by Lana Sky
I moaned, my back arching, eyes closing as every nerve came alive with awareness of him.
“The way you feel is sin,” he hissed, rearing back for another sharp, punishing thrust. “It’s hell. And he made you, didn’t he?” He captured the back of my throat as if to coax the answer from it, but I was too far gone to speak. “He made you. To tempt me. To make me crave you. To the point of madness, I crave you…”
God, I didn’t even know if he was referring to Raphael or some other creature. I was beyond coherent thought. Fire built within my blood with every burning bit of friction—and his words were gasoline. My spine lit the match, curling and driving me into each pass of his hips.
And then ignition.
Any sound I made was swallowed by his lips parting over mine, taking every strangled cry. It went on for an eternity…
Pleasure bordering on ecstasy. Sensation rivaling pain. Too much. All at once.
And then everything shattered. I fell apart, reassembling over twisted, sweat-soaked silk. When I regained my senses, his mouth was in my hair, his arm over my waist.
And he spoke to me, murmuring words too softly to hear.
But then I made the mistake of relaxing into his embrace, brushing my fingers along his arm. Abruptly, he sat up, pulling away. In a daze, I watched him lunge through the dark, dressing so quickly that he was already in the hall by the time I registered him lifting his shirt.
Gone in an instant.
Turbulence
I lay there in a daze for so long that I couldn’t tell if it was still night or day when I finally heard a voice drift from down the hall. Dublin’s low rasp, resonating with authority.
“…the plane ready. I want to be airborne within the hour. No delays…”
Then minutes passed, and I sensed he’d started a far different conversation.
“I’m sorry,” he growled, sounding fainter than before. His tone had softened, containing a mixture of emotions—some easily recognizable, others more obscure. Guilt? And defiance. “I don’t have a week! I know Saskia suspects. It’s only a matter of time before she starts whispering into Raphael’s ear. With this, he’ll have enough leverage to tack another six hundred years onto my debt—if only to keep him from turning her into his pet. Is that what you want?”
He paused, allowing someone to answer. Through a phone, I suspected, because I didn’t hear another voice nearby.
Finally, Dublin sighed. “It’s either Dmitri or Raphael—” The other speaker must have interrupted, because he swore so darkly that I trembled. “I will never sit back and watch him parade her like some sick conquest. Hate me if you’d like. But Dmitri was there at the beginning. If anyone would know what this means, it’s him—”
Another interruption drew a hiss of disgust from his throat.
“You think I don’t care? Don’t you ever question that again, Yulia. You and I both know what this has cost me. So, fine. Cast your lot in with Raphael if you’d prefer him as your protector. Just know that I have never forsaken you, and I never will.”
He went silent again, for long enough that I suspected the conversation had ended. Heavy, slow footsteps alluded to him pacing. A picture came to mind—him glowering while raking his hands through his hair, furious because of me. I’d made him do something that had even Yulia against him.
But what?
No answer came by the time his footsteps advanced toward my room. Just beyond the doorway, they stopped.
“Get dressed.”
His tone stiffened my spine—so cold that it rivaled the chill in the room itself. Cautiously, I sat upright as he retreated, and I had to reconcile the million things I wished to ignore. The inside of my legs felt wet. My knees were jelly, wobbling as I attempted to stand. I had to cling to the bed frame just to keep from falling.
I made my way to the wardrobe and fished out one of Yulia’s dresses. Then I felt along the wall until I nearly tripped over my shoes discarded on the floor. After pulling them on, I entered the hallway, where Dublin loomed in the center room, his back to me. Wordless, he gestured to an open doorway—a bathroom, I realized as I crept closer.
Inside, I quickly washed and ran my wet fingers through my knotted hair. I’d barely stepped over the threshold when I found him in the foyer, wrenching the door to the suite open.
A curt jerk of his chin was my sole cue to follow. Together, we traipsed down the steps and exited the building to darkness. It was either late at night or early in the morning. Bathed in moonlight, his car idled up ahead, but this time, a driver sat before the steering wheel. Dublin ushered me into the back only to slam the door behind me and claim the passenger’s seat for himself.
As the car took off, I wrung my fingers over my lap, desperate to find a distraction from the tension thickening the air. I looked down, eyeing myself critically. My dress was a gray one, relatively shapeless, though no less elegant than any of Yulia’s other creations. In a way, it fit the somber atmosphere so well that it could have been curated for this moment. My trademark costume as Dublin’s dowdy archnemesis, destined to torment him to no end.
Minutes of driving became hours. Eventually, our journey extended beyond the city, but Dublin never revealed our destination and I lacked the courage to ask. Instead, I consoled myself by staring from the window as dawn painted the horizon in brightening shades of lavender and pink. Gradually, the trees of the countryside gave way to neatly trimmed fields designed for a sole purpose.
One that became clear as the driver entered a maze of wide, rectangular buildings and finally pulled up before, of all things, one item even my family didn’t possess: a plane, slim, white, and most definitely private.
“Ready for takeoff, sir,” the driver remarked as Dublin climbed out and approached my door.
He wrenched on the handle and offered his hand—but his mood hadn’t softened during the ride. If anything, the rage had solidified in his very bones, rendering them rigid against me.
“And the arrangements?” he asked the driver while approaching the plane, tugging me along.
The door to the cabin hung open, a set of stairs leading to it. From this angle. I noticed a smiling woman in a crisp black uniform waiting at the top, her hands folded before her.
“Everything has been taken care of,” the driver assured. “Have a safe trip, sir.”
Dublin maneuvered me to stand before him, ensuring that I had to climb the stairs and enter the plane first. An elegant interior greeted me, well beyond the luxury of the few first-class cabins I’d been in throughout the years. The space resembled a lounge rather than a vehicle designed for transport. A plush, dark carpet accented gunmetal-gray walls, and instead of rows of uniform seats, a black leather couch hugged one wall across from a flat-screen television. Parallel to it, on either end of the room were matching recliners. A doorway straight ahead alluded to additional compartments.
The aircraft even possessed its own attendant, it seemed.
“Welcome, miss,” the smiling woman greeted warmly. “Welcome, Mr. Helos. Can I offer you wine or—”
“That will be all,” Dublin said, and she promptly scurried off to some unseen hiding place.
Pushing past me, Dublin claimed the couch for himself, leaving one of the recliners for me. Conveniently, both faced away from him, as distant from his position as the space would allow.
My face heated as I marched toward my imposed exile. Memories of last night flooded my thoughts, each hazy image more confusing than the last. Paired with his stony reception today, I suspected that it all was some new, twisted mind game.
Congratulations, he was already winning. I had no idea how to combat him this time. My usual defense—stripping naked and daring him to consign me to Hell—didn’t appear to be an option this time.
“Sit,” he snapped, fastening a seat belt over his waist. Purely for show, I suspected. “We’re about to take off.”
I scrambled onto the recliner and buckled myself in. Minutes later, we were hurtling down the tarma
c and then airborne.
And it seemed as though the farther we left the Earth behind, the more frantic my thoughts became. Saskia’s taunts echoed viciously inside my skull, outlasting the hum of the plane’s engine.
“He relives it. Over and over… But you know what really gets his cold heart pumping? Your sister.”
“Can I get you anything to drink, miss?” The female attendant asked, suddenly appearing by my side. Balanced on her hand was a silver tray containing a variety of beverages.
I started to shake my head. “No, thank you—” But I broke off as movement caught my eye.
Dublin. He cut his gaze toward the tray, fixated on a beverage in particular. Without thinking, I grabbed the item consuming his interest—a bottle of water. With a few swift pulls, I drained it, aware of him watching.
By the time I returned the empty bottle to the tray, however, he was already back to ignoring me.
When the attendant retreated out of view, I finally gathered the nerve to face him. He eyed the world visible beyond the windows, his arms crossed. At a glance, one might name his posture petulant—but it was so much more than that. Callous. Disinterested.
Cold.
One would never guess that last night he’d sworn that I’d tempted him to madness.
Lost in thought, I rummaged through my purse. Within seconds, my fingers cradled a small object between them: a cheap ring of plastic gold sporting a cracked turquoise bead. I slipped it onto my finger as I refocused my gaze on the creature sitting across from me.
“Saskia told me something,” I croaked, breaking the silence. “Several somethings. Confusing things.”
“And you believed her?” He didn’t even bother to utter his customary scoff; I wasn’t worth the effort. “Do I need to remind you that she thrives on deception?”
“No,” I admitted. “B-But…”
For the first time, I closed my eyes and allowed myself to relive the images I’d been suppressing. His kiss. His touch. The way he’d held me like I was something he wanted to break and cherish in one twisted breath. Like he craved me as he claimed.
Such a startling contrast to the way he was acting toward me now—like I was something repulsive. A burden he felt compelled to suffer.
Which one was the truth?
For some reason, he assumed I knew.
“Don’t bother yourself worrying about Saskia and her lies.” Leather hissed as he shifted, presumably starting to stand. “Now, if you’re finished, I need to speak to the pilot—”
“She told me you think of me,” I blurted out. My eyes were still closed, but in some ways, the blindness enhanced my ability to perceive his reaction.
His harsh intake of a breath he didn’t need. The tension crackling in his muscles, his joints stiffening. The man could convey a symphony of emotion when he wanted to. Namely rage.
“That you think of sleeping with me,” I added before he could deliver the cruel retort that I knew was poised on the tip of his tongue. “Is that true? Is it?”
His silence became unbearable. So I opened my eyes, hating how they burned. “I could stomach the sex if that were all you wanted,” I confessed—and it was the truth. Bartering myself to him had been a mere transaction, nothing more.
Or so I’d tried to claim. Over and over, I had fed on that lie.
“If wanting me was as simple as desiring a pawn in a game, then fine. If my virginity were a token prize to you, I could understand. I could even understand if you had a fetish for innocent little virgins like Saskia sniped. But…” I racked my brain for the right words. Something far more dignified than what wound up spilling out instead. “But stop teasing me. Please.”
He stared expressionlessly, so intent. So silent.
Ah. So this was another game. A part of me sighed—partially frantic, partially relieved. If only he would admit as much, then all of the confusion could cease. The memories. The ache in my throat as I remembered his touch. The throbbing pulse between my legs when he crept into my thoughts at night. All of it would stop as soon as he said the magic words.
You think I’d lust after you? Think again. Your money is all that is appealing about you. It’s your sister I truly want. It’s always been her.
When his jaw twitched, I held my breath in anticipation. Finally…
“Why does it terrify you?” he wondered as if truly curious. “The thought that I might want you.”
“Why?” I gestured between us with a wave of my hand. “Because I’m me. And you’re you.”
“A monster?” Heavy-lidded, his gaze became more unreadable than before.
“No!” I stammered, too confused to convey what I meant. My only salvation turned out to be the bluntest of terms. “You could have anyone you ever wanted. Beautiful, perfect women.” And God, it stung to admit that. More than it should have. “Anyone. Like…Georgiana. Don’t tell me you haven’t considered her.”
Saskia herself had hinted at as much.
“Just tell me and I could understand.”
Rather than go slack with relief, his jaw tightened further, his eyes narrowing. Not in anger. More thoughtfully, as if the answer to a puzzling conundrum had just presented itself. One so obvious that he was openly skeptical of it.
“You truly believe this?” His tone conveyed more than he said out loud. That’s why you’ve been ignoring reality? Living in denial?
“Of course!” I had to laugh, choking out the pathetic sound. “I have eyes, Dublin.” So just admit it, was the part I held back. Please admit it. “If sex is all you want, fine. But don’t pretend like you want something more beyond that.”
“Like?”
I wrung my fingers in exasperation. “Like something requiring the serious discussions of tumors and what they might mean. I can’t… I refuse to play that kind of game with you. You accused me of being in denial, but maybe I’m being realistic? I am not ready to handle something like this.” It stung to say it, but at least I could. “And neither are you. The sooner we agree upon that point, the easier this will be.”
There. I broke off, panting and satisfied with the extent of my confession.
Now, it was his turn.
“Come here,” he commanded, beckoning with a crooked finger.
I lurched, fumbling with my seat belt. Once freed, I crossed over to him, maintaining my balance with the gentle motions of the plane. He shifted, leaving enough space beside him for me to sit, and I did, sighing.
Finally, he would say it. But rather than speak, he took my hand and unfurled every finger. Then he placed it on his lap, right between his thighs.
My palm seared, instantly registering what lay beneath it. Firmness. Hardness. Evidence of something that made my stomach clench and my teeth snap together. In shock, I tried to pull away—he gripped me even tighter.
“Perhaps I’ve humored your naivety for too long,” he mused, sounding eerily calm despite the part of his anatomy proclaiming anything but control. “Do you truly believe that I intended to announce my return at all? Let alone to you?”
I squirmed, uneasy. It sounded so obvious when stated out loud. His abrupt resurfacing hadn’t been a trick, or a mind game like I’d assumed, but…
Impulsive?
“How did you even know?” I asked, playing along. “Where I was?”
“Believe it or not, finding you was not my priority.” A low sound trickled from his throat, too terrifying to be mistaken for a laugh. “My sole intention for returning at all was to convince Goodfellow in person to relinquish your case. My efforts to block her attempts from afar had proven ineffective and she is no fool. When she began consulting experts in the occult, I decided to intervene.”
I swallowed hard at the dangerous shift in his tone. “She was just trying to help me.”
Judging from the stern tilt of his mouth, he did not agree.
“She risked drawing attention to you. Good intentioned or not, she put your life in danger. As long as you wore the talisman, I could sense your location, so I
knew you were in no immediate harm at least.” He fingered the necklace in question. “But when you suddenly wound up in an area of the city where I know Raphael exerts his influence, I followed. Only to discover your meeting with Gabriel Lanic and…” His grip on me tightened, applying even more pressure against my hand. “I refuse to let you pretend like you don’t see what the whole damn world has. What it’s mocked me for,” he warned. “That you haven’t felt every inch of it slammed inside you. If anyone is playing a game here, it isn’t me. Goddamn, a part of me wonders if you somehow planned it, if only to make me out to be a fool…” He flicked his wrist, forcing me to feel more of him. All of him, swelling against my hand. “So, no, Eleanor, I’m afraid your supposed innocence isn’t a fair enough excuse.” He released me, shrugging my presence aside as he started to stand again. “Now that we’ve gotten that established—”
“Then why leave in the first place?” I demanded, eyeing my hand. It burned and the fingers were trembling, impossible to control. “If you want me so damn much then why leave at all? And don’t use Georgiana as your excuse. You don’t take orders from anyone.”
The fact that he would return merely to exert his control over my life in something as trivial as medical records proved that fact.
“Why?” He paused and his eyes flashed as if the question required serious contemplation. “Perhaps I don’t enjoy being at the mercy of a woman who would sooner spend eternity with her cat as a companion than admit her attraction to me?”
“Attraction?” I whispered hoarsely.
He chuckled and began to rise to his feet. “We once established that you’ve learned more than a few tidbits on sexuality from romance novels. Use that knowledge to draw upon what might cause a woman to become wet—”
“S-Stop.” Plush carpet cradled my knees as I sank to the floor, all modesty forgotten. If he wanted to play tricks, then I’d sink to his level. Prove it once and for all—he was lying.