Caress of Darkness

by Julie Kenner

  And oh, dear god, I’m wet, my body literally aching with need, with a primal desire for him to just rip my clothes off and take me right there on the hard, dusty floor.

  He’s triggered a wildness in me that I don’t understand—and my reaction scares the hell out of me.

  “You need to go,” I say, and I am astonished that my words are both measured and articulate, as if I’m simply announcing that it is closing time to a customer.

  He stays silent, but I shake my head anyway, and hold up a finger as if in emphasis.

  “No,” I say, in response to nothing. “I don’t know anything about this amulet. And now you really need to leave. Please,” I add. “Please, Raine. I need you to go.”

  For a moment he only looks at me. Then he nods, a single tilt of his head in acknowledgment. “All right,” he says very softly. “I’ll go. But I’m not ever leaving you again.”

  I stand frozen, as if his inexplicable words have locked me in place. He turns slowly and strides out of the shop without looking back. And when the door clicks into place behind him and I am once more alone, I gulp in air as tears well in my eyes again.

  I rub my hands over my face, forgiving myself for this emotional miasma because of all the shit that’s happened with my dad. Of course I’m a wreck; what daughter wouldn’t be?

  Determined to get a grip, I follow his path to the door, then hold onto the knob. I’d come over intending to lock it. But now I want to yank it open and beg him to return.

  It’s an urge I fight. It’s just my grief talking. My fear that I’m about to lose my father, the one person in all the world who is close to me, and so I have clung to a stranger in a desperate effort to hold fast to something.

  That, at least, is what my shrink would say. You’re fabricating a connection in order to fill a void. It’s what you do, Callie. It’s what you’ve always done when lonely and afraid.

  I nod, telling myself I agree with Kelly’s voice in my head.

  And I do.

  Because I am lonely.

  And I am afraid of losing my dad.

  But that’s not the whole of it. Because there’s something else that I’m afraid of, too, though I cannot put my finger on it. A strange sense of something coming. Something dark. Something bad.

  And what scares me most is the ridiculous, unreasonable fear that I have just pushed away the one person I need to survive whatever is waiting for me out there in the dark.

  Chapter 2

  He could still taste the sweetness of her lips, and dear god, he wanted more.

  Wanted everything. Wanted her.

  The irony, of course, was that he hadn’t intended to kiss her in the first place, even though from the moment she’d looked at him with those sparkling green eyes it had seemed as if he’d known her forever. But when the tears had welled in her eyes, he knew that he would have done anything to ease her grief.

  The kiss had been tender. Almost sweet. But there was nothing sweet about the way he was feeling now. Bottom line?

  Raine wanted Callie Sinclair. Craved her. Hungered for her.

  Hell, he fucking yearned for her, and that was simply not a feeling he was used to having. Hadn’t been for a very, very long time.

  Oh, sure, he’d gotten off often enough. Lost himself in a woman. In the feel of her body against his. There was power in the claiming of a willing female, in that hard, rough ride that erased the world, at least for those few singular moments as the sensation built and climax approached.

  And when the inevitable explosion came, he’d lose himself in the sharp oblivion that mimicked the death he sought again and again, and yet this death was forged in pleasure and not pain.

  But that was all he wanted or needed—just that physical connection to remind him that no matter how dead he might feel on the inside—no matter how hard he chased that escape and no matter how many times he burned—this body still functioned and he still had a job to do.

  Because if he could fuck, then he could fucking well survive another day, another year, another century.

  Shit.

  He ran his fingers over his close-cropped hair and told himself to get a grip. An ironic lecture since he stood like a criminal in the shadows across the street from Sinclair’s Antiques, his eyes trained on the now-locked door.

  Thank goodness he’d dismissed Dennis, Phoenix Security’s driver, telling him to go ahead and simply be on call in case Raine needed him later. He hardly wanted to explain to the eager twenty-three-year-old why the hell he was standing like an idiot, waiting for just another glimpse of this woman who’d gotten so deep under his skin.

  Christ, he was pathetic. For millennia he’d not been distracted by a woman. Not since he’d lost Livia, his mate.

  Oh, he’d fucked plenty, but that was to escape. Because even after all these centuries, he still craved what he’d lost when she’d been ripped from him.

  They’d been bonded, and never once had he believed that he would ever feel that same emotional connection with another female.

  And yet this woman—Sinclair’s daughter—not only caught his attention, but sparked his awareness.

  The intensity of his reaction to Callie had taken him by surprise, and he told himself that he was simply attracted to her beauty. That he just wanted to fuck her—but that wasn’t true at all.

  He wanted to protect her.

  He wanted to have her.

  Dammit, he may not have met her before tonight, but he knew her. Her heart. Her core.

  And that’s why he stood there in the dark.

  That’s why he was watching her door.

  And that’s why the moment she left the building, he was going to follow her—all the way to wherever the hell that might lead.

  * * * *

  “Callie, I didn’t realize you’d come in. Why on earth are you sitting in the dark?”

  I look over at Nurse Bennett and shrug, feeling small and a bit lost. “I just wanted to be here.”

  “You okay, honey?”

  I’m curled up under a thin blanket on the lumpy couch in my father’s private hospital room. She sits down beside me and puts her hand on my knee. I expect her to say comforting things. Like how just because the doctors are already talking about transferring him to a nursing home doesn’t mean that he might not still pull through.

  She doesn’t say that, though, and I’m grateful, because I know she doesn’t believe it. The truth is, despite what I told Raine, I don’t think my dad’s going to get better, and I hate myself for that.

  “Still nothing today?” I ask, though the question is just for form. Since the stroke, he’s spoken only once, and that was to the EMS tech who came after a pedestrian found him sprawled on the street in front of his shop.

  “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “What do you think he was trying to say?” I hate how needy I sound, but I can’t help but cling to those last words, as if they were a message for me that, if I only understood, would somehow change everything.

  “Don’t do that to yourself, Callie. We’ve talked about this. A stroke is a traumatic event to the brain, and your father didn’t just have one stroke but several in quick succession. In that situation, hallucinations are common.”

  “A pillar of fire with the face of a man? That’s common?”

  “That’s why they call it a hallucination.”

  “But why that?”

  She squeezes my hand. “There’s probably no reason at all. You can twist yourself up trying to find meaning where there’s none to be found.”

  I nod because I know she’s right. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’m going to miss both of you. Have you decided what you’re going to do long term?”

  I draw a deep breath. The decision I’ve made is so permanent, and I hate that I’m making it for my dad, too. But the days keep moving forward, and I have to move with them.

  “I talked with a nursing home in Texas. I’m going to stay in New York another week and get his shop clo
sed up and hire an agent to sell the property and talk to Sotheby’s about putting some of the more important pieces up for auction. Then I’m going to go home, and I’ll arrange for Dad’s transport to Dallas as soon as a private room opens up. They don’t think it’ll take too long.”

  “Well, like I said, I’ll miss you both. But it’s good that you’re going back to your friends and your work, and that you’ll have your dad nearby.”

  I nod and smile, but the truth is that I’m not sure that anywhere will feel like home anymore. Because right now, all I feel is alone.

  Nurse Bennett gives my shoulder a friendly pat as she stands. “I’m going to check his vitals and get out of your hair. Don’t stay here tonight, sweetie. You should go home where you can get a good night’s sleep.”

  “I will,” I say, though that’s probably a lie. More nights than not, I fall asleep on this couch. It’s strange, I know, but there’s something comforting about the buzz and chirp of the machinery. Even the steady rhythm of the air flowing through the oxygen mask gives me some hope. Because as long as these machines are running, my father is alive. And as long as he’s alive, he might return to me.

  “I’m trying, sweetheart. You know that I’m trying.”

  “Daddy?” I search, but I see nothing but the dark.

  “I’m right here, baby. But I have to tell you—you have to know.”

  “Have to know what?”

  A low rumbling fills my ears, and I strain to make out words. Nothing is clear, though. Nothing until I hear my father’s voice saying, “And you have to be careful.”

  “I don’t understand.” There’s a frantic edge to my voice. “Daddy, I couldn’t hear you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Look down.”

  I do, and now I can see my hand in his. He squeezes and fire rises up, flames licking our joined hands.

  I yank mine free and leap to my feet.

  “Daddy!” The word jerks me from sleep, and I realize that I am on my feet and breathing hard. Even now, I can feel the warmth of the flames and the pressure of my father’s hand against my own. But there is nothing there, and my father is all the way across the room, still in the bed and attached to the IVs and machines that beep and hum.

  I don’t remember falling asleep, but I must have, because clearly I have been dreaming.

  I close my eyes and press my fingers to my temples. A nightmare. Just a nightmare. Not a message. Not a code. Not a portent.

  My father had a stroke, and no matter what I may wish or hope or want to be true, I have to suck it up and deal with that.

  I think about what Nurse Bennett said, and I know that she is right. I need to get out of here, at least for a while. Bad sleep and nightmares aren’t going to help my dad, they aren’t going to help me, and they sure as hell aren’t going to heal my grief.

  At my dad’s bedside, I lean over and kiss his cheek. “You be good, Daddy,” I whisper. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I’m doing the right thing—I know that. But once I am outside, the idea of going back to the apartment above my father’s store doesn’t appeal.

  I don’t want to be alone, and I consider finding a club. Someplace loud enough that I don’t have to talk, and with the kind of heavy bass that pounds through you, almost like sex. A place with no cover for women, and enough good-looking guys to make it worth the bother.

  I consider it, but I don’t do it. That’s not what I crave tonight. I don’t want to search for something that I know I’m not going to find. I don’t want to pretend that being in the arms of some stranger is going to make a difference.

  I don’t want fake.

  And I have no idea how to find something—or someone—who is real.

  So I simply wander, walking from the hospital back toward my dad’s store on 59th. I don’t have a plan, I don’t have a purpose, and it isn’t until I turn into a small bar with dark wood and dim lights that I realize I want a drink. Maybe even two.

  Hell, maybe I’ll have three and ease myself into a dreamless sleep.

  It’s late on a weeknight, and the place isn’t crowded. I take one of the empty stools a few seats down from a couple who are clearly on their first date, then settle in.

  “By yourself tonight?” the bartender asks as she puts a dish of spicy nuts and pretzels in front of me.

  “Sad but true.”

  “The hell with that,” she says. “Sometimes alone is the best way to be. What can I get for you?”

  “Sounds like you’ve been there, done that,” I say after I order a glass of Glenmorangie, neat. I’m leaning forward, my elbows on the bar as she pours, then pushes it in front of me.

  “Honey, if you knew my ex, you’d understand that I speak only the truth. Trust me. Ginger knows what Ginger knows, and Ginger knows that alone can be just fine and dandy. Especially if you have a battery operated friend.”

  I bark out a laugh, almost spitting out my first sip of scotch as I do. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  I wait until she’s walked away to check on other customers before taking another sip. It’s excellent, and I lean against the back of the stool and relax, thinking that this is exactly what I need. A good drink. A laid-back atmosphere. And a bartender who reminds me of my paralegal back in Dallas, a wild redhead who’s never met a stranger and manages to brighten even the crappiest of days. And when you prosecute homicides and sex offenders, some of those days really can be crappy.

  I finish my scotch as I check my phone. My boss has a daughter about my age, and he promised to keep work out of my inbox except in the direst of emergencies. If the state of my e-mail is any indication, the criminal underworld in Texas hasn’t completely exploded, for which I’m grateful.

  At the same time, I’m feeling a little irrelevant. I can’t help my dad and my job is sailing smoothly without me. I couldn’t even help Rainer Engel, and now he’s probably never going to get his amulet, because I have no idea what it looks like or where it might be. And none of the recent purchase orders and invoices I’ve reviewed in the store suggest that my father had acquired the thing at all, despite Raine’s certainty that Daddy had not only acquired it, but was expecting Raine to come by and get it.

  I trace my finger over the rim of my glass as I think about Raine.

  You want something real? He’s about as real as it gets.

  The thought comes unbidden into my mind, and I have a hard time dismissing it, as much as I try.

  I don’t want to think about Rainer Engel. Not like that. I don’t want to remember his mouth on mine. I don’t want to think about his hands on my skin. I don’t want to remember the way my body fired merely from his proximity or the way his touch had both consumed and overwhelmed me.

  He was larger than life, commanding without being overpowering, and his kiss had completely filled my senses, making me feel more alive than I’d felt in a very long time.

  I don’t want to think of any of that, and yet what choice do I have? Because now that he is in my thoughts, he has possessed me completely, his memory alone as commanding as the man himself, and now I’m feeling antsy and wild and I just want to be home alone in the dark with these wild thoughts and decadent memories.

  I toss a twenty onto the bar and stand up. Then I turn—and then I gasp.

  Raine.

  He’s right there, just inches away, and there is a hunger on his face so potent I have to reach for the bar to steady myself.

  “With me, angel.”

  “Excuse me?” My pulse beats in my ear, so loud that it has drowned out everything except the two of us and the sound of my own breathing.

  “You heard me.” He moves closer, then reaches for the bar as well. The result is that I’m trapped, with a barstool on one side of me, the bar itself on the other, and Raine in front of me. Between us, the air crackles and pops, alive with the heat we are generating. “You’re coming with me.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but find myself asking, “Where?”

 
It’s a tactical error on my part, and one that isn’t lost on the man. His smile flows like liquid sin, and instead of answering, he simply holds out his hand.

  “This guy bothering you?” Ginger stands like a pit bull behind the bar, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of her going up against the likes of Raine.

  Raine’s body doesn’t shift but I see the storm building in those exceptional blue eyes. “How about it, angel? Am I bothering you?”

  I’m bothered, all right. But not in the way Ginger means. Slowly, I shake my head. Even more slowly, I reach for his hand. “It’s okay,” I say, surprised that there is no hesitation in my voice. “I’m with him.”

  His fingers twine with mine, and as before, I feel that shock of connection, only this time it seems even more potent, as if this contact is a key, and by merely taking his hand I have opened a door that I may never be able to close.

  Chapter 3

  Raine held tight to her hand, reveling in the sensation of her skin against his. Of the familiarity of this woman he had only just met—and yet he was becoming increasingly certain that he already knew her deeply. Intimately.

  He needed to feel her—to touch her. He needed to bury himself in her and find out if what he believed was true. If Callie Sinclair was truly the miracle he suspected.

  Desire and need welled up in him, and he pulled her close, pressing his other hand to the small of her back. He searched her eyes, shining now with emerald fire, and was relieved to see no fear, no hesitation. And yet the worry that he’d seen on her face as she’d left the hospital still lingered, and he was overwhelmed by a wave of fierce protectiveness.

  Had he thought he needed her in his bed to satisfy his own craving? He did, yes, but that was no longer his primary desire. On the contrary, he wanted, needed, to erase her worry. To ease her. To hold her as she opened up, both wanting him and trusting him.

  He needed to build—or rebuild—this connection between them. Because it wasn’t just her body he intended to claim, it was the woman—body, mind, soul.