Love is Darkness

Chapter 17

  Prague, Czech Republic

  Rachel was carried away and all the vampires filed out of the room, meeting adjourned. The room was empty but for Val and Lucas.

  His eyes were closed but he opened them when she approached, looking at her as though surprised she was still in the room. His eyes were sky blue and he seemed tired. That was her guess, anyway.

  “You didn't protect me,” she said.

  “Didn't I?”

  “Marion expected you to save me and you didn't. If you had died in this fight, she would have killed me too.”

  He gave her a condescending smile, “If I had perished you would not have lived. She would have tasted you and known what you were. She'd have used you, bled you over and over again, whoring you out for power and favors until you were dry and broken.”

  “How flattering. The only reason I’m in danger is because of you.”

  “Now that is an unusual picture. Jack and your father are just as guilty as I for involving you in our world. Do you not blame them as well?”

  Valerie was angry. It was now or never and she was going to be free of him if it killed her. “The difference is that I love them. I would die for Jack and he would die for me. I won't do this anymore. You don't really need me anyway. This is some elaborate scheme to get into my… blood. It's nothing to do with me as a person, but as a toy for you, the novelty empath.”

  He raised a finger as though he was going to urge her to be quiet, or make a point and wanted her attention. “Don't pretend to know my motivations. For you or the Others. I want them back. And I want you.”

  “Whatever. Just let me go. Let me leave and live my life. If you did actually care for me then you wouldn't want me involved in this.”

  “You want me to be unselfish? A vampire is selfishness. We kill so that we can survive, that is the ultimate selfishness.”

  She changed the subject, looking for more arguments to try to convince him to leave her alone. “I won't be a vampire. I'd rather die. If you changed me I would kill myself at the first opportunity.”

  Lucas chuckled humorlessly, “It is easy to be righteous when you speak of the unknown. You do not need to persuade me. You may go.”

  “What's the catch?”

  He smiled. A genuine smile that crinkled his eyes and made her think of him as the man he used to be instead of the blood spattered monster sitting on a throne before her.

  “I don't need one. Go to Jack. Convince him of your love and the future you will have. When he decides to kill me, come back and beg me for his life. We need discuss nothing until then.”

  “If he doesn't come after you, will you leave us alone? Let us be together?”

  “You are so certain you belong with him? You have been drawn to me from the moment we met. You behave with me as though I am your lover, but that's done with now?”

  He was cool and collected, talking to her matter of factly. This was a big deal, a breakup in fact. If he wanted her he should be pleading, shouting, trying to kiss her, geez, something to convince her beyond this calm conversation.

  She swallowed heavily, not wanting to talk about her relationship with him. “I think you've done a good job putting yourself in my way, don't you? My mom dies from a vampire attack and while you deny it... I think you must have known. You showed up during...formative years. A golden monster who saved my life. Of course I’m drawn to you. But that’s not enough. Plus, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me if I was a normal girl.”

  He raised an eyebrow in disagreement but said nothing in his defense. I need to get out of here.

  “Take me home.”

  He stood up, looming over her in a way that made her heart pound faster. Frightened and excited at once.

  “I’ve just saved your life.”

  “Is that what we’re calling it? I think you put it in danger— at best it’s a wash.”

  He took a step closer and she backed up.

  “I’ve secured my throne.”

  “Kudos on that one.”

  “Would you have missed me had I perished? Did you not think of all the things we might have done together if we had known what fate had in store for us? The sex and passion. Would we have even gone to the ball if we had known we might not have long to live?”

  “That’s why they say hindsight is twenty-twenty.” She could barely get the words out. Focus, desire, the things she’d just said she wanted from him, he was giving her.

  “Do you know how many children are born nine months after a victory.” It didn’t seem like a question. More like a fact, or, big swallow, like a declaration of intent.

  I thought vampires couldn’t have kids—oh! He wanted to bed her? Now? Here?

  By the look on his face, she was thinking the answer was yes. Her breath stuttered in her lungs and she wanted to wrap her legs around him like a monkey.

  She wanted to run. She wanted to stay. Her fight or flight response was all fucked up like the compass on a plane, unable to decide which way it’s going, right before it crashes into the ocean.

  “That’s…um…an unusual pick up line, I was not aware of that. It makes sense I suppose.” And even if it sucks you can totally practice on me.

  Because he was a victor and she did feel like he had won. And he was charged after the battle, his body thrumming with lust for her. She could feel it, like an echo of her own.

  “What do you feel for me? Is it just lust?”

  He looked at her a little oddly, surprised maybe. “Just lust? You say it like lust is a paltry thing, like Cleopatra did not bring down empires because of lust or that fortunes have not been lost over the urgent necessity to make someone their own.”

  His gaze burned into hers, words quiet and forceful. “You want me to feel more? You want a declaration? Love? I can tell you that I have wanted nothing more than you for hundreds upon hundreds of years, that I will kill anyone for you, anyone you can name. In me you have a shield, could have a lover, a friend and a confidant.”

  His gaze dipped to her neck and it felt like her pulse jumped up to meet him, wanted to feel that hot press of fangs poised at the top of her skin, wanted to dwell in that moment of anticipation just before he would close his mouth, slipping those sharp points into her body.

  Would he do it softly? Would it hurt? Or would it be quick and primal? Her nipples pebbled and she actually rubbed her neck, trying to dispel some of the want.

  Hundreds upon hundreds of years he said. That would be starring in some of her better fantasies for the rest of her life. But she didn’t need fantasies. Here was the real deal. And he was taking her to bed.

  He wanted her. Like fiery ants marching across her skin, she could feel how much he wanted her. But, it was like he was waiting for some sign from her.

  She crossed her arms, hunching her shoulders, trying to think past the desire for him. She closed her eyes to block him out. Think.

  “But you wouldn’t love me, right?” Man, she’d meant to sound tougher when she said that. Instead of hopeful and desperate. She waited for his answer, like she was standing on a ledge waiting for a small pebble to hit the bottom of the ravine.

  It took forever.

  She couldn’t wait any longer.

  He’s Lucas. He’s a vampire. He doesn’t love. He fucks. He kills. He desires.

  But she wanted it all. Could he love her? “What if you drank my blood?”

  “If I drank your blood would I love you?” He covered his mouth with his hand, fingers pressed to his lips, looking away from her. “I will do what I can to make you happy. Now. Without that.” He shook his head. The whole concept seemed so alien to him, like he wasn’t even sure he was pronouncing the word ‘happy’ correctly.

  And a tiny part of her was getting angry. Why wasn’t he just taking her? He’d just conquered! He was a warrior! What was he waiting for? He knew his affect on her. All he had to do was touch her and he could have her.

  But he wasn’t.

  Another man who wants me, but o
nly on their terms.

  “Take me back to Jack. To the hotel.”

  He looked like she’d slapped him.

  “To the hotel, I mean.” Smooth, Val.

  He gave her a searching look, like he was trying to read her mind. “I must change first. Come.”

  Lucas held his hand out to her. It was covered in dried blood. But under it, was him, and his claim upon her was on such a fundamental level that it was deeper than desire, worse than lust.

  Wasn’t that the rub? That what she felt for him was…indefinable. And he only felt lust. Was it like lusting after a handbag? A car?

  He tried to wrap it up in a pretty package, talking about Cleopatra and what not, but it boiled down to an itch he wanted her to scratch. And he had no interest in loving her, even if it they could have more.

  What the fuck was she talking about? What ‘more’ could they have? The end game wasn’t the two of them with 2.5 kids and a dog that barked too much.

  He could never give her the simple things that people used to measure a happy life.

  A knife twisted in her gut.

  His hand was still outstretched and she took it, ignored the fact that it was covered with blood, that by taking his hand the blood of others coated her too, pushed all that aside so she could touch him for just a little bit longer.

  I need therapy.

  He led her out of the room, down hallways, past people and guards, yet all she could think of was his hand surrounding hers. How he stood close to her, opened the occasional door for her and stood aside so she could enter first.

  Guards stood outside his apartments, and he ushered them through.

  “I’ll need blood.” She heard him say quietly and then the door closed behind them.

  This was his bedroom.

  It was weird. It smelled like him, the faintest hint of his cologne lingering in the air. And there was his bed. It was definitely king size and covered in a heavily embroidered duvet that looked stolen it from a museum.

  He groaned and she whirled around. He was lifting his shirt to take it off, the wound open and seeping dark blood.

  He really had almost died tonight. That vicious knowledge punched through her, a vision of Lucas disintegrating before her very eyes—she couldn’t even think about it.

  Val took a step towards him. Screw the consequences or that it was just lust. She needed him in her, imagined her hand clasped around his shaft pressing him deep into her body. He’d pin her to the bed, grab her thigh, wrapping her leg around his waist as he sank home.

  The tight breeches clung to his hips, riding low so that she could see the top of his hipbones, the muscles of his stomach and then his chest. The shirt came off and he tossed it aside, watching her.

  Waiting for her to make the move.

  That froze her. Why wasn’t he coming for her? She closed her eyes, straining to pick up on his emotions, trying to sort them out. It was like taking stones out of a bag, examine it then put it back, pick out another one and figure out what it was. She felt his desire, his triumph and the one that was the brightest: his restraint.

  He wanted her to come to him. Covered in blood and fresh from murder, showing her just how alien he was, he wanted her to choose him. and he was in control enough to wait for her to do it. She knew his emotions, had his blood, but they were weak, like the last beating flutters of one’s heart before death. Any urgency for this moment was hers.

  She opened her eyes and his gaze scorched her. His resolve wavered, desire for her so thick and heavy it was like she could touch it, hold it in her hands like hot sand.

  Now he’s going to drink me.

  He shook his head.

  Fuck, I’m transparent. She looked down his body again, unable to help herself, knowing he’d see it, maybe even gloat over the fact that she had to look again. She loved the way his arms had bulged as he tossed the shirt away from him, how he’d discarded the piece of material like it was an impediment from reaching her.

  His skin could be naked against hers right now.

  Step forward.

  Close that distance.

  She wanted to—why wasn’t she?

  There was a knock on the door and he turned, going to it, the broad expanse of his back and shoulders more pale perfection. The two little divots on his lower back, perfect for her fingers to press into.

  He was at the door, but he didn’t open it, just leaned his head against it before inhaling. “At least try to shield. I suppose I asked for this misery—”

  He opened the door and reached through, keeping his back to her as he took something from outside the door. She saw his head go back a little, very faintly heard him swallow. She stepped to the side to see what he was doing. He handed an empty glass back outside the door. It had been a pint glass and he’d drained it, handing it back empty, bright red blood clinging to the sides of it, looking like stained glass.

  He turned back towards her, door closed, not a speck of blood at the corners of his mouth or anything. But at least she didn’t want to kiss him anymore. Yuck.

  “You don’t drink straight from the source?” Pathetic attempt at distraction.

  The wound at his side was healing before her eyes, closing up, new skin spreading over him. “Make yourself at ease. I shall shower and return. Then take you to your room.”

  Take you to Jack was what he hadn’t said. It clearly galled him.

  He walked towards her purposefully, almost stalking her, both hands undoing the buttons of his breeches slowly, letting her see each shift of his fingers, as he came closer and closer. And he was arrogant, the set of his shoulders, the challenge in his eyes almost telling her that he knew she wouldn’t look away. That she couldn’t look away.

  God, she wanted him. And then he walked past her and she heard the water turn on.

  She sat down hard and tried to remember what her game plan was. Go home? Some dude, what was his name? Oh, yeah. Jack.

  Jack.

  She fell backwards and stared at the ceiling, belatedly realizing that she was lying on Lucas’ bed. She turned her head, looking at the pillows. Which side did he sleep on? A book was on the side closest to the door and she guessed that was his side. What did a guy like Lucas read?

  She climbed across his bed, wanting to see the book. If it’s ‘Men Are From Mars and Women Are From Venu’s, maybe I’ll stay. If it’s the ‘Kama Sutra’ made out of wood cuts, I’ll stay too.

  ‘The Tipping Point’, by Malcolm Gladwell. There was a match on the front and it said, ‘how little things can make a big difference’. Huh. It was like social psychology. What the hell did she make of that?

  She touched his pillow, about to bend down and— oh shit.

  She was actually going to sniff his pillow when she heard the water shut off. Thank god I avoided that little sign of desperation.

  She dashed over to the fireplace instead, sitting in a chair, looking blankly at his shelves of hard bound books.

  Probably not a Kindle kind of guy.

  Just a guess.

  She heard water again and turned, seeing Lucas wearing only a towel and brushing his teeth. That had to help. And then…mouthwash.

  He was going to kiss her.

  Big sigh.

  And she was going to let him. I mean, really. Like I could stop him now. If she had one wish, right now, it would be for a chastity belt. Please, please don’t sleep with him.

  He came out of the bathroom— hair damp, drops of water clinging to his shoulders and chest. Jesus.

  She wanted him to come to her, pick her up and lay her down on his bed, loom over her and kiss her, cover her with his body. Electricity and desire pushed through her, making her clothes feel too tight, her body sensitive and open, waiting for his touch.

  Then she remembered his hand pulling out a heart before her eyes.

  “You’re underdressed,” she said. Up here, Val. Look at his face! Well, at least she knew he wanted her too. She could see his erection under the towel, heavy and huge, presse
d flat against his stomach.

  “You want me to take you to him?”

  “What?” Look. UP.

  She bit her lip so she didn’t say, ‘No I don’t want to go to Jack, I want to stay here with you and fuck you until neither one of us can walk out of this room.’

  And if he’d just come grab her, she’d do it. Put aside all of her concerns and give in.

  She had an awful idea. A way to sleep with him, stay with him and know how much he really cared for her.

  Val stood and looked down at her shirt. It was bloody too. Go figure. She lifted her hands to the buttons, undoing the top one and advancing towards him slowly. Her breath was overly loud in her ears, the room totally quiet and now she could smell him, soap and shampoo, that faint lovely humidity of warm, clean skin.

  His jaw clenched so tight that his cheekbones were in stark relief. Another button undone. Lucas crossed his arms over his chest, stance a little wider. Knuckles white because his fists were clenched so tight.

  She unbuttoned another button, becoming flustered and uncertain. Why hadn’t he looked at her?

  “Tell me, then.”

  She hesitated, nonplussed.

  “You thought of something you want. Yes? It accounts for your sudden change of heart. Your purpose in disrobing.”

  His words were quiet but intense, like there was anger under there. Or lust. Some hot emotion.

  “You said you’d kill anyone for me.” Her voice was raspy.

  He didn’t say anything. All the buttons were undone and there was a slight gap in the material. Her heart pounded from her boldness. She grasped both sides, ready to take it off, panic making her want to pull the shirt tight. She wasn’t brave enough for this. Especially as he still wasn’t looking!

  “Stop. Who? Tell me who first.” He held out a hand, like he was keeping the bogeyman away.

  She swallowed. Pulled the shirt free, let it drop behind her. Her bra was gray silk with white lace, not the most enticing bra around but her cup runneth over, so why wasn’t he looking?

  Maybe he isn’t a breast guy.

  Maybe he’d seen so many pairs over the centuries that he was indifferent or she was just too far down the line of nice chests that he couldn’t be bothered to take a peek. Her stomach hit the floor and she wanted to puke.

  She hadn’t been able to look away, could only think of touching him when he undressed before her, and here she was undressing, the situation reversed and he was totally unmoved.

  She felt herself blushing.

  He closed his eyes. “Give me the name.”

  “You won’t do it. This was stupid.”

  “Again, you prove how little you know of me. Tell me who,” he commanded.

  “Marion.” She rushed in, speaking before he could. “You said you want me, lust after me, talk about how you’d do anything for me. That’s what I want. I want her dead.”

  His eyes were still closed. One hand fisted at his side, showing each muscle definitively. The other went behind his head, buried in his hair as he hauled in a breath.

  “I need her. Choose something else.” He looked at the ceiling, opening his eyes but not looking at her.

  “No. I want that bitch dead.” Just saying it felt right. Like sunshine after rain.

  He covered his face with both hands, talking to her through his hands. “I need Rachel to get to the Fey. My hold upon her is Marion. Choose anything else.”

  Her chest hurt. All his words and they meant nothing. Lucas talked a good game, but when she made a demand, he never gave her what she wanted. She’d almost died tonight because of Marion. She’d murdered Jack’s parents.

  Killing Marion would give her peace. Like he couldn’t come up with some other way to ensure Rachel’s loyalty. She’d looked pretty damned loyal when her skin was fried off and she licked his foot.

  Lucas wasn’t good, he was the monster who’d sanctioned Marion’s killings for years.

  She pushed him hard. He moved backwards and she shoved again, as hard as she could. His head snapped down, staring at her chest, her shoulders, her stomach. Now he looks.

  His look was so dark and possessive….Oops. Okay, he does want me. “No. Marion. Kill her. Rachel doesn’t need to know. The threat works whether she’s dead or alive.”

  His hands raised to her bare upper arms, settling on them lightly, thumbs moving slowly over her flesh. He raised gooseflesh on her skin, the tiny contact making her clench her thighs in need. His gaze was fixed on her chest and neck. Then the line of her shoulder where it connected to her neck.

  His voice was hoarse, “And what? I say yes, kill her and you…give yourself to me once? For a night? Then go back to him?” It was like he couldn’t say Jack’s name, like jealousy would choke the letters in his lungs.

  Good.

  She nodded jerkily, a lump in her throat.

  His eyes finally met hers. “I’m afraid not.”

  Her heart plummeted. He rejected me.

  “That is all, then? I say no to that and now you take away the chance to be in your bed?” He swore in a language she didn’t understand and walked away from her, opening a closet door and disappearing inside. Val grabbed her shirt and put it on, buttoning it with shaking fingers.

  Why was she even so upset? Because Marion was still alive? Because she’d wanted Marion’s death for Jack and hadn’t gotten it? Yeah, that worked.

  Good reason.

  But there were more. It was like every kiss, every caress, every touch had been a lie. She had been fascinated by him from the moment she met him. And he wanted her because she was an empath, a novelty. He wanted sex and he wanted her to initiate it.

  She looked up at him as he came out and blinked hard, surprised to find she’d been on the verge of crying. How could she be so conflicted about him? So sure of his desire one moment and then ignorant the next?

  He came towards her and she felt exposed and stupid. Like a child who’d tried to play grown up in her mommy’s clothes and tripped. His hands cupped her face and he leaned down, kissing her very gently on the lips.

  “After the Fey, ask me again. I swear to you that you can have her then. Even...Jack can kill her. If that is what you want. But not now.”

  She jerked away from him. “Bullshit. Don’t lie to me. Don’t give me words. Give me actions. I feel like everything you’ve told me was a lie. Everything you’ve done for me has been at your convenience and cost you nothing.”

  He followed her, stalking her into the wall. Finally, a display of emotion.

  We’ve been here before.

  His accent was thick, the words guttural, “I will give you more words and you will listen to them. You heed me well, my Valkyrie, I will take you home now and you will come back to me. And when you do this changes. You will be mine. You will be in my bed and you will give in to me. Let there be no misunderstandings between us. You talk of cost and say it has cost me nothing.” He looked away from her, to the wall and then back, like he’d fortified himself for his next words. He opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped. Swallowed.

  Finally at a loss for words?

  He pulled her to him and she felt them disappear, the cold wind swirling around her as he took her back to her hotel room in Italy. He was angry at her now, just as ready to be rid of her as she was of him. Then they were in her room.

  Lucas straightened, like he was on the alert.

  What? Is someone here?

  She was going to turn, see what he saw but he cupped her face in his, leaned down to kiss her. “One last kiss until next time. And next time…we make it to the bed.”

  His words shivered over her, slightly loud in her ears, like he wanted to make sure she really heard him. His lips touched hers. Soft and still warm from the shower opening over her mouth and she leaned into him, stood on tiptoes and wiggled her hips closer to his, felt his erection against her stomach and tried to press closer. Yes, this was what she’d wanted.

  His tongue slid against hers, the taste of
him, the magic of his touch making every argument and problem fade away. Only desire was left. “I need you,” she gasped out and for the briefest moment he paused, his lips sliding down her throat.

  “Your timing is horrific,” he said, panting the words out as he placed kisses all over the column of her throat.

  She moaned, his hands skating down her back, gripping her buttocks and raising her, pressing his cock against her harder. She cried out and he caught the noise in his mouth like he was going to drink it down.

  And then he pulled back, coming up for air like a fish out of water, blinking then looking especially pleased with himself.

  Smug bastard.

  He touched her cheek with the back of his hand then stroked her neck with his index finger, pausing just over her pulse, tapping her jugular lightly. And it felt like a promise, like he was saying without words— next time I’ll bite you here.

  Why the hell was he doing that? And what did he mean about the bed? She was confused, but he vanished before she could ask him what the tap was about.

  Her hotel room was just as she had left it. The magazine Marion had thrown at the wall still on the ground.

  As soon as he was gone her room felt bigger.

  She needed another shower. Val stripped off her coat and turned towards the bathroom, only to stop when she saw a lean figure leaning against the door-jam; arms folded, expression thunderous. His eyes were black, his face gaunt as though he'd been up all night waiting for her.

  “Jack.”

  Love is Fear, the second book in the Valerie Dearborn series, will be out December 2011.

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