Niko gives me that mischievous smirk before folding his hands behind his head. “Cyrus. Cyrus changed him. It was a freak accident—us being entitled little pricks and stirring up trouble. We thought we were invincible, yet Cyrus…he was always the more level-headed of the group. When it happened, it crushed us both. Dorian couldn’t deal—he couldn’t let him go, so he turned him. He sired Cyrus because he loved him. So it was always in him, Gabs. He just didn’t know it yet. And realizing that he could lose what he held dear, it changed him.”
“Dorian turned Cyrus?”
Niko nods. “Yeah. He did what I honestly didn’t have the guts to do. It was difficult and scary as hell, but he managed to pull it off. Cyrus wasn’t thrilled about it once the transformation was made, but he never begrudged Dorian for doing it. If it were one of us, he probably would have done the same thing.”
Dorian was capable of love. Real love. Not a spell or a link or a prophecy. Dorian changed out of love for his family.
I smile, renewed by a flutter of newfound hope. It’s small and faint, but it’s there. It’s enough to make me believe that my Dorian is still salvageable.
I take a cleansing breath, letting go of despair and taking in courage. “Ok. What’s the next step?”
“Well, my little Dark Light,” Niko answers, playfully wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me to him. “Pack a bag. We’ve got a concert to attend.”
WHEN NIKO TOLD me we were going to a concert to follow a tip, he didn’t mention it was clear across the damn country in Seattle.
Luckily, his private jet was gassed up and waiting for us on the tarmac when we arrived at the airport. Morgan was staying behind to care for Alex, who had refused to let me heal him. He wanted me to preserve my energy, especially after what went down with Niko.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmurs as we descend into Sea-Tac. I shrug.
“I guess so. I mean it’s green and all, but kinda gloomy and wet.”
“I know. Isn’t it great?” Niko replies, eyes lit up like twinkle lights.
Of course, there’s a limo waiting for us when we disembark. And of course, it is entirely too big and posh for just the two of us.
“So what’s this concert we’re going to?” I ask once the car begins to move. Niko sits across from me, pouring a couple glasses of whiskey. He hands me mine, then leans back, cracking his neck on both sides.
“Ever heard of the band The Fallen?”
I give him my best Bitch, please face and roll my eyes. “Um. Yeah. Hasn’t everybody?” Not only is the band ridiculously talented and cutting edge, but the lead singer had starred in quite a few wet dreams. Before the Dorian era, of course.
“Well, they’re playing tonight, and you and I are going.” He brings his glass to his lips, yet flashes me wink before taking a sip.
“And we’re somehow supposed to find a lead there?”
“That’s what I’m hoping for.”
“Mighty long way you’ve brought us for just a hunch,” I mumble, taking a gulp of the warm, burning liquid.
“Got any better ideas?” he retorts with raised brows.
I ignore him, turning to look out the window as we make our way downtown. Seattle really is beautiful, and while the natural benefits may be somewhat lost on me, I can totally see the appeal. The water, the trees, the almost constant downpour…it’s a Dark One’s dream. Maybe there is something mystical in this city that’ll lead us to the Light.
We pull up to the grand Pacifica resort hotel, and Niko hurriedly whisks me through the entrance, not stopping for niceties as a bellman takes our bags. I don’t even get a chance to check out the lavish digs, which seems to be boasting a Far East vibe with its rich tapestries and gold statues.
“That was rude,” I chastise, as he hurriedly leads me to the elevator and punches in a code.
“Dorian’s hotel,” he grumbles. “He hasn’t tended to his properties since you came along, but there’s always a possibility of someone keeping an eye on its patrons.”
I take a step back, hitting the wall of the elevator. “Wait. Properties? What else does he own?”
“Aside from this one, and The Broadmoor? Probably about every luxury hotel in every major city worldwide. It’s his thing—creating homes away from home.”
Dorian owns The Broadmoor? Why am I not even surprised?
I roll my eyes and wait as the elevator slows to our desired floor. “No penthouse?” I jibe, stepping into the hallway. Niko fishes out two card keys from his pocket that he never even stopped to retrieve from the front desk.
“Too conspicuous. Besides, Dorian likes to keep the premium suites for paying customers. You know that. Always the businessman.”
He slides a key card into a slot, clicking open the door labeled 1604, before entering, keeping me at his back. The room is spectacular, with a gorgeous view of the pier and Pikes Place Market. However, Niko hurriedly closes the heavy, dark curtains, then goes to check out the bathroom.
“All clear,” he sighs, running a hand through his mane. The movement causes his t-shirt to ride up, exposing a small smattering of black hair against hard abdominal muscles, drifting down into Armani boxer briefs. He shrugs out of his leather jacket and throws it on the king-sized bed.
“Um…so where are you sleeping?” I ask, a heady mix of anxiety and excitement infiltrating my bloodstream. It’s ridiculous, really. Niko and I have shared a bed before without issue.
“What? No sleepover?” He flops onto the bed, reclining back onto his elbows. From this angle, with him only wearing jeans and a tee, I can see every single flex of hard muscles. His body is lean with not an ounce of body fat on him, but there’s something about him that just makes you want to snuggle into his side and lay your head in the nook of his arm and chest. There’s not a damn thing that’s soft about Niko, but he exudes warmth and gentleness. Even with his appeal to cold elements.
“Absolutely not,” I reply, quickly turning away to hide the blush climbing up my cheeks. Yeah. Nikolai Skotos can be a teddy bear when he wants to, but I know he’s all male. Every last enticing inch of him.
He glides to his feet so fast that I don’t even detect the movement from the bed to the space right in front of me. A slow smile creeps onto his face. “Don’t worry, love. I’m next door.”
My voice is just a weak squeak when I answer, our faces, our bodies, our lips, too close to speak any louder. “I’m not worried.” Yes, I am. I totally am.
“Good.” To my relief, he takes a step back, letting the air filter back into this space that had become too intimate…too soon.
“I’ll be in the adjoining room,” he reiterates, making his way toward the door. And now, I can breathe again. “Just holler if you need me.”
“Ok. I will.” I won’t.
“Oh. And I hope you don’t mind, but I had something special brought in for you for the concert tonight. I hope you like it.” Then he’s out the door, leaving me to wonder what the hell he means by “something special.”
As I open the closet door, I realize that something special means something slutty.
Dangling from a hanger is a flimsy, little black number that is too short to even cover my ass. Hanging beside it are fishnet stockings (ew) and a leather jacket (score!). At least he’s considerate enough to ensure that I don’t completely freeze my ass off. Below the garments—if you could even call them that—are black-heeled booties with silver chains draped across them. I have to admit—they’re crazy cute. Under normal circumstances, I’d totally rock them—with a few extra layers of clothing, of course.
After a day of traveling, all I can think about is a nice, hot shower. I strip out of my jeans and tee, kicking them across the room, and letting them fall where they may. Then it hits me—no one will pick them up. No one will silently admonish me for leaving all my hair products and makeup strewn all over the bathroom vanity. And when my sheets and blankets are thrown onto the floor in a fitful sleep, there’s no one here to pick them up
and tuck them over my body.
Have I really been this blind? To think that I could just pick up and move on, when Dorian invaded—no consumed—every single aspect of my life?
I’m lost without him. Utterly forsaken into oblivion. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to get up every day and not think of him. I can’t sleep without dreaming of his face. I can’t smile unless he’s the one that caused it.
This is unhealthy—I get it. Normal people experience infatuation, maybe even love if they’re lucky. Like Morgan said, this isn’t love—it’s insanity of the heart. This is a sickness. A disease.
Since the day we met, I’ve been living in constant danger, my very existence overshadowed by the mad passion I felt whenever he touched me or gave me just second of his attention. I craved his affection like I craved sustenance. And when he went away, sacrificing himself to save my life, I was starving—my heart and soul emaciated.
Maybe this is for the best. Maybe this is the only way I can kick him cold turkey. Because as I stand here, naked and shivering like an addict going through withdrawal, I know that I won’t be the one to walk away completely. There’s no way in hell. He has to leave me. He has to stop wanting me.
And that’s exactly what he’s done.
Faith, little one, a voice whispers in my head. “For truly I say to you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move; and nothing will be impossible to you.” Faith, child. Faith is your greatest power.
“But how can I save him,” I whisper, “when he doesn’t want to be saved?” I know that the voice will not answer. Tears roll down my face, and I quickly dash them away. Not today. Not now.
I stand in silence with only the echo of my pounding heart to keep me company. That’s a good sign. As broken as it is—as utterly shattered as I am—I’m still alive. Against all odds, I’m still alive, dammit.
I drag myself to the shower, determined to scrub away the dark haze of sorrow that covers me from head to toe. It’s not over yet. We can still save him. And if he still decides that he doesn’t love me—if he chooses the familiarity that Aurora provides—I’ll be ok. I can walk away, knowing I did all I could to save him because it was the right thing to do. After all, he never once gave up on me, even when I had given up on myself.
Just as I step out of the shower, there’s a knock at the door. I freeze, not knowing what the hell to do. Niko didn’t mention guests, and if it’s a human—if it’s one of Aurora’s drones—then we have much bigger problems on our hands.
I slip the white, fluffy robe off the back of the bathroom door and wrap it around my still-wet body. Taking a deep breath, I taste the atmosphere, trying to sense anything out of the ordinary. Dizziness doesn’t overcome me, and I don’t feel sick. Instead, I pick up on…beef. And salty, fried potatoes. And, Oh Em Geeee, creamy, frozen chocolate.
I race out of the bathroom and whip open the door, nearly taking it off the hinges. In front of me is a cart, covered with silver, dome-topped plates and a note.
Baby girl,
Figured you were starving. This food is safe.
-N
I swear, I could kiss Niko right now. I pull the cart inside my room and flip off the silver domes with a flick of my finger. A massive-sized burger—no mayo or tomatoes, just the way I like it—nearly takes up an entire plate on its own. There’s also a dish of crispy, golden fries and a chocolate milkshake in one of those old-fashioned, tall glasses, topped off with a cherry. Such a simple, sweet gesture, but it’s enough to bring a tiny tear to my eye before overwhelming hunger takes the reins and I’m digging in enthusiastically.
I can’t remember the last time I had a decent meal. Yes, I do. It was when Dorian cooked me brunch. Four or five days ago…I don’t know. Shit, I don’t even know what day it is.
I finish my meal in silence, wondering if things will ever be normal again. If I’ll ever again have a lazy Saturday of sitting around in sweats and watching movies with Morgan. Will there ever be another Sunday family dinner? Will I ever smile again because I’m happy, and laugh because I’ve somehow found joy in this world full of so much destruction and pain?
That could be enough, I tell myself. Just to be normal—even boring—could be enough. Even if we don’t bring Dorian back—even if he never loves me again. Being me—being regular, old Gabs—could be enough. It would be enough.
And for the first time, I think I sorta mean it.
“STOP SQUIRMING. YOU look great.”
I awkwardly try to stretch the dress down my thighs once again, leaning back into the buttery leather seat of the limo to aid my cause. No luck. The elastic fabric snaps right back into place, exposing every bit of my legs, and probably a little bit more at the right angle.
“Did you have to pick out something so skimpy?” I whine. “Jesus H. Christ, my vagina might catch a cold in this frigid night air.”
Niko laughs before topping off a champagne flute with bubbly and handing it to me. “Here. Relax. You look fine. Besides, your vagina is safe with me.”
I choke on the sip caught in my throat and commence to cough up a lung, which is only highlighted by the sounds of Niko’s cackling.
“No!” I rasp, my voice hoarse from nearly being murdered by a gulp of Ace of Spades. “You are forbidden from ever thinking about my vagina, let alone speaking about it. All discussions about my vagina are off the table.”
“You started it,” he shrugs. “I was only being a protective friend.”
“Sure you were,” I reply, settling back in my seat. I take another sip of champagne, and now that it’s not trying to strangle me, it’s actually quite good.
“Seriously,” Niko says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “My contact has very…lascivious…tastes. To get his attention, you need to look the part. If you show up looking like a nun, there’s no way we’re getting close enough to talk to him.”
“Why can’t you just wave a hand and get us in? Or make him think I’m half naked?” He already changed the color of my eyes, although he said it’d only be temporary. Why can’t he produce the illusion of a scantily clad harlot?
Niko shakes his head, reading my mind. “Where we’re going, the Dark will be everywhere. I’ll be deflecting. And you know I won’t be able to use. Luckily, as far as we know, you’re the only supernatural being on earth that’s undetectable.”
“Oh, joy,” I mutter with false enthusiasm. “Score one for Team Freak.”
Niko huffs out an aggravated breath, and scrubs a hand over his freshly shaven jaw. “Seriously, Gabs. None of that feeling-sorry-for-yourself shit tonight. Try to at least have a little fun.”
“Sorry.” I sink into the seat, feeling like a total Debbie Downer. So what if my life is crumbling at my feet, and I’ve lost just about everyone I love? I’ve got on killer shoes and oddly enough, I’m having a good hair day. Plus, I get to see The Fallen in concert, which has been on my bucket list for years.
The ride to KeyArena is short, even with the ridiculous traffic into Seattle’s entertainment center. Lucky for us, we’ve got a special pass that gets us to the very front so the limo can let us out. The Divine must be a woman, because while these shoes are hot, walking a mile and half from the packed parking lot is not an option.
The opening act is just getting into their set when an usher leads us to a private section of box seats, where it appears we’re the only two patrons. Seconds later, a waitress brings over an ice bucket holding another bottle of Ace of Spades and two glasses.
“Oh, yes. Very inconspicuous,” I smirk, swaying to the music.
“This is more so for safety than anything else,” Niko says, popping the top of the champagne and filling the glasses. “Besides, I thought you’d enjoy the show from here. You seemed really excited to see them.”
“Are you kidding me?” I shout over the pounding bass and guitar riffs. “This is great!” I grab a glass—my second of the evening—and n
early down it in one gulp. There’s no way I’m sitting down, heels be damned.
“Well, like I said, have fun. Real fun. None of that shit you try to put on for the rest of us to make us believe you’re ok.”
“Oh, I will,” I reply, swallowing the last of my drink. “Especially once Denny Nox takes the stage. Holy hell, I may throw my panties at him!” Cringe. Note to self: Champagne makes me slutty.
“Oh, so you’re a Nox fan,” Niko smirks, probably thinking I’m as basic as bitches come. I don’t care. Denny Nox is scrumptious from his coif of blown out hair to his rocker chic clothes. And those eyes? Holy fuck. I may have gotten off on the image of him winking alone.
“I heard he’s gay,” Niko mumbles behind me, folding a leg so his ankle rests on his knee.
“Hater,” I jibe. “You’re just mad that he probably could sleep with any chick he wanted just by opening his mouth. Myself included.” Ok, champagne makes me very slutty.
I hear him snort, but give the stage my attention, getting lost in the vibrant energy of the crowd. By the time the opening band finishes their set and exits the stage, I’m two more glasses of bubbly in and pleasantly tipsy.
I turn to Niko, my face lit up with anticipation. He smiles at my excitement, genuinely happy that I’m happy. Or at least I appear to be. And right now, I can’t tell the difference between what’s real and what’s fake. What’s a manufactured smile and one birthed out of sincerity? Maybe I am happy. Maybe, just maybe, there is life after Dorian.
The house lights dim and the crowd goes completely insane, everyone screaming and cheering for the entrance of The Fallen. I find myself jumping up and down and screaming my head off too, the exhilaration in the room positively infectious. Niko steps up beside me, his eyes glued to the stage. Even he must be a little excited.
The lights come on again, flashing a rhythmic pattern of red, blue, yellow and green lights along with the intro to The Fallen’s latest hit. Hoots and hollers resound throughout the arena, almost as loud as the up-tempo melody. And just when I think it can’t get any more chaotic, Denny Nox and his band mates take the stage.