Nikolai: A Dark Light Novella (Dark Light #2.5)

  I want to bury this shit. I want to erase all the confusion and anger that has haunted me my entire life. Never good enough… always the black sheep. I need to find a substitute for the turmoil brewing inside my hollow chest, bubbling over until it feels like acid singing my throat. I want to end it all and forget what I am. Who I am.

  “I know …” a sweet voice whispers, a soothing balm to my black, tormented soul. I look up and my blue eyes collide with warm, molten honey. “I know,” she whispers again.

  I swallow down my sudden upheaval and plaster on a cool smile. “What do you know, darling?”

  Her full, bottom lip trembles, and she quickly tucks it away between her teeth. “I know who you are.”

  I take a step towards her, generously scenting the space between us, getting high off the mix of fear and arousal. “Everybody knows who I am.” Shit, at least they think they do.

  Her gaze never falters. Not even a hint of uncertainty as those haunting eyes slice right into me. She merely watches as I bleed out onto the marble floor. “But do they know what you are?”

  I freeze where I stand. Not because I’ve been exposed; hell, inside these four walls, there’s no question of my identity. But what really strips me bare, making it impossible to hide from the truth I so desperately want to escape, is the almost question on those crimson lips. The same question that has been permanently burned inside my skull.

  Do I know what I am?

  I turn my gaze away, refusing to let her see what lies beneath. I don’t care what she thinks of me. She’s wrong. She’s a stupid whore who wouldn’t know the damn truth if it bent her over and fucked her seven ways from Sunday.

  “Varshaun,” I bark, my voice raw and harsh. “Take the girl to Nadia; get her cleaned up. Then place her in my chambers.”

  I need a distraction. Something to stifle any inklings of guilt or empathy. Avoidance. Denial. Escapism. It’s what I’m good at. It’s what I create for the weak and perverse. I provide a place of fantasy and desire, allowing them to indulge in the taboo without fear of exposure or judgment.

  We’re all monsters here. And I’m the most fucked up of them all.

  Blocking out the sounds of struggle below, I climb the stairs up to my room before stopping mid step. “And get ready,” I demand over the commotion, perched high above the fray of debauchery and hedonism. “We’re going out.”

  It’s all a blur.

  Loud music. Alcohol. Drugs. They’re all necessary evils. All part of my plan.

  It’s easy to forget when you don’t remember.

  We stumble up to my room, our hysterical laughter echoing throughout the vast house. Nobody pays us any attention. They’re all too caught up in their own immorality to give a fuck about ours. Besides, I make no qualms about what I want. I not only live up to my reputation, I embrace it with open arms.

  The blonde on my left sucks my neck while my hand snakes up her dress. The brunette on my right works at the buttons of my slacks as I pull down her top to expose a swollen breast. In the next instant, her pebbled nipple is in my mouth, between my teeth, as my tongue elicits indecent sounds. My hand finds the slick, wet flesh between the blonde’s legs, and her moans compete with her friend’s. They grind against me, clawing at my hair, my back, my dick … battling for climax. I feel them both throbbing, both trembling with want. With need. And I plan to give them what they desire. But first, I want to play.

  I toss them both on the bed and gaze down at their panting bodies with a sly grin. They’re both nameless, just like the rest of them. I don’t care. They’re open to me, their thoughts and emotions completely unguarded. This’ll be fun.

  “Undress,” I order. Without hesitation, the girls slip off the remainder of their garments, their eyes locked on mine the entire time. That’s right … eyes on me.

  They spread their naked bodies out for me to admire, their smooth, supple skin calling out to be caressed. The scent of arousal is heavy and thick in the air. I can nearly taste them; it’s so palpable. Sweet, salty, tangy. My mouth waters in expectation.

  “Come. Let us help you out of those clothes,” the brunette says, her arm outstretched.

  I shake my head. “Not yet. Soon. But first, I want you two to kiss.”

  Again, without hesitation, the girls comply, their soft, sweet lips gently touching. They giggle against each other’s mouths, their lips working together until their breaths quicken, and their pink tongues intertwine hungrily. They touch each other, their arousal building and building until they both are whimpering for release. Not yet. Not until I’ve had my fill.

  They break apart, panting, whining and still petting the other’s soft, sensitive skin.

  “Good,” I smile. I lock my gaze on the blonde. “Suck her tits.”

  She takes the round globes into her small palms and runs her thumbs along the nipples. Through her long lashes, Blondie looks at her friend before sweeping her gaze to me. Then she takes the taut skin into her mouth and sucks, gently pulling as she keeps her hooded eyes locked onto mine.

  Laughter has ceased. Nothing can be heard but the erotic sounds of uninhibited pleasure. I caress their smooth, flawless skin as they move against each other, pure bliss harmonizing with the thrill of dark fantasy.

  They don’t question what they feel. They don’t hesitate nor do they resist. They let their carnal instincts guide them - let me guide them. I am their teacher. Their leader. Their god. And they want nothing more than to please and worship me.

  Some time later, when their wants have exploded into need, I am behind the brunette, entering her while her face is buried between the blonde’s legs. She moans against her sex, and they both cry out. Deeper I plunge, harder, faster. I let the wet warmth envelop me, let it draw out the fire that burns me from within, scorching my nerve endings until all I can do is feel. Every taut muscle in my body tightens and pulses, yet I don’t stop, only pausing to flip her over in a blur of motion that she doesn’t even register with her until I am thrusting into her again.

  I go for hours, taking each of them, exhausting them beyond their limits. And just when they feel like their bodies may implode with overwhelming sensation, I take them again, until they are too spent to move and too hoarse to even moan.

  I lie on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and imagine the lullaby of their heavy breathing rocking me to sleep. But I know it’s futile; sleep never comes. It never takes me away from this. From me.

  Grabbing my discarded slacks, I ease them on and make my way over to the bar. The bourbon goes down like liquid fire, and I exhale the flames.

  “Enjoy the show?” I say aloud, pouring another.

  No answer. I don’t expect one anyway.

  “You know, you could do well. Especially if you’re willing to do some girl on girl.” I turn towards the shadowed edge of the room and smile. “Customers like that shit.”

  “You make me sick,” a broken mumble retorts. “Fuck you.”

  “Sorry, baby,” I chuckle, walking towards the voice. “But I don’t fuck the merchandise. But who knows … maybe you’ll be my exception. If you’re a good girl, that is.”

  I stand in the darkest corner of the room, shrouded in the shadows, in front of her. The girl. The amber eyed girl with a death wish is cowered between a dresser and an armchair, desperately trying to melt into the wall to escape. But she can’t. She couldn’t leave even if her miserable little life depended on it. She’s been spelled to remain within the mansion’s four walls.

  “I’m not a whore, you disgusting piece of shit,” she whispers angrily.

  “Of course you aren’t.” I crouch down to her level, drink in hand. I extend the glass to her, but she recoils as if I’ve offered her a cup full of blood. “But, as you know, I house whores here. No one lives here for free.”

  Her eyes shine with tears and she quickly turns her head so I can’t witness their escape. My hand twitches, longing to reach out and follow the trail of moisture down her cheek. Instead, I down my drink to numb
the urge.

  “Why?” she asks suddenly.

  I shrug. “Prostitution is one of the oldest forms of employment. Sex will always be in demand.”

  “No…why do you do it? Why do you take innocent girls and degrade them to nothing more than waste receptacles? Don’t you have any guilt at all? Don’t you even feel bad for being such a pathetic waste of space?”

  I smile against the irritation. “First off, I don’t take anyone. The women employed here are here at their own choosing. And in case you didn’t realize, none are hurting. They have the finest clothing, are treated to regular salon and spa visits, and have round the clock protection. Trust me, they could be doing a lot worse, and before me, most of them were. And to answer your second question … no. I don’t have any guilt. Guilt is for the weak and emotional. To harbor guilt, you must care. And I don’t give a fuck about a goddamn thing.”

  She shakes her head and quirks a sardonic smile. “Wow. And here I thought princes were supposed to be more dignified.”

  I nearly jump out of my fucking skin. Prince. She knows. Fuck, she knows …

  “And here I thought whores were supposed to be more agreeable,” I retort with a straight face, expertly masking my panic.

  “I. Am. Not. A. Whore!” she growls. The girls sleeping just feet away stir, yet don’t wake.

  I lift an amused brow. “Is that right? Well, what do you plan to do for me? You know the nature of my business; you know there is a debt to be settled. How do you plan to pay off your father’s balance?”

  Her lip trembles and she bites down on it hard enough to turn it from crimson to white. She looks away, blinking away stubborn tears and desperately trying to hide her fear from me. I know I have caused that fear, and I want to see it. I crave it - those raw, human emotions. I want her tears, but then again, a part of me doesn’t want to make her cry.

  See? Conflicted motherfucker.

  “Whatever you want,” she finally whispers, turning her gaze back to me. Though she most likely cannot see my face, her expression is stoic and certain. Brave. “Whatever you want me to do.”

  I nod passively although I’m shocked as shit at what she has just agreed to. And maybe a little disappointed. Maybe I wanted her to fight me. Maybe I wanted her to refuse because she believes it is disgusting and wrong. Not wholeheartedly accept it. No sane, self-respecting girl would sign up for this shit.

  I run a hand through my hair and pull it in unexplainable anger. This girl has no business in a brothel, yet here she is, and I’m too fucking stubborn to do anything about it. And the fact that I want to - shit, I want to excuse her from any debt her pathetic excuse for a father has bequeathed upon her – seriously fucks with me.

  “Right. Well, we should begin your audition immediately,” I say flatly. I stand upright and begin to unfasten my slacks.

  “Wha … what? What are you doing?” Her eyes are wide with horror as she catches a glimpse of the patch of black hair peeking out from my loosened pants.

  “What do you think I’m doing? I can’t sell what I don’t sample. Now I can understand you may be reluctant to suck me off so I’ll make an exception just this once.” Faster than she can see, still hidden by the dark of night, I crouch before her. “I’ll let you fuck me, pretty girl. Is that what you want? After seeing me fuck those other girls? After making them moan and scream my name? You want that too, don’t you? You want me deep inside you just as I was deep inside of them.”

  When I reach for the strap of the silk nightgown that Nadia dressed her in, I can feel her trembling beneath my fingertips. She whimpers the second my skin touches hers, the slight burn traveling from my fingers and sinking deep in my gut.

  “No,” she says through a broken sob. “Please, don’t do this.”

  “What? Would you rather undress yourself?” I sneer angrily, clutching the delicate fabric. “Don’t get stage fright on me now. You’re the one who signed up for this.”

  “Bu-but…I can’t. I can’t do this. Stop, please.”

  I draw my hand back and place it at my side, balling it into a tight fist. As badly as I want to touch her, as much as I crave her feelings of raw terror, I don’t want this. No. Not like this.

  “Isn’t this what you want?” I ask through clenched teeth. “Isn’t this what you came here for?”

  “Yes!” she cries. “But I - I…I can’t.”

  “You can’t? You can’t what? What kind of whore can’t fuck?” I roar. The girls behind us on the bed begin to stir, but I quickly put them down again with a quick flick of my wrist. I don’t even care about being inconspicuous. All I can focus on are the next words that escape those full, red lips.

  “The kind of whore that’s a virgin!” she yells, matching my fury. Her chest heaves rapidly, causing her nostrils to flare with every labored breath.

  I reel back, putting more than a foot between us as if she’s revealed some communicable disease rather than her virtue. She’s a virgin, yet she’s banished herself to a life of shame and debasement. Damned herself to live with a monster. Even I can’t wrap my head around it, and I’m the king of mind-fucks.

  I open my mouth to voice my initial reaction, cold pressure building behind my eyes. I flex my fists, calming the frigid storm racing in my veins. “A virgin? You’re a fucking virgin? What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

  She doesn’t answer. Instead, she wipes her dampened face with the back of her hand, pinning me with a heated glare. We sit in heavy silence, the weight of her words feeling like boulders pressed down on my shoulders. I’m a sick bastard - I’ve never hidden that fact - but could I really destroy this girl and take her most sacred gift, selling it to the highest bidder? Do I really have the capacity for that type of evil?

  I shake my head, answering my own question. I am that evil. I am that selfish. My soul was damned the moment I was birthed. But the rest of me? Undecided. And no matter how hard I try to accept the path of depravity that has been paved in bone and blood with my birthright, something in me refuses to embrace it. It fights against it, thrashing against my nature, ensuring that I am in a constant state of doubt. Which is why I do what I do - why I fuck my feelings away. Why I numb it all with alcohol, drugs, anything to make it easier to play this role.

  That’s what makes me the despicable creature that I am. I know better. I know that what I am, what I do, is wrong. But I do it anyway. I do it because I can.

  “You said you know who I am,” I rasp through an unfamiliar tightness around my throat.

  “I do.” Certainty resonates in her unwavering voice.

  “And…what I am?”

  “Yes.”

  I nod. She doesn’t have to say it. I can feel her truth. I can see it. Hell, I can smell it on her, the scent of her bloodline nearly making me dizzy. This is no ordinary girl. Human, but only just so. As if she was filled with something supernatural. Something powerful. Something like me.

  I could easily make her forget. I could erase any trace of my identity from her mind. Shit, I could take away every memory she’s ever had. But for some uncanny reason, I don’t. Maybe for once, I don’t want to be a stranger. Maybe I just want someone – anyone - to know me.

  “What’s your name, pretty girl?” I ask against my better judgment. Names signify familiarity. They’re personal, and I don’t do personal. I’ve never had the desire. Not until now.

  She hesitates, and I imagine her having the same mental struggle. The hollow space in my chest aches - another foreign feeling.

  “Amelie,” she finally whispers. And before she can regret disclosing the first intimate piece of herself to me, I lift a hand and softly sweep it across her forehead, sending her into a peaceful sleep.

  “Nice to meet you, Amelie,” I whisper, as I cradle her warm body just as she slumps forward, my lips so close to her skin, I can smell the sweetness of her essence. Brushing a lock of hair from her face, I gaze down at the purest, most beautiful being I have ever held in my arms. “I’m Niko.”


  I stand at the foot of the bed, gazing down at the naked bodies twisted in rumpled satin sheets. Pale moonlight kisses their skin, making them appear ethereal, ghostlike even.

  So beautiful. So soft. So weak.

  I lean forward, propping a knee onto the mattress, and position myself between their sleeping forms. My fingers graze their soft skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. I inhale their combined scents, picking up traces of alcohol, sweat and sex. And something else. Something more. It invades my lungs and bursts in my chest, sprouting tingling warmth in my extremities.

  Magic.

  Just a drop between the two, but it will do. These days, it’s harder and harder to find more than that. In a willing donor, that is.

  I lay down facing the brunette, my hands exploring the soft contours of her body. I brush her cheek with the back of my hand. She was stunning once - I can tell - but her indulgences have aged her. Her vices, her weaknesses, have not been kind to her. She’ll die before her time, I’m certain of it.

  “Wake,” I whisper. Instantly, her eyes open, and once her pupils adjust to the dark, she smiles.

  “Hey,” she says, caressing my bare chest.

  I give her a slight smile and cup her face between my hands. “Look at me.”

  She complies instantly, looking back at me with trusting, brown eyes. Eyes that will forget that they ever saw my face. They dilate within seconds and her body relaxes against mine. She’s completely open to me - her thoughts, her actions… all mine. But most of all, her magic. The tiny trace concealed in her bloodline flows freely into my body as I inhale at the base of her neck. I moan and let my teeth graze her throat.

  Fuck, it feels good. It always does, transcending any measure of human pleasure. Breathing is beyond feeling. Beyond physical sensation. It’s complete and utter euphoria, exploding in every synapse. It’s feeding your soul and making love to your spirit; it’s life itself.

  My dick twitches to life, and soon I am hot and hard against her thigh. “Touch me,” I mutter, my mouth moving down her chest. She unleashes me and begins to stroke, only heightening the sheer bliss pumping through my veins. I squeeze my eyes tight and imagine it’s someone else caressing me. Someone else kissing the side of my face as I lick a trail from her collarbone to her hardened nipple.