I know,” I said softly. “I can smell it on you. It tastes like burnt sugar.”

She blinked, confusion warring with the panic. “What?”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Callie,” I said, crouching slightly so I was eye-level with her. “And I’m not afraid of a few sparks. You think you’re the only one with secrets? You think you’re the only one who can break things?” I nodded toward the table the man had crashed into. “I just crushed a man’s wrist with two fingers. Do I look like I’m in a position to judge you for losing control?”

She stared at me, her breathing hitching. “You…you aren’t afraid?”

“Never,” I promised. “But you’re leaking energy, Callie. You’re hurting yourself holding it in. Look at your hands.”

She looked down to where faint blue sparks were dancing between her fingers, popping softly in the dim light. Her skin looked red and irritated.

“It hurts,” she whimpered. “It feels like I’m burning from the inside.”

“Then let it out,” I said. “Give it to me.”

“What?”

“Touch me,” I challenged. I stood up and held out my hand, palm up, resting it on the sticky bar top. My tattoos hummed against my skin, hungry for the contact. “Go ahead. Shock me. Ground yourself.”

“I can’t,” she shook her head violently. “I’ll kill you. It’s too much.”

“It’s not too much for me,” I said, dropping my voice to that gravelly register that I knew resonated in her bones. “I’m not Liam. I’m not fragile. I’m an anchor, Callie. Test me.”

She hesitated, her hand hovering over mine, shaking. The blue sparks reached out, seeking the connection, drawn to the demon blood in my veins like a moth to a flame.

“Trust me,” I whispered.

Slowly, agonizingly, she lowered her hand until her fingertips brushed my palm.

SNAP.

The connection was instant. It wasn’t a shock. It was a f**king collision.

Her energy slammed into me…hot, chaotic, and frantic. It felt like sticking a fork in a high-voltage socket, but instead of pain, it felt like fuel. My demon roared in approval, drinking it in, cycling it through my blood, and converting the chaotic noise into pure power.

Callie gasped, trying to pull away, terrified she was hurting me, but I closed my fingers around hers, holding her fast.

“Don’t pull back,” I ordered, gritting my teeth against the pleasure of the feed. “Let it flow. You’re holding it all in your head. That’s why you’re buzzing. Push it into me.”

“It’s too strong!” she cried.

“So am I,” I growled. “Just breathe. Imagine it’s water. Pour it out.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, took a ragged breath, and shoved.

The surge hit me hard enough to make my vision whiten for a second. The lights in the bar flared bright, blinding white, before settling back to a dim yellow. And then, silence.

The buzzing stopped. The sparks on her skin faded.

Callie opened her eyes, looking drained and pale, but the frantic terror was gone. She slumped forward, her legs giving out, and I caught her before she hit the floor, scooping her up and steadying her against my chest.

“Better?” I asked, my own voice rougher than usual.

“How…” she mumbled into my jacket. “How did you do that? You didn’t even flinch.”

“I told you,” I said, brushing a stray curl away from her face. “I’m grounded.”

She didn’t pull away. The adrenaline crash was hitting her like a freight train, and her eyes drifted shut, her body going heavy and pliable in my arms.

“She called me a freak,” she murmured, her words slurring into sleep. “Liam just watched.”

“She was wrong,” I whispered, my lips brushing the top of her head. “You’re not a freak, Callie. You’re a storm. And Liam is just a man with a broken umbrella. He never stood a chance.”

She didn’t answer. Her breathing leveled out, and she was out cold in seconds.

I sat there for a moment, just holding her in the middle of a dive bar, feeling the weight of her against my chest. The other patrons were giving us a wide berth, terrified of the man who crushed wrists and the woman who blew out lightbulbs.

Good. Fear kept them away.

I tossed a fifty-dollar bill on the bar for the mess and scooped Callie up into my arms. She was lighter than I expected, fitting against me as if she’d been carved to fill the empty space there. Her head lolled against my shoulder, her hand curling unconsciously into my shirt.

I carried her out into the cold night air where the fog was waiting for us, thick and heavy. As I settled her into the passenger seat of the SUV and buckled her in, she didn’t wake up. She just sighed a soft sound that wrapped around my heart and squeezed.

I looked at her one last time before starting the engine. She looked peaceful now. The static was gone, but I knew it would be back. She was a Conduit. She generated power faster than she could bleed it off. And she needed an Anchor. She needed us.

I pulled out onto the road, turning the wheel toward the mountain.

I wasn’t taking her to Briarcliff. That rotting pile of wood had no heat, no security, and too many memories of the man who had just betrayed her. I was taking her to Grimstone Hall. Greyson would probably lecture me about kidnapping, Nate would want to hook her up to his machines, and Ace would probably try to seduce her the moment she woke up.

But tonight, she was mine to guard.

“Sleep tight, Little Mouse,” I whispered as the gates of the estate loomed out of the fog. “You’re home now.”

And for the first time in centuries, the word home didn’t feel like a lie.