The Better Part of Darkness

by Kelly Gay

  His brow furrowed, his demeanor changing from naked warlock to naked scholar. “No … there’s something. Are you in training?”

  “Me. In training.” I gave a short laugh. “Yeah, the day Charbydon starts sprouting daisies is the day I’ll start crafting.” I held up my hands in a gesture of innocence. “No superpowers in this body.”

  “You look familiar, too.”

  Then it hit me, and I blurted out before I could stop myself, “You must know my sister, Bryn. She’s a member of your league.”

  Damn, damn, damn!

  God! Idiot, Charlie! I wanted to smack myself in the forehead, but instead I pinched the bridge of my nose, wanting to forget the whole thing, wanting to forget the entire day, in fact. I grabbed the wineglass and downed half. I’d just blown my cover.

  “Ah. That’s it. I do know her,” Aaron was saying. I glanced over and saw his expression change briefly to chagrin before returning to its calm, slightly amused state. I raised my eyebrow in question. “Alas, she has no desire for the likes of me.”

  “Poor you,” I said, fiddling with the wineglass, “I’m sure somehow you’ll cope.”

  He shrugged, unable to argue with my prophetic words. “So, you’re the detective.”

  The total imbecile, you mean. I never should’ve blurted out Bryn’s name. Just put me in a room with a gorgeous naked man and I lose every ounce of training I ever had.

  Aaron’s gaze turned soft. He leaned in. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  Right. This wasn’t a game. And if it was, I’d just lost big time.

  “Really, Charlie,” he said.

  Not that I truly believed him, but what else could I do but make the best of it? I faced him square-on. “Then you won’t mind answering a few questions.”

  He sat back in the chair, stretched his legs out, and tucked his hands behind his head, displaying his nakedness in all its glory. “Shoot.”

  Oh, boy. “Will you please sit up? How can I question you like that?” Amusement brightened his eyes, but he complied. I continued before I could think about the pose he’d just given me. “Who would you talk to if you wanted to get into Veritas?”

  “Veritas?”

  I lowered my voice. “I already know it exists, so you can cut the act. I want to know where they meet and when.”

  Aaron finished off his water and waved a nymph over to refill the glass. Then he plucked a peach from the fruit basket and took a healthy bite. “I know of it, nothing more.”

  “And what do you know about ash?”

  “Is that what they’re calling it?”

  “Yeah. You know anything about it?”

  “Not a thing. I heard on the news it might be a virus of some kind.”

  A groan escaped before I could help it. “No. It’s not a damned virus. It’s a narcotic, a drug.” I was getting tired of the media spin and the panic it was causing. Talk about responsible journalism. “Look, I know the drill in places like this. Spend enough money, and The Bath House will cater to anything and everything in its back rooms. Sex, drugs, you name it. Who would I see if I wanted to get a fix?”

  “Maybe that’s true for some patrons,” he said slowly. “Not for me. Some of us do just come here to unwind.” He stared hard and unblinking at me until I acknowledged his statement. I dipped my head. “What goes on in the back rooms, I wouldn’t know. Neither would most you see here.”

  “Fine. Good for you. But if you were into something like that, who would you talk to?”

  “Zara, maybe. She’s head concierge here. Probably knows how to get whatever a client wants.”

  I caught sight of Hank coming out of the water. He motioned to me. I turned to Aaron and stood. Showtime. “Thanks for the info.” He bent forward and went to stand, but I raised my hand. “No! You’re fine. Really. Please, don’t get up.” Please, don’t get up.

  He eased back down, grinning. “Say hello to your sister for me.”

  I shot him an eye roll and then hurried toward Hank. Whatever. I wasn’t a love messenger for my sister, and I sure as hell wouldn’t tell her Aaron said hi. She didn’t need someone like him in her life. He was a player even if he did deny it.

  I made my way to my partner’s glistening wet body and equally wet see-through sarong. Great. A woman needed blinders if she wanted to function like a normal human being in this place.

  “Anything?” I asked, trying to be all business and not look where I shouldn’t.

  “Zara.”

  “That’s what I got, too.”

  Together we went farther into The Bath House, our bare footsteps silent on the warm tiles. We passed room after room filled with luxury and decadence. Massage rooms, small baths, lounging areas, and banquettes. The scents of massage oils and food hung heavy in the air, and the distinct sounds of pleasure kept my face burning. Reluctant, yet curious at the same time, I scanned the rooms for suspicious activity, but all I saw were males and females flirting, talking, making out, and doing other things that I let my gaze skip over.

  “There she is,” Hank said as we came upon another counter hidden among palms, plants, and statues.

  A siren looked up from a computer monitor. When she saw us, her face turned red. Good. At least I wasn’t the only one now. “Hank.” Her deeply sensual voice quivered slightly. In a nervous gesture, she swept her straight strawberry blonde hair behind one ear. “It’s been a while. How are you?”

  Immediately, Hank covered his discomfort with a stern set to his jaw. Oh, perfect. This was his crush?

  He cleared his throat. “My friend and I were looking for something a little more fun than the usual. You have any ideas?”

  Zara stared at Hank like he’d just stolen her tricycle, and then the look was gone, replaced by a jaded hardness only another female could detect, the disappointment on her flawless face as clear as day. This was like watching the National Geographic Channel. The first blundering meeting of siren mates.

  “We don’t offer anything other than what’s on the services list,” she said tightly.

  He leaned forward with a cheesy, condescending smirk. “We all know that’s not true, so—”

  I smacked Hank’s bare arm and nudged him over with my hip. “Zara.” I had to step in before Hank made a complete fool of himself. Couldn’t he see she liked him, too? “We’re ITF. And we need you to help us out before we have to close up shop and get the entire department down here with a search warrant.”

  Shock widened her eyes. Her gaze darted from me to Hank, who stared at me, mouth hung open.

  I shrugged. “What?”

  “You’re ITF?” She wasn’t looking at me, but Hank.

  “Way to go, Madigan,” he grumbled before turning to her and admitting to the truth of my words.

  “You can thank me later,” I quipped under my breath, stepping closer to the counter. “Zara, we need your help. Specifically, we need to know if any new drug has passed through here, who brought it, and from where. We also have to get into Veritas.”

  Her perfect skin turned a shade paler. “I’d lose my job if I let anyone into Veritas.”

  “You’ll probably lose it if you don’t cooperate, we’re forced to close this place down, and your boss loses thousands in revenue.”

  Hank scrubbed his hands down his face. “No one will know you let us in. We’ll keep it confidential. Lie if we have to.” He bumped me. “Right, Charlie?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment and then stood suddenly. With a grim set to her jaw, she flipped her long hair behind squared shoulders and turned off the computer monitor. “I never liked Veritas anyway. Follow me.”

  The statuesque siren was only a few inches shy of six feet, way taller than I would’ve guessed. That annoyed me. Then I became annoyed at my annoyance. Why did I care how tall she was, or that she had the backside of a warrior goddess, or that her hair was gorgeous? I bet she ironed it. I bet it wasn’t naturally that glossy and straight.

  I shook
away the mental pettiness and tried to focus on the job at hand. Zara had nothing to do with me or the investigation. So far she seemed cooperative and smart. Not a bad choice in mates. Jealousy was something I rarely experienced and it wasn’t something I intended to feel for Hank’s future romance.

  Zara led us to the rear of The Bath House and then up a flight of winding stairs hidden by vines and palms. The air became wetter and thicker as we ascended, making the scent of greenery stronger and my bare feet stick to the hardwood stairs with each step. The palms rustled and wings flapped as the birds sought heavier cover as we approached the landing.

  Once there, Zara entered a key code to open a dark wooden door. I knew the minute the air hissed out that trouble had finally found us.

  “To get out you hit the same code. One. Five. Seven. Seven.”

  I nodded my thanks while recording the code into memory, then made nice and stepped into the dimly lit hallway, allowing them a moment alone.

  Immediately, I was hit with the shock of air-conditioned air. Goose bumps sprouted on my bare arms and thighs. Wishing Hank would hurry, I rubbed the bumps and scanned the hall. Dark hardwood floors. Nice Oriental runner. Wrought iron sconces, which provided light on both sides of the hallway.

  More than anything I wished I had my firearms. We trained twice a week in hand-to-hand combat to condition our physical strength, learn new moves, and constantly remind ourselves that sometimes we’d have to rely on brute force, but God I felt vulnerable without them.

  This was just nosing around, though. It wasn’t like we were there to arrest anyone.

  After a brief conversation, Hank joined me, letting the door close quietly behind us. The hair on the back of my neck stood as we progressed in barefoot silence down the elegant hallway, passing an antique gilded mirror hung over a hall table, oil paintings of fowl and hunting dogs, and tall Asian vases. The feeling of premonition was so great in me that I had to force myself to walk forward. My vision wavered a few times, making me blink hard and shake the cobwebs away.

  “Zara said the club is not in session tonight,” Hank told me in a low voice. “Most members only come on meeting nights.”

  “Most. Means we need to stay alert. Play innocent if anyone finds us. Say we found the staircase and were just pressing numbers and the door opened.” The strength in my legs continued to weaken. A small tremble began in my hands. I shook them, annoyed by the sudden onslaught.

  “Sounds good to me. What’s wrong with your hand?”

  “Nothing.” I opened and closed my fists. “Just pins and needles.” I was so cold.

  We inched down the hallway, checking each door. The rooms held leather couches and chairs. A cigar room. Billiards. A small bath. A few bedrooms. Finally, we heard voices coming from one of the rooms at the end of the hall.

  I lifted my hand to stop Hank, tiptoed to the door, and then pressed my ear to the cold, smooth wood. My legs were so weak now, I had to kneel down. Hank didn’t listen. I felt his presence above me and looked up to see him lean over me and put his ear on the door. I gave him a sharp look, but he wasn’t paying attention. If I turned my head, my nose would be inches from his crotch.

  I jabbed him in the thigh, and he glanced down at me with an irritated expression. Move over, I mouthed, jerking my thumb to the left. His eyes lit with laughter as he realized my position—on my knees in front of his sarong-encased manhood. I wasn’t laughing. He mouthed back, Sorry.

  Voices came from beyond the door.

  “It’s all over the news.”

  “Why contain it? I say we use it to our advantage. It’s perfect timing.”

  “It could backfire, make us look like opportunists.”

  Three voices. One vaguely familiar. I closed my eyes, thinking it would somehow allow me to hear better, but all I saw were flashes of my dream. Those terrible images. I gasped and lost my balance, catching myself with both hands on the soft carpet.

  “What? What it is?” Hank whispered.

  “Nothing.” I shook it off, reaching for my weapon. It wasn’t there. Shit. “We need to get into that room.”

  “We don’t have backup. Or weapons.”

  I pushed to my feet and stepped back, biting my lip. We could break the door down, but that would tip off whoever was inside that we were the law. We could wait for them to come out, but that could take hours and there might be another exit from the room.

  I turned to Hank. “Put your arms around me.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Our plan. We embrace, fall into the door. It bursts open. We get a good look at them and then act like we were just looking for a place to …”

  “Get it on.” His face split into a blinding, deep-dimpled grin. “I like the way you think, Madigan.”

  “Focus, Hank.”

  We backed away from the door. All business, I wrapped my arms lightly around him, hesitant to touch his smooth, bare skin. My hands settled against his warm back, and I tried not to dwell on the hard muscle under my palms. Hank took my cue, but in his usual all-consuming way. He enveloped me, holding me tightly, one big hand between my shoulder blades and the other splayed way too low on my back. He really didn’t need to press so hard or make sure my hips were that snug against him. I had a feeling if I looked up, it’d be to see him grinning like a damn fool and enjoying this immensely. And the last thing I wanted was to make eye contact lest he see how truly uncomfortable this position had become.

  I tried to ignore the scent of his skin mixed with faint traces of the herby stuff that perfumed the baths. And just for a moment, the urge was there to snuggle into him and enjoy the protection and the instant warmth that vanquished the cold.

  “Let my shoulder hit the door,” he said, practically lifting me off my feet. “Ready?”

  Tensing, I nodded without looking at him.

  We rushed the door, twisting before impact so that his shoulder hit the wood, and rammed the door hard enough to fly through.

  The breath whooshed out of me as my back connected with hardwood floor and Hank landed on my stomach and chest. So much for chivalry. I’d taken the brunt of the fall, cushioning his landing. He lay sprawled halfway on top of me, our legs intertwined and my gown riding high on my hips. His body shook, and I realized he was laughing, his face buried in my hair and against my neck. I wasn’t sure if it was for real or for the benefit of the room’s occupants.

  Recovering my breath, I decided to follow his lead, laughed, and then brushed the hair from my face to see two startled males standing in front of a large desk, staring down at us with a mix of outrage and shock.

  “Who the hell are you? Who let you in here?” A thin, dark-haired male stared down at us, his narrow face pinched and red and very familiar

  Hank untangled himself from me and helped me stand. My hand was in his when I recognized the accent of the male who’d spoken and immediately realized why he looked so familiar. Otorius, Representative of the Charbydon Political Party here in Atlanta. What the hell was a Charbydon noble doing in a strictly Elysian place of business? And it wasn’t every day you came across a noble—there were so few of them. The significance didn’t escape me as I feigned an embarrassed smile while rearranging my gown.

  “Sorry, fellas,” Hank said, wrapping an arm around my waist and squeezing. “Just, you know, looking for a quiet spot with my lady.”

  I stifled a groan. He was enjoying this charade way too much.

  I turned my attention to the other one in the room and guessed from the cut of his suit and the confidence in his bearing that he was also a noble. In ancient times, we called them gods. They preferred the term Overlords, but I refused to call them that, arrogant bastards. They had the same enormous ego of the Adonai, making me wonder if the “First Ones” myth was true, if somewhere deep in the off-worlders’ ancient history the Elysian Adonai and the Charbydon nobles came from the same stock. Say that now, to either side, and you’d get your heart served to you on a silver platter.

  The uniden
tified noble was leaning his hip on the desk, hands shoved into the pockets of black slacks, regarding me with open interest.

  Calmly, I met his stare. A slight grin played on his mouth. Easy, absolute confidence surrounded him, and there was a sultry charisma that clung to him. Jet-black hair framed a face with hard angles, and eyebrows that reminded me of a crow’s wings in flight. He cocked one of those eyebrows at me, and I tried not to notice that my stomach did a gentle, surprising pull. Immediately, I suspected an allure charm.

  “How did you get through the main entrance?” Otorius asked.

  I played the submissive woman and let Hank explain the scenario we’d concocted. We were met with some serious suspicion. But Hank just cocked a grin and said, “Guess we got lucky, right, babe?”

  “Right.”

  Then the chair behind the desk turned around.

  My heart stopped.

  If Hank’s arm hadn’t been around me, I would’ve fallen.

  The being who sat behind it came from my worst nightmare. The one I’d had every night since my death.

  It was the dark one in the field who’d picked the flesh from my bones. He was here. And he was real.

  Fear clawed at my mind, and my mouth went bone dry. I couldn’t swallow, couldn’t catch my breath. Every hair on my arms and legs stood straight.

  My heart started again, hammering way too fast. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, so I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision, knowing I couldn’t be looking at the same male who’d invaded my dreams. But somehow it was. I might not have seen his face clearly in my nightmare, but I knew it was him. Somehow I knew.

  His stare was on me from the moment he turned around and his eyes pierced me with horror, with every childhood dread and image of evil, all wrapped up in a face that spoke of calm, efficient brutality. A diabolical face.

  I swayed. My fingernails dug into Hank’s arm. From the corner of my eye I saw him glance down questioningly.

  “Who are you?” I choked out, trying desperately to hold on to reality and not give in to the weakness in my knees and the roll of my stomach.

  His lips split slowly into a smile that didn’t move to his flat black eyes. “Come now, Charlie. You don’t remember?”