Love is Darkness (A Valerie Dearborn Novel)

by Hanson, Caroline

  Who was he kidding? He was too tired and too lonely to fight his memories tonight anyway. Thoughts of her hand on his thigh. Her breath in his ear, made him hard. More memories came to him unbidden, her straddling him, her-

  Christ.

  He thought of the night before she left for college. Just once, he'd wanted to give in to her. After all those years of her looking at him with adoration and lust, while he feigned ignorance.

  Why was it so hard to keep her away and not want her? Just last week a vampire had attacked him outside of his home. That was not the life for Valerie. She'd been through enough and worked hard to be on her own.

  In a way, maybe he was her weakness too. So he kept himself away from her. Now he saw her as little as possible. It was too painful. Especially after he'd held her, kissed her, felt her shudder in climax against him. God, he wanted her so much. But, he wanted revenge... and they both knew that he wanted revenge just a little bit more than he wanted her.

  And yet, in his weaker moments and in his dreams, he'd thought of her thighs over him. Val on top of him, clasping his hands, but gripping him, pulling him up and towards her— this is not restful. He loved that hair of hers, so thick and rich. A hundred browns. Dark hair that glinted in the sun.

  Her eyes drew him too. He could look into those dark eyes forever. See himself reflected in them, chocolate brown with gold flecks. When he looked into her eyes, he knew she loved him back. Or at least she had. She appeared to have no trouble moving on now. What a cluster fuck they were in.

  He tried to push these thoughts away, focus on the mission in Africa but instead he dwelled on Val and Nate. The man wouldn't even try with her. He claimed that he didn't want to draw attention to her. Whenever Jack had to go see Val, Nate made sure he was somewhere on the other side of the world drawing attention to himself. Usually, pissing on Lucas's doorstep. Since half the world was his doorstep they had gotten away with it. They planned each attack thoroughly, planned with contingencies and they had succeeded and lived this long because of their caution.

  The mere thought of Val trying to do what they did made his blood run cold. She wasn't calm enough or methodical enough to keep herself safe. She acted first and thought later. So why did he always taunt her, want to convince her to stay with them?

  With him?

  Because he was a selfish bastard and he wanted to know that he meant something to her. He needed to know that if they died someone would think of him and remember him as family or as hers.

  He needed another drink. Jack didn't drink very often but he was in the airport and it was almost daylight. He was safe for today. So he'd drink and torture himself with memories of all the times he'd let her go.

  Chapter 6

  London, England

  Two months ago

  Valerie sat alone at a small square table that had a nice view of the High Street. Her three hour long Monday class was over and she'd decided that staying conscious during an incredibly boring lecture on Ptolemaic History deserved, maybe even required, a nice lunch as a reward.

  Cafe Rouge was near her dorm. It was a chain restaurant that Val feared she liked more than it deserved. Everything was black, white, or red and pictures of burlesque dancers, cats and bicycles decorated the walls. The decorations were meant to be French, but Valerie suspected that the decorator thought this was how people expected a French cafe to look, rather than how one actually did.

  The waiter, a stinky and authentic French import, was busy talking at the bar and had been ignoring Valerie's bring-me-my-check-or-die stare for at least five minutes. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her wallet, deciding the flash of cash might help speed things up.

  As she righted herself, she saw a man sitting at her table across from her as though he’d been there the whole time.

  Oh shit! Her bag dropped to the floor in shock.

  “Lucas,” Val said in a hush, like saying his name too loudly would give him power—or wake her up from a dream. What could he want? She lifted her hand, nervously tucking a strand of long brown hair behind her ear.

  His eyes—a blue so Arctic and cold that it could give freezer burn— followed the movement, shifting ever so slightly to watch her hand before dipping down infinitesimally, and she just knew he was looking at the pulse of her wrist. Was that the equivalent of a guy checking her out? Scoping out her pulse? She was fucked.

  “It’s daytime!” she said, like it wouldn’t have occurred to him that he could burst into flame at any moment.

  “A benefit of my longevity,” He said quietly.

  “Can other vampires come out during the day?” She looked around the restaurant as though she might see a huge group of vampires dining on blood pudding and eyeing the patrons hungrily.

  “No.”

  How old is this guy?

  Hastily, she looked away from his face, not wanting to be caught by his gaze— again. Everything she knew about him rushed through her mind like a tidal wave. Ever since he’d saved her she’d tried to learn about him. She didn’t know much, just that he was rumored to be well over a thousand years old. And back in his mortal days he’d been a warrior. He was intensely private and no one knew anything about him.

  No one ever found his bodies. Whatever he did with them, there was never anything to associate a death with him. She realized she was kicking the table with her leg in agitation and stopped.

  He looked like a warrior. Repress all thoughts about being conquered!

  His looks were cold and Nordic. Patrician features, a blue gaze, square jaw and grim mouth. And yet, when Valerie thought of warriors, she thought of action, passion and speed. Lucas was contained, almost reptilian in his quietness. He was still, patient and detached, as though he had utter mastery over himself, his emotions and everything around him. Everything orbited around him without effort because he was so magnetic.

  If there was action and passion to him, it was buried deeply under a mantle of icy boredom.

  Lucas waited for her, almost politely, his legs crossed, power and confidence reined in, as though not wanting to startle her. He gave her a small smile. He was beautiful. Inhumanly so.

  He scared the crap out of her.

  His hair was long and thick, the color of ripe wheat ready to be harvested. It fell beyond his shoulders, heavy and straight. His lips were a pale pink, lighter than a human's would be, but fitting with how pale the rest of him was.

  His hand was suddenly extended across the table to shake hers. Val blinked hard, she hadn't even seen him move.

  “Valerie Dearborn. We meet again.” She hadn’t remembered that he had an accent. It was like he'd blendered up twelve languages and drunk them down in a gulp, so that when he spoke the words had odd pauses and cadences.

  I will not harm you, he'd told her that night in the forest. Did he remember that now? Any chance it still applied?

  Valerie looked around her. The waiters and waitresses were oblivious. Why wouldn't they look over here and see the beautiful and incredibly scary man sitting at her table? She sure as hell wouldn't be able to look away! Her gaze went back to his, then dropped to the hand that was still outstretched. Would he kill her? Could she run? She had to know! Fear blossomed within her— not like a flower, but like blood welling from a gunshot wound, spreading throughout her entire body.

  “I will not kill you, but I do wish we could get past the formality.” He nodded towards his outstretched hand.

  Her voice was shocked and thready, “Can you read my mind?”

  “No, but I understand your expression.”

  Hesitantly, Valerie slid her hand across the table until it was clasped in his. A current of sensation ran up her arm and swirled over her body like water sizzling on a stove.

  She shook her head, denying the feeling. She tried to pull away but he didn’t let go, gently keeping her hand in his. The almost painful sensation retreated like he'd turned the volume down.

  Lucas still held her hand and there was something odd about the hands
hake but she couldn't figure out what it was. His hand looked normal…but it was perfectly conformed to hers, as if bones didn't matter or stop him from moving in any way he might choose.

  It meant that his palm was slightly closer to hers, her hand encompassed by his. She pulled her hand away and he let her, leaning back, then idly picking up her iced chocolate milk.

  He stared at it curiously for a moment, as though it were a small animal that had crawled into the palm of his hand. Almost hesitantly, he lifted it to his lips. He took a sip, his brows raising slightly.

  What the hell did that mean? “Would you like some? I'd happily order you one. Even twenty if you let me out of here, you know, alive.”

  Lucas stared at her in a disinterested way, not acknowledging her words, and the moment became painful, her heart thundering in her chest, as she wondered and dreaded what his silence meant, why he was here and what he wanted from her.

  An eternity ticked by. “No.”

  “No, what?” Her throat was parched.

  “I will not kill you.”

  Gulp. She was waiting for him to say ‘yet’.

  “I am sixteen hundred years old, Valerie Dearborn. Your emotions shine from you, your expressions convey every thought in your head. I can chase you down in a moment. But I will not. Would you like me to promise you again? I promise I will not hurt you. I swear it on my very being.”

  “Lucas, is that like Cher?”

  He continued to watch her in his reptilian way, so she kept talking, nerves prompting her to speak, “Only one name, no last name or family name?” Shut up, Valerie!

  “Would you like to know my full name? I do believe it’s hard knowledge to come by. Lucas Tiberius Junius.” Each word was like a stone, a rock thrown into a pool that rippled outwards and all around the world.

  “Tiberius Junius? Isnt’ that Roman?” she asked, fascinated despite herself.

  “Are you familiar with the Visigoths or the Goths?”

  “Probably not as much as you are. I thought they were separate.”

  “They are. But I was uncertain of your historical education.”

  What, he wanted to know if she got a good grade or something? The chocolate drink was in front of her and Val knew she was going to finish it. If she was going to die she wanted to go out with chocolate in one hand and a shopping bag in the other. She hadn’t realized that she’d been quiet for a few moments until he spoke, breaking the silence and interrupting her deadly contemplations.

  “My Hunter is dead.”

  His words yanked her back to the present. “Excuse me?”

  He didn’t repeat himself and so she had to think about what he’d said. “You had a Hunter? Like what my dad and Jack do or the Hunters who hunt animals?”

  Another small smile was bestowed upon her, as though there were no difference. Perhaps there wasn't. Was he actually telling her that one of the Hunters helped him? That would be a huge betrayal.

  “How else would you humans find us?”

  She was surprised by his easy arrogance and snapped back, “Because people are intelligent and can follow clues and decipher patterns. Hello, CSI. Or Sherlock Holmes, if that helps you. I know you vamps get a little stuck in the past.”

  He actually laughed. It was rich and dark, relaxed and happy, not a laugh appropriate for a vampire. Uh oh. It slid through her, twined around her thighs and slipped inside of her body, making her twist in her seat, an unwelcome, no, a terrifying, glimmer of desire covering her like glitter.

  She flashed a look at him. The laugh had stopped abruptly and he was looking at her oddly. Did he know? If so, how?

  “A vampire is a master at deception and can travel faster and farther than a human. A vampire is stronger and more experienced than a human can be, centuries of practice honing our abilities to kill and survive. A human’s skill will always be paltry in comparison. It’s never been a fair fight and it never shall be. Every time a Hunter kills a vampire, it takes preparation and help. I provide it. The man I used to give information to is gone.”

  She had a horrible suspicion she knew who it was. “Gilbert Arthur.”

  “Good.” He didn't sound particularly pleased with her, despite the praise.

  “Why would you sell out the vampires?”

  “Every creature needs to be policed.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “What is a vampire’s instinct but to kill and take? The division between gluttony and survival is slight.

  Val spluttered in outrage. “Then you are doing a really shitty job, because lots of people— children and parents get slaughtered by vampires every day and there doesn't seem to be any policing going on.” She flushed and looked away. Taking a deep breath, she wondered if she should apologize. I'm sorry I don't stop and think first. Don't kill me, pretty please?

  “Do not let your emotions be your undoing.” His words were deadly quiet.

  “Are you threatening me?”

  A lengthy pause, sky blue eyes boring into hers. Fucking hell, she needed to look away. She looked down but he leaned towards her, crowding in close to her so she could smell his cologne, see the strands of his hair inches from her fingers that rested on the table. She had to look back up and keep track of him.

  “I am not threatening you. I am speaking to you, the very heart of you, asking you to be more careful with your emotions.”

  “I have a temper. I know it’s stupid. I’m sorry.”

  He waved away her apology, “I presume you don’t have a temper. In fact, you are undoubtedly quite tolerant. Loyal. And have a strong sense of right and wrong.”

  The words sounded like a compliment but his tone had been almost sad or cautionary.

  Lucas leaned towards her, his hand on the table. His hand was large, long fingers, buffed and short nails but there were faint scars on top of his hand. A lot of them.

  “Why do you have scars? Shouldn't you be...blemish free?” She'd wanted to say 'perfect' but thought poor word choice might lead to her doom.

  “Injuries received when one is mortal are permanent.” His hand was on the polished wood and Valerie found herself staring at it intently, forgetting where she was or the danger she was in, conscious only of the long, tapered fingers and the back of his pale hand before her.

  She acted thoughtlessly, would later wonder what the hell had possessed her as she reached out and traced one of those fine white scars across his hand from his wrist until it disappeared between his middle and ring finger. His hand stayed still, allowing her to touch him without interruption.

  “They are from swords and knives when I was a boy.”

  Val could imagine him with a sword, an avenging angel who could kill with an effortless swing. His scars were intriguing, humanizing, the flaw adding to his perfection since it was a reminder of his former humanity. His vampiric good looks were almost harsh in their otherworldliness, intimidating, while the scars made him seemed fragile, approachable.

  Fallible.

  Val realized what she was doing and yanked her hand away from his, hiding it beneath the table. He was watching her almost warily.

  Sure, big bad wolf afraid of Little Red Riding Hood.

  “I take great care to keep the killings down. Vampires have feeding partners, which ensures some stability and keeps loss of life to a minimum. We become attached to mortals, just like mortals do to each other. To take blood elsewhere can even be an affront to the relationship if a bond is strong enough.”