Mark of the Fallen: A Fallen Novel

by Jones, Tanisha

  Karim grabbed her arm and pulled her with him out the back door.

  "Wait, Nicky!" She turned to look for her friend just as he was hauled over Briar's shoulder before he barreled through the crowd clearing a path for Remy to follow.

  "He's fine. Your freak of a brother has him. Let's go." Karim practically lifted her as he dragged her out into an alley. He looked confused for a second, until she tugged him to the right, laughing as he stumbled after her.

  "Here. My car is over here!!!" she said and they sprinted around a corner, away from the commotion and a possible night in jail.

  She retrieved a key fob from some hidden location and headlights illuminated the darkened corner where the car was hidden. He slowed his pace a little as they approached the headlights, his eyes gleaming at the sleek Aston Martin V8 Vantage in the exact shade of candy apple red as her pants.

  "Come on, or do you want to go up like a flair when the sun comes up in like, twenty minutes?" she barked.

  He slipped into the passenger seat as she revved the engine. She looked at him for a second before pulling out of the parking space at breakneck speed, the car veered onto the dirt road that ran behind the club and into the night. He watched her handle the car with calm confidence and was amazed. The moonlight played across her face as they left the dirt road, the car climbing onto the smooth highway that led from the Northshore to New Orleans.

  "Celeste, we need to talk-" he began but she flipped on the stereo, the car filling with the sounds of Snoop Dogg and Pharrell's Drop it like it Hot. She whipped through traffic at top speed with the precision of a trained race car driver, her head bopping to the beat. He knew that if he spoke, she would hear him, but why bother. She kept her eyes forward, but he could still smell the lavender and vanilla of her skin. He simply stared as she sang along with the music, and couldn't help but smile. Hot damn, if she wasn't the sexiest woman ever.

  ***

  "Be still," she said, looking at his bruised face. She touched his swollen cheek bone, then his nose, which was bleeding but not broken. She sighed and straightened, placing her hands on her hips.

  "You'll live,” she said after a while, giving the bruised cheek a nice slap. He winced at the sting but said nothing about it.

  "Yeah thanks,” he mumbled, taking the towel she'd given him to clean the blood from his face. "I'm surprised you came up. Hell, I'm surprised you brought me home," he said.

  "Well, as much as I can't stand you, I don't want to see you disintegrated in a jail cell. I want to be the one to kill you," she smirked. Turning, she looked around the kitchen, her eyes wandering around the pristine space, running her hands over the white marble counter top. The apartment wasn't elaborate, but it was comfortable. It smelled clean, like lemon and freshly scrubbed by a housekeeper no doubt. The sofa was leather, dark brown, the decor all beige and blue. There was a large arm chair beside a book shelf, a television and knickknacks. The only thing that made the place look lived in was the artwork.

  "I want to show you something," he'd said when she pulled her car to a stop at the curb in front of his building. She stared at him in the darkened interior of the car.

  "I know what you want to show me, Karim. I've seen it," she’d mumbled and he couldn't help the smile that spread across his bruised and bloodied lips.

  He flinched when the smile reached his bruised and swollen cheek. Feeling a twinge of guilt she agreed to come to his apartment, but only for a moment.

  These paintings, these beautiful, emotional works of art were what he'd wanted to show her and she'd found them unnerving and heart breaking. There were canvases on every wall, beautiful spiraling abstracts, in rich tones with the familiar PT signature line. She stared, her eyes moving on the different works but there seemed to be a theme, deep blues and black with deeply etched features that could be male or female. It was entrancing, like looking into someone's aura. She'd seen similar works in galleries worldwide and they were worth thousands. The artist had never been revealed but was based somewhere in London she believed. Works so elaborate were highly sought after so why did he have so many in this tiny barely used apartment.

  "These are yours?" She asked pointing to the walls.

  He nodded and sighed.

  "It's what I do,” he murmured, pressing an ice pack to his bruised but rapidly healing lip.

  "I would have thought you were a mercenary," she teased. "What does PT stand for?"

  "Prince of Tyre," he sighed, a bit sheepishly.

  She smirked her brow lifted in surprise.

  "Prince? Claiming your throne, your majesty."

  "It is who I am,” he assured her, moving closer. "Disappointed?" He returned her teasing tone and she fought the urge to smile. Instead, she turned and saw one door which she assumed led to his bedroom. That was not a road she needed to take right now. She looked around the living room avoiding his gaze and thoughts of his bed. As apartments went, this one was acceptable she supposed, but she knew this wasn't his home. This was just a place, a place to sleep, eat, bathe, and occasionally work but it wasn't home.

  "Calie, I have to tell you," his tone had become suddenly sincere.

  "I didn't know you had a place in New Orleans. I actually live a couple of blocks from here. Is this what you wanted to show me? Nice,” she said cutting him off. She didn't know why she was telling him where she lived. But she did know she didn't want to hear whatever he wanted to discuss.

  "I only use this place when I need to. I live in Miami, mostly. This is what I wanted to show you."' He pointed to a painting that seemed to hold a place of honor on an easel in a shadowy corner of the room. The canvas was draped with an oil cloth, and when he removed it, she stared with her mouth slightly agape. It was a starry desert night, a lone body standing in the moonlight. The face was turned up to the silver moon, the profile of a beautiful woman with caramel colored skin and dark hair blowing in the cool night air. Her eyes were soft, her face fresh and innocent and full of promise. Celeste stared at the painting, swallowing hard at her own youthful face. That, she noticed, was the face of Calie.

  "Do you like it?" he asked and she nodded, walking around the small living room.

  "It's beautiful. But that girl ... that girl died in that desert a long time ago." She looked at him and for a moment, he saw a shadow cross her face.

  She looked away, and continued to look around the room at the artwork that filled the space with light and color. Karim sat at the bar, the towel in his hand, watching her. She was startled when his custom window shades began to lower, making the already dim room even darker.

  Suddenly, the space felt too intimate and she needed to go before he decided to reenact their little dance floor escapade. The thought of it sent a rush of warmth between her thighs and her cheeks flushed.

  "The sun is up." He rose quietly, moving to stand closer to her. She turned and nearly bumped into him. She felt completely off balance around him, it made her feel weak and awkward. He was staring at her, those cool eyes practically glowing in the darkness of the room. He watched her like a predator, his fangs lengthening and she could practically see what he was thinking.

  "I should go then." She moved to leave and he blocked her path. Closing her eyes she sighed. "Karim, just because I can be in a room without snapping your spine doesn't change anything,” she said.

  He took a step forward, gently brushing her hair off of her forehead. She looked up at him, watching the bruises fade from his lovely face.

  "I know," he said. He reached up to touch her cheek and she ducked away, slipping around him. He grasped her wrist and she flinched as if he'd burned her.

  She pulled away, her eyes wide with an emotion that he had never seen before. Was that fear in her eyes? Or pain?

  "Don't," she said, rubbing her wrist and hastily walked to the door.

  He beat her there, blocking her exit.

  "Tell me what happened," he said, searching her face for a clue, a hint of what it was. But he was slowly getting an idea in
his head, one that he immediately pushed away.

  "No, I have to go, Karim get out of the way." She had her hand on the knob.

  "Not until you tell me," he said.

  He was too close, filling her senses with the smell of sand and ocean and male excitement. She didn't know if it was her proximity or the panic in her that he liked and she wasn't willing to stay and explore. She pulled on the door and he slammed it shut, locking it with his mind.

  "You can't keep me here." She closed her eyes and tried to transport herself out of the place. She concentrated on the hallway outside of the door, willing herself to be there. But something was wrong because she didn't feel the tingle that accompanied transportation. She exhaled, opening her eyes to glare at him. She couldn't leave, he had her right where he wanted her and he knew it. He watched her with a self-satisfied smirk and she wanted to smack him right in the face.

  "The shades have an extra feature. You can't materialize in or out while they're down. Safety precaution. Don't want angry goddesses sneaking in during the day to murder me in my sleep."

  "So I'm not the only female who wants to kill you?" she muttered, and he laughed.

  “You're the only one I wouldn't mind creeping into my bed at night. I'd die a happy man. A very happy man," he assured her and she snorted, turning to stare at his smug expression.

  "You're an asshole,” she groaned. "What is your problem? You just pop up here after all this time and act as if you didn't just abandon me in the desert. You show up at my suite, then again tonight and it's still your usual, draw me in to push me away. Why are you doing this to me? Do you like hurting me? Is this your own little sadistic sexual fetish? Or do you just like the emotional yo-yoing? Is this some vampire bullshit I don't understand? Another notch on what I assume to be a well-worn bedpost? You had your chance and you left." With each word she gave him a poke in the shoulder. She couldn't keep doing this to herself; she couldn't maintain her hatred when he looked at her with those damn diamond eyes.

  "Damn it," she cursed on an exhale.

  He pulled her hard against him, his hand going to the small of her back, his mouth covering hers in a heated kiss that made her toes curl. His hands moved beneath the slinky material of her top, his thumb teasing the delicate bud of her nipple. The touch sent a new wave of heat to the center of her. She whimpered into his mouth then pushed against him, reluctantly breaking the contact.

  "Karim," she panted, not really knowing what to do or say.

  He held her face, his thumb stroking her bottom lip. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, collecting himself before he was able to speak.

  "You have no idea how much I want you. I have always, always wanted you. Whenever I close my eyes I see your face, I smell your scent. I see you and all I want to do is bury myself inside of you. I wake up, my body on fire, my cock aching to be inside of you. I remember everything about you: your voice, your laugh, your taste stays on my tongue, and the feel of your skin is burned into my memory. There is an ache in my chest whenever I see you and it kills me, rips my fucking heart apart knowing that my stupid, selfish childish actions caused you so much pain. I know that I'll never be good enough for you. But when I'm near you, hell when I smell you I just ... shit, I want you so much I can't fucking breathe. Do you know how much it hurts to be so close to you and not be allowed to fucking have you? It's torture. Being around you ... its fucking torture. "

  "Just ... stop talking." She surprised them both by pressing herself against him, her mouth moving over his, her hands holding the back of his head. She tasted of vanilla honey and he could no longer think beyond the feel of her body against him.

  They got as far as the pillar between the kitchen and hallway, her back pressed into it, his hips rocking against her. He trailed kisses over her shoulder, his hands cupping her ass as he began to grind his hips into her. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head before her tongue traced the delicate curve of the tattoo that moved up his shoulder to her neck. He searched for the tie that held the asinine piece of cloth over her breasts and gave it a tug. It fell to the floor and he took a moment to look at her. Her breasts were firm and full, her nipples tight and begging to be kissed. She was breathing heavily, her chest moving up and down in quiet invitation.

  "Oh man,” he cupped them, feeling the fullness in his hands, his thumbs stroking her taut nipples until she arched into him. He lowered his mouth, his tongue tracing one tight bud before he gently bit, and pulled. She made a sound that was not a groan or a sigh but something in between and it seemed to spurn him on. He sucked harder, until her fingers dug into the flesh of his shoulders. While his mouth suckled her deliciously soft skin, his hands worked on the zipper of her pants. When he finally released the zipper, he slipped his hand down to cup her. He expected his finger to sink into soft dark curls, instead he found more, bare silken skin. Lifting his head, he brought his mouth back up to hers, his breath coming in hard shutters as he touched the hot moist flesh at her center.

  "Oh god, you're so wet," he said against her lips. “You feel like velvet." He gently began to stroke her, his fingers moving into the hot folds at her core before he sank one finger inside of her. She gasped, her body bucking against the feel of his fingers. She moaned, when he found the hot throbbing center of her, her hips rising to meet every stroke. She felt the heat building and the release coming sooner than she expected.

  "Oh," she purred, her hand tightening around the wrist of the hand that moved inside of her. She rode the wave her knees buckling as she came hard and long all over his hand. He smiled, his fangs grazing her sensitive nipples and she shivered.

  He pulled away only long enough to peel the pants from her. He tossed her shoes and pants aside and stared at her. She leaned against the wall, her body perfection, even better than he imagined.

  "You are so beautiful," he said, kneeling before her so that his lips could touch the skin just above her navel. She inhaled and cupped the back of his head.

  “I want to kiss every inch of you," he said, his mouth moving lower, until he was on his knees in front of her.

  Her pulse quickened in anticipation, her body feeling too tight and hot, every sense filled with him, his smell his taste, his feel. Gently he parted her thighs, his tongue moving up her inner thigh and her legs shook. He continued toying with her, his fangs nipping at her tender skin as he gently lifted one thigh, draping her leg over his shoulder. He ran his hands up her hips, cupping her ass, just as his tongue touched the sweet, hot core of her.

  "Oh, oh god,” she groaned, her body slumping against the wall as he continued his assault on her body. She arched into him, her hips moving of their own will meeting each delectable stoke of his tongue. Karim licked her, his mouth moving over her clef, his lips closing around the tight bud at her center and she came again. Her hips undulated against him, as she rode the wave of ecstasy, her body slumping forward.

  He held her, taking her to the carpet, where he rolled her onto her back. He tugged at his pants, while moving up her body, her thigh still held tightly against his shoulder. He slipped inside of her and they both shuddered. She was soft and so wet, her body tightening around him. He growled pulling back, then driving into her again.

  She arched her back; her mouth opened but no sound escaped her. He felt so good, his long steady strokes, his mouth on the skin between her breasts. He drove into her again, and again, her body rising to meet each thrust.

  "You feel so damn good," he whispered. “So good.” He moved faster, his hips working like a piston. His body was heated, his eyes glowing white in the darkness. She moaned, her fingers digging into the flesh of his ass, driving him deeper, harder.

  "Oh sweet lord, " he whined and groaned, holding his body still as he felt himself unraveling.

  Ignoring him she bowed her hips back moving to meet his, she swayed her body against him with a need he hadn't expected and he lost all control. He drove harder, faster, meeting her thrusts, his body working on its own. She felt, so d
amn good, he had waited so long and she felt better than he could ever imagine.

  The slow roll of pleasure started at her core then radiated outward until her entire body vibrated like a live wire. Every inch of her pinged with joy as she came once again. Her legs shook from the force of it and her back arched, her head thrown back as a long low moaned escaped her.

  Karim was not far behind, his body tense as he finally exploded. She continued to roll her body drawing every ounce of his seed from him, her body tightening making his orgasm that much stronger. They clung to each other until their trembles subsided, then just lay, spent and exhausted in the cool darkness of the living room.

  She turned to look at him, her fingers moving over the delicate tribal symbols that started just below his right ear, and moved down his shoulder and biceps ending just above his elbow. That tattoo had always fascinated her, she’d wondered about it, but hadn't dared to ask him about it. If she knew too much about him, then she'd start to care again and that would be another massive mistake in a life littered with them. This would end badly. Things like this always ended badly for her.

  He leaned closer, his lips finding hers in the dark. He was still trying to gather himself, his heart hammering in his chest. He'd never felt so alive, never felt so wonderfully warm. "That was pretty damn fantastic. You are pretty damn fantastic," he said.

  "Yeah, it was amazing," she agreed, her eyes drifting closed, her heart aching. He was amazing and beautiful and perfect. She was glad that it was dark and that her body was drenched in sweat. That way he wouldn't be able to distinguish the sweat from her tears.