Out of the Dark

  Celia turned all the way to face him, her hands full of suds. “In the closet? Under the bed?”

  Luke’s teeth clicked together. Celia’s eyes flashed at him as she wiped her hands with a dish towel, then tossed it on the counter and folded her arms over her stomach. She leaned against the counter, too casual. Luke knew if he took so much as a step toward her, she’d probably run, screaming. He’d made her afraid…of him.

  Good, he could handle that, if it meant she might also take what he said seriously, but something told him she was just as likely to blow him off as a lunatic. Heat, an upsurge of the low-grade fever that hadn’t left him since being bitten, flushed his face. His fists clenched at his sides, but when he saw her looking at his hands, he relaxed his fingers.

  “Promise me,” Luke said. “You’ll be careful.”

  “What makes you think I’m in any more danger now than I ever was? I mean, if these things have been around for as long as you seem to think, why now?”

  Luke closed his eyes for a second against the hum in the back of his brain. When he opened them, she was staring at him intently. “Because they’re out in the world in a way they weren’t before. Damned if I know why, Celia. I don’t know anything about it. I can only tell you what it feels like. What they feel.”

  “What’s that?” she said like a challenge.

  “Pissed off. And hungry.” Then he left her in the kitchen alone.

  She caught him, though. On the bike, just before he put on his helmet and started it up. She ran out across the snowy grass in her bare feet, over the gravel.

  “You call me,” she told him. “Do you hear me? Whatever you’re doing…out there. You call me, Luke. You check in with me. I want to know you’re okay.”

  From another woman, it might’ve sounded desperate or clingy. Under other circumstances, he probably would’ve lied with a smile he didn’t feel, just to keep her from thinking he was trying to escape her even if he really was. He’d never made a habit of loving and leaving—begin as you intend to carry on, his grandmother had been fond of saying, and Luke had taken that to heart. But there had been times when he’d made mistakes. He didn’t want Celia to be a mistake.

  “Celia, I don’t know….”

  “You call me,” she said. Fierce. As though he had no choice but to obey her.

  “I’ll call you.”

  She nodded once, then again. Stepped back out of the way as he started up the bike. He settled the helmet on his head. He couldn’t look at her as he drove away, but he knew she watched him until he disappeared from sight.

  Celia was sleeping when the phone rang, but instead of startling up out of her dreams, arms flailing and heart pounding, her eyes slid open and her hand reached at once for her cell. She thumbed the screen, the light too bright on her night-tender eyes. She didn’t say hello. She knew who it was.

  Luke said nothing, but the soft sound of his breathing made her smile. Maybe she ought to have been freaked out. At the very least, worried. She hadn’t heard from him for over a month and had imagined him locked up in jail or the mental ward.

  Or worse, dead.

  Hearing the whisper of his breath, all she could do was press the heel of her hand to her eye and curl onto her side against the pillows. When she woke in the morning the call had disconnected, but her phone was warm from where she’d clutched it all night long.

  It went like that for the next three months. Once he said her name, just that single word, and it had been enough to know he was okay. Another time she could hear the rush and roar of traffic in the background. She never called him, though she had his number stored in her contacts on the phone, and he never called during the day.

  Then, four months after that first call, almost a year from when they’d first met, the phone rang again. Her thumb slid on the glass screen and she pressed the phone to her ear. This time, Luke spoke.

  “Celia. I’m…”

  “Here,” she whispered, not surprised. Somehow, she’d already known.

  “Will you let me in?”

  She was already swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She met him outside on the front porch, her thin T-shirt nowhere near enough protection against the late night chill. His motorcycle gleamed in the moonlight and the leather of his jacket creaked. She put her hands on the front of it and stood on her tiptoes to find his mouth.

  She kissed him.

  Nothing about this made sense. He was crazy, clearly, with that story about monsters. Or maybe she was the crazy one to trust him, to touch him, to pull him inside and close the door behind him, then press herself against his body.

  Upstairs, she undressed him as fast as her fumbling fingers would allow. The leather jacket, tossed onto a chair, then the familiar snap-button shirt and T-shirt beneath it. She realized when she pushed his worn jeans down to his ankles that the heavy boots he wore would prevent her from pulling the denim off over his feet. Celia knelt, the wood floor cool and hard on her knees; she worked at the knots on his laces until she could slip them free. One at a time, each boot heavy and thumping when she tossed them to the side. The jeans came off easily then, and so did the thick socks, until he stood over her naked.

  Luke put his hand on her hair. Celia, still dressed, still kneeling, looked up at him. The room was thick with shadows, so that the flash of his eyes and a brief hint of white teeth were all she could make out of his face. He could have been any stranger standing in front of her, except for the fact she wasn’t in the habit of going to her knees for strangers. She pressed her cheek to the inside of his knee and nuzzled. Then a little higher to his thigh, where the coarse hair tickled her skin. She kissed him there, and Luke’s fingers tightened in her hair.

  His cock was half-hard already when she found it with her mouth. Fully erect moments after with her tongue against it. The brief press of her teeth. He groaned when she sucked him deeply, her hand cupping his balls to stroke a thumb along the seam.

  It wasn’t what she’d planned, though truth be told she’d often lain awake in bed, wondering if he’d call and thinking of doing just this. Sucking his cock, taking him in as far as she could, finding the little divot in the head of his dick with her tongue. Hearing him gasp, just a little. It was somehow sweeter for being unexpected…and so appreciated.

  She gripped the base of his cock as she sucked, adding the friction of her twisting palm along his shaft. Then up and over around the head, slick from her tongue. She’d only meant to start this, but when Luke’s hips pumped forward and he muttered her name, Celia thought this was how she’d finish.

  Yes, her body craved its own release. Her nipples had gone hard against the front of her shirt, the friction of her cotton panties on her clit a tease of the worst sort. The weeks of mental foreplay had put her close to the edge already. But something in the way Luke said her name, the way he moved…hell, the way he’d asked her if she would let him in, like he really thought she would say no…

  He needed this right now more than she did. And really, as she used both her hands and her mouth, moving faster, his cock slick and hot against her lips, giving him this pleasure was so incredibly sexy it was okay that she focused solely on him. For now, anyway.

  Luke put both hands on her head, big palms pressed to her temples. He didn’t try to guide her movements or push her to move faster, but she did anyway. When she ran a hand up his thigh, the muscles jumped and twitched. Another low noise growled from his throat, the sound of it an arrow right between her legs. She drew him deeper, lips and teeth and tongue working his entire cock while her hands moved on him too. She put both of them on his ass, the muscles tight there as well, and moved him in and out of her willing mouth.

  Luke came with a cry, for just one moment pushing too hard, too deep. His taste flooded her and she thought she wouldn’t be able to take him all the way, but at the last second his fingers tightened in her hair again and he kept himself from overwhelming her. Celia swallowed, then again, her hand still moving on his shaft. His cock slipped
from her lips as she drew in a quivering breath and sat back on her heels.

  Silence, but for the familiar whisper of his breath. If she closed her eyes, it might almost be like all those late-night phone calls, except for the taste of him still on her tongue and the warmth of his body under her hands. She looked up at him thinking there must be something for her to say now, but she couldn’t even manage a single word.

  Luke loosened his fingers from her hair and bent to tug her upward onto tip-toes. His wet cock skidded on her cotton T-shirt as he pulled her close. He kissed her, soft and slow, one hand on the back of her neck and the other at the small of her back. When he broke the kiss, he put his forehead to hers and drew in a hitching breath. She thought he’d speak, then, but it took another several long moments before he did.

  “Thank you,” Luke said.

  Celia smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  She leaned back to look into his face, letting herself go flat-footed to ease the pressure on her toes. Her hands had been resting on his shoulders and now she linked them behind his neck. She watched him lick the corner of his mouth. His eyes were heavy-lidded, though with exhaustion and not sated passion, she thought.

  “You need to go to bed,” she said.

  He looked at her bed, then at her. “I need a shower first. Too wound up to sleep.”

  She laughed at that, a little. “I could make you some warm milk.”

  Luke made a face. “Umm…no, thanks. Not unless you put a shot of whiskey in it.”

  “I can manage to scare up some whiskey,” Celia said, thinking of the bottle in the sideboard downstairs that she barely touched. Jeremy’d forgotten to take it when he left, and though she liked the liquor’s smoky flavor, it had always reminded her too much of him. “Jameson okay?”

  He nodded, but when she pulled away to leave him to the shower, he tugged her back against him long enough for a kiss. It didn’t linger, but it was long enough and sweet enough to make her smile. He pressed his forehead to her again, a second or two. Then he let her go.

  Luke found Celia in the living room, her top half deep inside an antique breakfront and her tantalizing bottom half wiggling as she apparently searched for something. He was still bone-deep exhausted after getting no more than an hour or two’s sleep for the past few weeks, but the shower hadn’t relaxed him enough. Whiskey wouldn’t be much help either, he knew that from experience. Something chemical had changed inside him. Alcohol didn’t affect him the way it used to. He could drink a lot more now without even feeling a buzz.

  “Aha!” Celia backed out of the cabinet, a bottle in her hand, and threw him a grin over her shoulder. She stood and showed him the glass tumblers gripped in her other hand. “I knew it was in here.”

  He couldn’t see a clock, but an enhanced sense of time had come along with the other changes. He couldn’t tell time to the minute or anything like that, but he could usually make a good guess as to the hour. It was closing in on two in the morning by this point. She had to be tired, but she poured them both a couple fingers of whiskey and handed him the glass.

  “If you want ice—“

  “This is fine.” He lifted the glass and smelled the peaty aroma. Anticipated the sting on his tongue. He winced, just a little, when the first swallow went down, then relished the warmth it spread into his guts.

  Celia, he noticed, wasn’t drinking. She swirled the amber liquid against the walls of the glass, then cupped her elbow in one hand to prop her arm as she held the glass to her bottom lip but didn’t sip from it.

  “I don’t like whiskey very much,” she said when she noticed him watching. “I’m more a tequila girl.”

  “I’ll drink yours.” Luke held out his glass, and she poured hers into it. He downed the rest of it and looked again at the bottle, then shook his head in mental admonition. It would leave him with a sour stomach in the morning, and little else.

  “Are you hungry?” Celia asked suddenly. “Because I could just about murder a slice of cheesecake right now.”

  His stomach rumbled in reply. When was the last time he’d eaten? A greasy burger and fries at a truck stop yesterday afternoon. After that, he’d gone on to find a new nest. He could still smell the gasoline. After that, he’d driven four hours to get here.

  “I have some leftover meat loaf, too,” she added, backing up toward the arch that led to the dining room. “Mashed potatoes. If you don’t eat them, they’ll just go to waste. Potatoes never taste as good after you freeze them, so I was going to throw them away.”

  He’d already followed her into the kitchen before he thought to ask her why she had so much food left over, if she wasn’t going to freeze it.

  Celia gave him another of those over-the-shoulder glances as she pulled food from the fridge and set it out on the table. “I had someone over for dinner.”

  Oh. Of course. He felt stupid for having asked. “It’s not really my business.”

  She paused in putting a ceramic bowl of mashed potatoes in the microwave. The beep as she pressed the control pad was very loud. Her shoulders had gone a little tense, but when she turned to face him, she wore a small smile. “No. I guess it’s not. But it’s not a secret either, Luke.”

  An image rose up in his mind of her sitting at this table—no, worse, at the dining room table where they’d made love that first time, with another man. Hot jealousy flooded him, ran along his nerves with the prickling tickle of a rat’s claws. When her gaze fell to his hands, he realized he’d fisted them at his sides. He forced himself to relax his fingers.

  “His name’s Brian,” Celia said quietly. “He services copiers and fax machines. He drives a Honda.”

  “He likes meat loaf?”

  The microwave beeped, and she used a dish towel to hold the bowl as she took it out and put it on the table. She stuck a spoon in it. Stirred. She looked up at him.

  “Actually, he didn’t like it very much, that’s why there’s so much left over.”

  Luke stood, feeling his shoulders and back stiffen but unable to relax the way he’d done with his fists. “What would Brian think about me being here in the middle of the night to finish it off?”

  Celia pulled out her chair and sat. Her fork clinked on the edge of the plate as her elbow shifted it. She folded her hands under her chin to look up at him. “Well, I don’t really know, Luke. Because I’ve never told Brian about you.”

  “But you told me about him.”

  She nodded.

  Something loosened inside him. Allowed him to sit. Whiskey sloshed in his belly, which growled at the smell of the food. It was a good smell, homey and humble, and it made him feel like maybe, just for a few minutes anyway, he could forget all the insane shit that had been going on in his life.

  They ate. Him with heaping spoons of potatoes, a thick slab of meat loaf, a couple crusty French rolls Celia pulled from a breadbox. She helped herself to a small slice of cheesecake, taking dainty bites and licking her fork clean in a way that stirred another wave of desire in him.

  When he’d finished and pushed his plate away without even a smear of gravy left on it, Luke let out a long, loud belch that almost rattled the windows. Celia burst into laughter, covering her mouth with one hand. He covered his mouth, too late for embarrassment.

  “The ultimate compliment.” Her eyes shone.

  “Brian must be an idiot,” Luke said, “if he doesn’t like your meat loaf.”

  Celia’s smile twisted a little. “He’s not an idiot. He’s a very nice man. But…he’s not you.”

  Something leaped inside him, a flicker of what he refused to name as hope. She’d opened the door for him. Gone to her knees, given him head so sweet and good it had nearly blown off the top of his brain. He hadn’t been expecting it, but it had been just what he needed. She’d given him the use of her shower. Fed him. And yet even after all that, he’d somehow still been trying to convince himself she didn’t mean any of it.

  “You let me in,” Luke said.

  Celia reached across
the table to take his hand. She ran her thumb along the back of it, then turned it over to trace the lines in his palm. White scars stood out there, not from the first attack but from others since. A semicircle mark from teeth. She ran a light, tickling finger over the marks, then closed his palm and held his hand in both of hers.

  “I know. Crazy, huh?” She tilted her head to smile at him, her eyes still twinkling though behind that light was something darker. “Totally batshit nuts.”

  Luke put his other hand over hers holding his. “Yeah. Totally.” He paused, not sure he wanted an answer but needing to hear one. “Why?”

  Celia let out a long, heavy sigh. “I don’t know. Because I can’t stop thinking about you? Because I have a sick and twisted yen for bad boys?”

  “Is that what you think I am? A bad boy?”

  She tugged her hands gently from his to tick off a list in the air. “Leather jacket. Motorcycle. Beard scruff. Dirty denim jeans, beat-up boots. Oh, and that little matter of the fact you disappear for months at a time.”

  It was so far from what he’d ever pictured himself as that he had to laugh, but ruefully. “And the matter of the crazy?”

  “You mean the stuff about the monsters.” She said this flatly, no hint of teasing. Her gaze was just as solemn and studying. “The fact you claim you kill them.”

  Luke said nothing.

  Celia drew in another breath. She rubbed at her forehead and sat back in her chair, crossed her arms over her breasts. She looked at the back door. “I got new locks. All new doors and windows. Had to take out a home equity loan for it, but I did.”

  “Good.”

  She looked at him. “You burn them sometimes. Don’t you?”

  Luke paused, then nodded. “How did you know?”

  “I know how to use the internet,” Celia said. “I track reports of arson. Funny how often there’ve been deliberately set fires in the same locations as recent animal slaughter cases…or missing persons.”