Dark Light (The Dark Light Series)

by S. L. Jennings

  “What? These are for me, not you!” Dorian chuckles holding up a skimpy lace thong. I shake my head at him, smiling. A sense of humor is the last thing I’d expect Dorian to possess. But I’m not even surprised; he is perfect after all.

  “Sure, buddy. They’d match perfectly with your feather boa,” I laugh. Even with this dreary weather, it’s hard for me to be in a sour mood when I’m with Dorian especially when he’s being so playful.

  “What about these?” I ask him, picking up a practical pair of lace-trimmed cotton boyshorts. Everything in here is so expensive; it was the first pair of underwear I spotted with a semi-reasonable price tag.

  “Well, not really my color. I need something to bring out my eyes,” he winks.

  “Not for you! Me, silly!”

  Dorian strolls over and takes the pair of panties from me. He rubs the modest fabric between his fingers and inspects the delicate stitching. “Nope,” he shakes his head.

  “Why not?” Dorian ignores my question and motions towards the sales clerk.

  “Yes, Mr. Skotos?” the beautiful blonde asks, batting her eyelashes. Her blouse is unbuttoned dangerously low at the top and she is very obviously trying to poke out her perky breasts. Skanky much?

  I can’t help but grow annoyed at the rising suspicions in my head. How the hell does she know his name? It’s a women’s clothing boutique for crying out loud! How often could he come in here? Does he frequently bring other women here to shop? After he’s ripped their panties? I can feel my face heat with jealous rage.

  “Allison, I need you to pull some intimate pieces for Ms. Winters. Only the best. I want her to look more dazzling than she already is,” he beams down at me. When I don’t return his smile, his eyes narrow with question.

  “Yes, Mr. Skotos,” Allison purrs, and she scurries to do as she’s instructed.

  “What?” he asks, once she’s out of earshot.

  I shake my head, trying not to feel so irrational. Who he’s dated and who he chooses to spend his money on is none of my business. But I can’t help it; the girl in me just won’t let it go.

  “Just wondering how many other women’s panties you’ve had to replace. Seems like you come here a lot,” I say coolly.

  “I come here enough. But only when I have to.” Dorian pauses to take in my disgusted expression. Then he has the audacity to chuckle. “I own it, Gabriella. Well, most of it.”

  Once again, my size 7 foot has found its way to my big mouth. I sigh and look at Dorian’s amused face. He likes it when I embarrass myself. “Sorry. I have a habit of jumping to conclusions.”

  “I see. You really have nothing to worry about. How many times do I have to tell you? No one is as important to me as you. I don’t want anyone else,” he says stroking the line of my jaw with a single finger. The sincerity in his eyes enraptures me for a moment, and I yearn to touch my lips to his. But before I can, Allison interrupts us.

  “I have a room ready for Ms. Winters, Mr. Skotos,” she says.

  “Great,” Dorian replies as he ushers me towards the dressing area. Allison has filled it with an array of lingerie, from white frilly pieces to dark shiny PVC. I step in and look back at Dorian who is wearing a naughty grin. “I’ll be right out here,” he says, closing the door.

  I begin to peel off my jeans, ribbed tank and cardigan when I hear whispering on the other side of the door.

  “Mr. Skotos, Ms. Órexis came by for you. She wanted you to have this.” I hear the rustling of paper.

  “Thank you, Allison,” Dorian replies with a hushed voice.

  “You’re very welcome, Mr. Skotos. If there’s anything you ever need, I’d be more than happy to oblige,” she breathes seductively.

  Oh hell no! I’m two seconds from pulling my jeans back on and kicking that slore of a sales clerk’s ass when a light tap on the door stops me in my tracks.

  “I’m out here waiting to see you. Don’t be shy; come model for me,” Dorian says softly.

  I try to stow my temper, deciding not to reveal what I heard in fear of appearing like a jealous nag.

  “Are you crazy? I’m not coming out there dressed like this!”

  “Well I’ll just have to come in there then.”

  With that, Dorian cracks the door open, leaving just enough space for him to squeeze through. His eyes dance with delight at the sight of me in a pearl pink satin slip with black lace cutouts on the sides. It hugs my frame perfectly and stops halfway up my thigh.

  “Do you like it?” I ask meekly. I feel so exposed being on display for him. I can’t even look him in the eye.

  “Do I? I love it.” Even the word ‘love’ falling from his lips gives me a flutter in my stomach. Sigh, wishful thinking.

  “I don’t know how this ended up in here being that we came here to shop for panties,” I say uncomfortably.

  Dorian is still sizing up my body appreciatively and I’m starting to feel like a raw steak in front of a hungry lion. “I’m sure glad it did, though.” He takes a step forward then stops, visibly battling something in his head from the slightly perplexed look on his face. He sighs. “You shall have this. And everything else in here. As much as I want to see you try on each piece, I’m already two seconds away from taking you right here and right now.”

  Dorian licks his lips, taking another eyeful before shaking his head. “Go ahead and get dressed. I’ll wait for you out here.” He leans forward and plants a tender kiss on my forehead before tearing himself from the dressing room.

  When I emerge, I am nearly floored by Allison standing at the door, waiting to collect the lingerie. She gives me a phony smile before brushing past me and I am tempted to turn around and snatch the pretty blonde hair right off her head. Not out of jealousy though- for the simple fact that she blatantly disrespected me by hitting on Dorian when I was only a few feet away. And who the hell is Ms. Órexis? Another shameless admirer?

  Chill out, Gabs.

  I need to stop getting ahead of myself. Dorian isn’t officially mine and he didn’t introduce me as anything more than Ms. Winters. I could be his cousin for all she knows. Allison’s locks are safe for now, but if she crosses me again, I can’t make that same promise.

  After shopping, Dorian stows my bags in his car and insists we walk down to one of the nearby restaurants, even though it’s drizzling. I don’t complain; he’s in such a jovial mood, there’s no way I’d risk ruining it with my superficial concerns. We stroll into a little Italian restaurant, complete with red checkered table cloths and candles propped in empty wine bottles. A little cliché but the charm is not lost on me.

  “You heard what Allison said to me,” Dorian says once we’ve settled in with glasses of wine.

  “I did. Not my business,” I say simply, looking at the menu. I avoid eye contact to purposely show Dorian that I am not ruffled by the encounter, though it is far from the truth. Ugh! Why does it even matter to me?

  “It is. I don’t want you to feel like I’m hiding something from you. Like I said, I will always be honest. Plus, I have a proposition for you.”

  “Oh?” I say with a raised eyebrow, looking up at his beautiful face. Even dressed in simple jeans and a lightweight sweater, Dorian takes my breath away. How can I not be mesmerized by him?

  “As I said, I’m only part owner of the boutique. The person who actually runs the day to day stuff may be gone for a while. I wanted to see if you’d be interested in running the store. And if you like it, maybe making it a permanent thing. In that case, I would purchase the boutique in full.”

  “You’re kidding,” I say, clearly stunned.

  “No, I’m not,” Dorian responds, folding his hands in front of him and then resting his chin on them. “I need someone I can trust, and I got the idea that you weren’t interested in working at the mall for much longer. You still haven’t told me what you plan to do after graduation.”

  “Because I don’t know myself,” I say with a hint of shame. Truthfully there aren’t many things I am certain about
. And with the recent revelation of my identity, my ambiguity is at an all-time high. I take a hefty sip of wine in hopes of swallowing my insecurity. “So this offer isn’t out of pity, right? You just need someone for the job that you can trust?”

  “Correct,” Dorian nods.

  “Ok, well in that case, I’ll think about it. Thank you for considering me,” I say a bit more formally than I intend. “Are you sure you don’t have another friend better suited to run a high-end boutique?” The opportunity would be great and would definitely provide me with the funds to move out. I just want to be sure.

  “No, I don’t,” Dorian states stiffly.

  I give him a cynical look. “You don’t trust anyone or you don’t have a friend?”

  “Both.” Dorian’s breezy mood has dissipated and his icy façade has rolled in with the dark storm clouds that threaten to drench us after lunch. But behind his cold demeanor I get a glimpse of something else. Sorrow.

  “Dorian, everyone has friends. That can’t be true. Look at how open you were with getting to know me. And if you can trust me, I’m sure there are other people you trust.” I regret bringing it up but if I bite my tongue every time I hit a nerve, I’ll never get to know him.

  “No. There’s not.” Dorian reaches over and takes a sip of his red wine. Then his eyes burn deep into mine. “I had a friend once. My best friend. More like a brother. But his weakness and self-loathing led to his death. I could have stopped him; I should have. But I didn’t. I wasn’t a very good friend to him,” Dorian says quietly.

  I’m taken aback by his sad account. His best friend died and he feels somewhat responsible. How do I respond to that? I reach a tentative hand towards him and let it rest gently on his.

  “I’m sorry,” is all I can say. The fact that Dorian has chosen to open up to me warms my heart. He really does trust me. Why?

  “I had a feeling you’d say that,” he smirks, shaking his head. “Nothing you or anyone else could have done. He made his choice. I remember how incredibly stubborn he was.” Dorian chuckles at the recollection. He looks so thoughtful and nostalgic; I just wish I could share this memory with him.

  “Scusami Signor, Signora,” the friendly, rotund Italian gentleman, who I’m guessing owns the restaurant, interjects. “Are we ready to order?”

  I quickly pull my hand away from Dorian’s. He slightly flinches in response and nods to the older man, then gestures for me to begin with my order. I opt for something simple: Tortellini alla Panna while Dorian goes for oven baked rigatoni.

  “Why did you do that?” Dorian asks after the man has retreated to the kitchen.

  “Do what?” I ask, perplexed.

  “Pull your hand away from mine.”

  I shrug. “Oh. I don’t know. Reflexes, I guess.”

  “Does touching me bother you?” Dorian asks simply. He isn’t upset or offended; he’s curious.

  “No. Not at all. It makes me feel…good. I’m just not used to public displays of affection, I guess.” I hadn’t realized it before this moment. And I surely never meant for Dorian to feel it had anything to do with him.

  “It makes me feel good, too. To touch you,” Dorian murmurs thoughtfully.

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “Honestly?” Dorian asks, reaching out to grab both my hands. His thumbs caress my knuckles, sending tiny tingles throughout my entire body.

  “Of course.” My voice sounds so different. It’s high-pitched, almost squeaky. A ringing soprano. I clear my throat.

  Dorian smirks as if he hears the difference too. “I think we are like two separate powerful surges of energy, and when we collide, we ignite, creating fireworks. Chemistry, my dear Gabriella. Our chemistry is explosive,” he states as if the answer was right in front of my face the whole time.

  “You think that’s all it is?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe a bit of fate. Maybe a bit of magic.” Dorian’s lips turn into a devilish grin and I know he’s toying with me.

  “That’s right, because you believe in magic.” I’m on dangerous ground. My head is screaming ‘Abort! Abort!’ but my mouth keeps on freaking moving. “And your explanation for that is?”

  “How can you not believe in magic? Science and logic can’t explain everything. You’ve heard of those people that can move objects with their minds? Or can see things that others can’t because they have unlocked a dormant part of their brain, right?”

  “Yes,” I say cautiously. Where is he going with this?

  “What if I told you that it had nothing to do with their brain function? That they were simply destined to do those miraculous things?” Dorian’s eyes are wild with excitement. He brings my hands up to his mouth to gently kiss my knuckles. “Magic brought us together. Can you explain it any other way?”

  I’m baffled. This is the most impulsive, illogical, and animated I have ever seen Dorian. But I know what he’s saying is true, as ridiculous and far-fetched as it sounds. I shake my head nervously, knowing I should shut this down right now. This conversation has gone far enough. Talking like this will only get us both killed. But I can’t help myself; I need answers. And Dorian appears only too forthcoming at the present time.

  “Dorian, what do you know about Haitian Vodou?”

  Dorian furrows his brow and cocks his head to one side. He shrugs. “It was birthed by Africans enslaved by the French. They worship different deities, one in particular though. Mostly it’s a bunch of chanting and dancing, though it got a bad reputation by some more extreme followers. It’s pesky; I’ve known some that have pissed off the wrong Vodouists and had a real headache on their hands,” Dorian chuckles. This is the most lighthearted I have seen him, even considering the serious nature of our conversation. “Best to avoid them at all costs. They’re not worth the trouble. That kind of magic is unnatural.”

  “How do you know all this, Dorian?” I ask suspiciously.

  He shrugs with nonchalance. “Common knowledge.”

  Our entrees arrive before I can ask any more questions, though my appetite has dissipated. All I can think about is the mass of information I have learned over red wine and breadsticks. Dorian is saying so much yet it can be misconstrued as casual conversation. Should I look at it as such? Is he just making small talk? Surely, if he was affiliated with either the Light or the Dark, he would not provoke me. He would be aggressive, murderous even. Dorian wants me to trust him. He wants me to know him. He wants me to love him.

  “Since you brought it up, tell me about your friends, Gabriella.” Dorian says with a smile.

  Geez, he’s in a good mood today. I don’t see why; the light drizzle has transformed into a torrential downpour. There goes my perfectly flat ironed hair.

  I perk up into a cheerful grin. Finally, something I can comfortably discuss. “Well you’ve met Morgan. She’s fabulous. Poised, beautiful, loyal to a fault. A bit of a spoiled princess but I can handle that. She’s dramatic, pretentious, loud, and sometimes as shallow as a kiddie pool.” I smile genuinely. “Her brutal honesty makes up for it. I like someone who can give it to me straight, no chaser. Makes me respect them more.”

  “She sounds like a handful,” Dorian observes, taking a bit of pasta on his fork.

  “Oh, that and then some. We’ve been best friends for a few years. An odd couple to most outsiders but we seem to work. We balance each other out. Any time with Morgan is sure to be a blast.”

  “And the boy?” Dorian asks. His solemn expression tells me who he means. Jared.

  I reach for my wine glass and finish its contents in one large gulp. Dorian has promised me honesty. I owe him the same respect.

  “Jared.” I nod my head, confirming Dorian’s thoughts. My eyes stay down on my plate as I recall my most intimate friend. “Jared is probably the one person who knows me the best. He’s caring, funny, easy to talk to. I never have to hide who I am with him. Being around him is soothing. He has one of those spirits, you know? It’s like, when I’m with him, it’s easy to breathe.” I
look back up reluctantly to meet Dorian’s eyes. He’s thoughtful, as if trying to make sense of what I’m saying.

  “And you love him,” he says simply.

  “Huh?” Whoa. How the hell did he come up with that?

  “You love him,” he repeats. He isn’t angry; he’s simply stating a fact. A fact that I’ve tried like hell to keep concealed.

  In the spirit of honesty, I nod my head slightly. “I thought I did. But he didn’t return those feelings. Not when I needed him to.”

  I’m ashamed. I feel like such a whore, admitting my feelings for another man to the man that I’m sleeping with. Awkward doesn’t even begin to sum it up.

  “He loves you too,” Dorian says taking another forkful of his food. He’s still lighthearted, not at all disconcerted. “And you’re wrong; you do hide who you are with him.”

  Ok, that’s it. There’s no way I can eat after that. What does he know about my relationship with Jared? And who is he to tell me I’m not being myself with him?

  “And you know this, how?” I say with a layer of attitude. There are subjects that are just off limits. Jared is one of them.

  “I’ve seen how he looks at you. I’ve seen how you look at him. And how you’ve just described him…It’s not hard to interpret,” Dorian smiles, in spite of my serious glare. “And if you were truly yourself with him, you would have disclosed how you really feel. You wouldn’t be here with me. Yet, here you sit. Because it’s easier to pretend with someone who hardly knows you than to be yourself with someone who loves you for all that you are.”

  I stare at Dorian in disbelief, totally thrown by what he’s said. He’s so right. Yet I hate him for bringing my biggest fears and regrets to light. John Mayer plays on repeat in my head, begging for someone to stop this train of life, to slow down so he can return to how things once were. To simpler days of youth and oblivion. It’s all moving too fast for me. I’m not ready to admit who and what I am to anybody. Especially not Jared. His opinion of me is the one that counts the most.