Bile rises in my throat, and my irises tingle with fury. “No need, dear one. No need to worry about that ever again.”
I’m on my feet in a blur of blistering rage and cross the room just as Varshaun finishes his tirade.
“The next time I even suspect any of your girls stepping out of bounds, I’ll do more than blow open the fucking door,” he warns him. “Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, Mr. V. If I find any of my girls have broken the rules, I’ll kill them myself,” he stammers, beads of sweat rolling down his fat face. He exhales a sigh of relief when Varshaun nods and turns to retreat. Little does he know, V is the least of his problems.
“Listen to me, you fat fuck,” I hiss, moving in so close that I smell the vile odor of his rapid breaths. “You’re done using underage girls. So done, that you will return them to their homes plus compensate them all for exploiting them. Let’s say twenty grand each, plus you’ll ensure they get into decent schools. Doesn’t that sound fair?”
“Wha-? Twenty grand? I don’t have that kind of money!” he screeches indignantly, causing revolting spittle to fly from his mouth.
“You heard me, you sick fucker. Twenty grand. And if you don’t have the cash, I suggest you find a good realtor. You have three days.”
I spin on my heel and make my way to the door where Varshaun waits, wearing a delighted grin. My eyes spot the young girl with the spiral curls, and I nod to her. Her big, brown eyes shine with grateful tears.
“It’s not like they didn’t want it, you know,” Malcolm calls out from behind my back, obviously delirious. I pause mid-step, my trembling fists tight at my sides. “They begged for it. Pussy is pussy, no matter how old it is. As long as it can grow a bush, it’s fuckable.”
My mind instantly goes to Amelie. She could’ve been one of these girls. She could’ve been the girl with the curly, brown hair, used and abused at such a tender age. What if it was Malcolm that her father was indebted to? What if she was forced to offer her body to him in exchange for her father’s life?
“You know, on second thought…” I turn around to face his deranged scowl, blind rage clouding my rationale. “I really, really hate child molesters.”
I raise my palm, spreading my fingers as they become engulfed in blue fire. Simultaneously, Malcolm’s limbs go rigid and his mouth falls slack, completely immobilized. His muddy brown eyes are filled with terror as he tries to struggle against the invisible restraints. Drool drips from the corner of his disgusting mouth.
“Shhhh,” I say in his ear. “Don’t fight it. It will all be over soon, you piece of shit. You won’t be able to abuse another child again. Now … along with child molesters, I despise spineless men. And you, dear Malcolm, are spineless.”
Malcolm grunts out a tearful response as I circle his grotesque frame. Dozens watch with rapt attention, yet none of them step up to save their employer. They have no love, no loyalty for him.
“Yes, yes, I agree,” I nod, responding to his indecipherable groans. I stop in front of him and smooth the silken fabric on his meaty shoulders. “You really aren’t completely spineless. But that can definitely be arranged.”
With my hand still covered in blue flames, I sink it into Malcolm’s gut, spearing through blubber, tissue and vital organs. Screams ring out all over the mansion, masking his muffled cries of pain. Yes, pain. Though he may not be able to move, he can feel everything. He can feel me clawing my way through his flesh with razor-sharp talons. Can feel the blood gushing from the gaping whole in his abdomen. And when my hand wraps around his spine, he can feel every-fucking-thing as I rip it from his body.
“There you go, motherfucker,” I say, dropping the blood-slick bones to the floor just as Malcolm takes his last pathetic breath. I release the hold on his body and it crumples to the floor in a bloody heap. “Now, you’re really spineless.”
I look around at the array of panicked faces staring back at me. “You all are free to go,” I call out, loud enough for my voice to echo throughout the grand house. “However, if you wish to stay, you can be sure that you’ll be provided with sufficient living conditions, pay and healthcare, as well as protection. And if you are younger than the age of eighteen, a car will be sent this afternoon to take you home to your families.”
As if on cue, the young girl approaches me, holding out a towel. Graciously, I take it, wiping away Malcolm’s putrid blood and guts that extend all the way up to my elbow. Fuck. Another suit ruined. But as I look down at the young girl, and the other grateful faces surrounding me, I know that I’ve done the right thing. I’ve chosen to be better.
I lay on my back on top of the satin, ornate comforter, my head resting on top of my hands … and I smile.
Amelie is showering in the en suite bathroom just feet away, and images of her naked and wet, with only tiny suds kissing her most intimate places, are engrained in my head, causing my cock to ache with need.
It’s been nearly two weeks since I had sex. Two weeks of sleeping chastely next to Amelie’s tight, delicious body. Two weeks of feeling the warmth of her smile. Two weeks of letting someone see me for the very first time, and not being afraid of the rejection. Laughing heartily at her corny jokes. Listening intently as she tells me stories of her old neighborhood and growing up on the wrong side of the tracks. Teaching her how to play chess, and in turn, her teaching me how to play Gin Rummy. Watching her delicate eyelids flutter as vivid dreams of me visit her subconscious.
I smile.
Because for the first time in nearly two centuries, I have found happiness.
I thought it was that feeling I got whenever business was spectacularly good. Or the sensation I felt during amazing sex. I even thought I had achieved it when my father agreed to let me run all Gulf Coast operations, allowing me to prove to him and myself that I was more than a spoiled royal brat.
I was wrong. Amelie is my happiness. Being with her, knowing her, letting her know me, is the epitome of bliss.
“What’s with the crazy eyes and serial killer smile?” a sweet, playful voice asks. “You plottin’ on me?”
I look over just as Amelie crosses the room towards the bed, wearing nothing but a navy silk sleep shirt that stops right at the middle of her shapely thighs. I do everything in my power to force my eyes up to her face. Holy fuck. Is she trying to kill me?
“Well, if I told you, I’d have to kill you,” I jibe, hoping to mask the longing in my voice.
Amelie kneels on the bed, drying her damp hair with a towel. “Hmmm, those are mighty big words for a pretty boy prince,” she retorts. “Don’t forget - I’m from Ninth Ward, buddy. I can and will kick your ass.”
We both break into guffaws at her ridiculous comment. I sit up, bringing our bodies closer together, and stilling all laughter. Our gazes collide for long, silent seconds before Amelie looks away, a scarlet blush painting her cheeks.
“Don’t you find this kinda … weird?” she asks quietly.
“What’s weird?”
“I don’t know,” she answers with a shrug. “One day, you’re ready to murder me and I’m hating you, and the next it’s … different. Like it’s easy and casual and fun, and I actually find myself looking at you as a decent guy, and not some monster. Because to me, now that I know you, you’re not. You’re nothing like I expected.”
“Well, what did you expect?” I ask, tipping my head to one side.
“Crazed, soul-sucking lunatic that just goes around screwing anything on two legs and killing without a second thought?”
A few weeks ago that assessment would have probably been spot on. I don’t have the heart to tell her.
“Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart.”
“Oh, I’m not disappointed,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m relieved. Be kind of a buzz-kill to be sleeping next to some demented murderer. Talk about awkward.”
I flinch and my mouth pulls down into a grimace before I can stop myself. Those amber irises pick up on the switch in my expression immediately, and A
melie frowns. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I reply, with a stiff shake of my head. I can’t meet her eyes. It’s in those depths that I am the most vulnerable, the most honest.
“No, it’s not nothing. Come on, Niko. You’ve asked me a million questions and I’ve answered them all truthfully. Now if I’ve said something to offend you, you have to tell me. I don’t want you smothering me in my sleep or something because you’re pissed at me.” She offers a small smile, but I don’t return it.
“I’m not going to hurt you, ok?” I snap. “I told you that. So just drop it.”
Amelie reels back, confusion and hurt darkening her face. “Whoa. Ok, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It was a bad joke.”
I shake my head again and look away, disgusted with what she must see in me at this very moment. She’s right, and I don’t deserve her. I don’t even deserve to breathe the same air as her. If I can’t be honest with myself, how the hell can I be honest with her? If I can’t accept what I am, how can I expect that of her?
“I have to tell you something,” I finally say, my head still turned.
“Ok,” she replies with a quiet, strained voice.
I take a deep breath and release it, letting go of fear and reluctance. If I want Amelie to trust me with her heart, I have to be honest with her. I have to earn it. I have to be better than what I was before.
“The day that Varshaun came to get me, we had some business to tend to in the Quarter.” I look back at her, my eyes gleaming with apology. “What was supposed to be a quick, routine stop turned … dark.”
“Ok,” she says again, prompting me to go on.
“Have you ever heard of Malcolm Boisseau?”
A look of sheer disgust flashes across her face, answering my question. I don’t even wait for her to tell me how she knows him. The answer may push me to the brink of violence.
“We followed up on a tip that Malcolm’s girls were engaging in black magic, which is forbidden in this city. And while we were there, something literally fell into my lap.” I run a hand through my hair and pull at the ends in frustration. “Amelie … I found out he was not only exploiting young girls, he was having sex with them too. He was fucking molesting children.”
Amelie gasps and claps a hand over her mouth in horror. “Oh my God,” she says, letting it fall to her heart. “Oh my God, that’s terrible! How did y-…Wait. What do you mean he was?”
I’m frozen in place, held by those penetrating eyes that seem to strip me bare to my soul. I don’t know how to tell her; I can’t find the words. I’ve killed dozens of times without shame, without an inkling of remorse or regret. I’ve done it for power, for revenge, hell, I’ve done it for fun. But now… now that my newfound conscience has taken the reins, I can’t even find it in me to confess my sins, no matter how justified they are.
“Tell me, Niko… tell me what happened,” Amelie says just above a whisper.
Tentatively, she reaches her hand towards me, her solemn gaze asking permission. I remain stock-still, holding my breath. Not because I have some weird phobia about touching - shit, physicality is all I know - but because it’s her touching me, her comforting me. Her showing me just a smidgen of affection. And right now, as her delicate hand rests on top of mine before sliding to my palm to interlace our fingers, I feel like she’s breaking me down, ripping me open. Taking every fucking defense I had and demolishing them with a sledgehammer. I’m the one helpless and weak spread out beneath her. I’m the one begging for her mercy, completely at her will.
Tiny golden sparks meld with blue, before dying into a simmer on our skin. It hurts. It’s sweet agony and torturous bliss. It’s everything I never knew I wanted.
“Amelie,” a voice rasps from somewhere deep within me. “I killed him. I killed that sick sonofabitch. And I liked it. I loved it. And I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t speak. I don’t even know if she’s looking at me. All I can see are our fingers intertwined, that small part of us holding onto…something. Something much bigger than the both of us.
“Thank you,” she finally whispers.
My eyes dart to her face to find a soft smile on her lips, a look of admiration in her eyes. A look I’ve never been gifted with in all my years.
“For what?”
“For telling me. And for saving those girls. And for ensuring that he never hurts another child again.”
“But…but now you know how vile I am. Now you know I’m a killer.”
An unexpected chuckle bubbles from her chest. “Niko, I’ve always known you were a killer. Don’t forget that I’ve borne witness to your antics for the last ten years. I’m not saying I’m ok with murder. I’m totally against it, actually. But what you did today wasn’t murder, it was redemption. It was justice. It was necessary.”
We fall asleep side by side, like always, but with our hands clasped together. Funny how such a chaste gesture can be so profound, so deeply intimate. I’ve never felt closer to another soul, not even when I was buried inside them, breathing their life into mine. And I now that I’ve felt it, I never want to let it go. I never want to let her go.
I feel Amelie jerk in the night, and her hand is squeezing mine with enough pressure to cut off circulation. My eyes snap open immediately and I am hovering over her, clutching her shoulders.
“No, no, no,” she cries, large tears spilling down the sides of her face. Her closed eyelids flutter rapidly and she’s covered with sweat. “No, please, no. Please come back to me. Don’t leave me!”
“Amelie,” I call out, shaking her gently. “Amelie, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
“Oh God, no! Please! I’ll do anything…no, no, no!” Her body trembles uncontrollably, piquing my alarm. I have to do something. I have to help her.
“Amelie! Amelie, listen to me. Wake up!” Panic growing in my chest, I sweep a hand over her forehead, a single finger doused in blue flames.
Nothing.
Fuck.
Her body convulses even more, and I know this is more than a simple dream. I shake her harder, both hands now ignited. “Come on, Amelie! Wake up! Fucking wake up now!”
Her body goes still and her whimpers cease. I don’t even think she’s breathing, though I can clearly hear the pounding of her heart. I hold onto that sliver of hope. She’s still with me.
Just as my hand caresses her damp cheek, Amelie’s eyes snap open, her retinas as black as onyx. This isn’t magic. It’s not even natural. It’s evil.
Before I can even think to react, she trains her black, sinister glare on me as she grabs my hand, squeezing it until I can feel my bones crack.
“You will pay, demon. You will pay in blood,” a bone chilling voice spits. It’s not even remotely close to her harmonious tone. “They’re coming, and you will pay! You will burn for what you have done. Burn, demon!”
I yank my hand away from her tight grasp just as her eyes shut and her body sags in unnatural slumber. My whole body shakes, ice cold tingles running through my pulsing veins. My instincts tell me to kill her now. To reach into her chest and pulverize her heart with my bare hands. Whatever she’s possessed with needs a beating heart, and I won’t let it take her. I won’t let it take my Amelie.
With a shaky hand, I reach toward her, just barely touching the space where her most precious, vital organ lay protected. I don’t want to, but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t have any other choice.
Her hand suddenly grasps mine, but this time, the touch is soft, gentle. She pulls it closer to her, clutching it to her heart. Once again, her eyes open wide … and bright. Golden irises look back at me, filling the room with brilliant, blinding light.
“Help her,” a voice whispers. It isn’t her voice, but it’s trill and feminine, not a hint of malice. “Save her.”
“How?” I find myself asking with trembling lips. I don’t even know who - or what - I’m talking to, but nothing else matters other than saving Amelie’s life.
“To save her,
you must know love,” the small voice says. “You must love her.”
Then all is black. Still.
Dark.
The room is silent and cold with only the rhythm of Amelie’s steady heartbeat echoing in my head. Even after all that’s happened, after seeing her face contorted in absolute evil, she looks so peaceful in slumber. Unable to let her go, I lie beside her and pull her into my arms, placing her head on my chest. The feeling of holding another person, cradling them with such care and affection is foreign, but not unpleasant.
No. It’s fucking perfect.
Amelie wraps her arm around my waist, rubbing her cheek against my chest. She lets out a soft sigh that ends in a hum. “Mmmm,” she smiles. “Niko.”
Come again?
I study her face to ensure that she is actually still asleep. Her breathing is deep and steady and her eyelids are sealed. I knew she was dreaming of me, but I’d never heard her say my name. And the smile attached to it? Shit. I feel like I just died a thousand sweet deaths.
All night, I hold Amelie tight as if she might slip away. And the truth is, she might. Something else - something deeply evil and unnatural - has corrupted her body. It has blackened her soul and claimed those startling, amber irises. I just hope to be strong enough to claim her heart.
“So…what do you think?”
Blood red, beady eyes narrow speculatively. I know this is bad. It won’t end well for Amelie… or me.
“Definitely sounds like she’s possessed,” Cyrus replies, rubbing the patch of dark hair on his chin. He scans the dimly lit bar for eavesdroppers before slipping his shades back on. Not that anyone would be alarmed; it’s a Dark owned and operated establishment.
“But the shit with the Light … how do you explain that?”
“The Light in her is fighting against it. But whatever is in her - whatever evil is running through her veins - it’s strong. Especially to manifest like that.”
Nikolai: A Dark Light Novella (Dark Light #2.5) Page 6