Awaken The Dark Paradise Chronicles 1

by Isadora Brown

  Noir let out his howling cackle. He was muffled by the city noise but Keirah heard it crystal clear. Only then did a shiver of fear spread through her body.

  “That’s ri-iii-ight,” he said as though he had forgotten. His eyes shifted downwards, staring intently, as though he could see through the material of her dress. Shifting his face only slightly, their cheeks now brushing, he said, “And my friend, well, he had such a great time with your side that he wanted to, hum … see you again. Now …” He repositioned his head so his forehead once again rested on hers. He released the balustrade and grabbed the opening of the slit of her dress with his fingertips. She watched in fascination, completely paralyzed as he slowly dragged the slit up so it revealed her stomach. “I want to see my mark on you.”

  He wasn’t looking at her thigh, at the strap of her underwear. His eyes were solely focused on the scar. It was nothing to be proud of or ashamed of. It was a soft pink color now, a small horizontal sliver that somehow looked like a smile. She had no idea how he could see it in the darkness, but the look in his eyes as he gazed at her skin was proud and territorial. He bit his lip and raised his finger. She felt the leather of the glove as it caressed the mark he had inflicted. She gasped softly in surprise and watched as he traced it.

  When he was done, he let the dress fall, leaning forward. A cheeky smile was on his face. “Have ya missed me, dear?” he purred, his eyes locking on hers with no intention of releasing them. “See, ‘cause I’ve missed you. A lot. I’ve missed your face. I’ve missed your wit. Your voice-ah.” He pressed his body against hers. “Your, uh …” His eyes dropped, studying her openly, hungrily. “Well, your body. I haven’t been sleeping without you. It would appear in the mere hours that we slept together, my body, well it craves the presence of yours.

  “Now, ya see, I like to play games. Big, explosive, fatal games with my friends, the population of Onyx. But I’m not the sharpest tack when I haven’t gotten my, hum … beauty sleep. So I have taken it upon myself to steal. You. Back.” With that, he pressed his lips against hers, but not so he could kiss her. “You are mine now, my love. And you will be mine, in every sense of the word.” He cleared his throat and took a step back, offering her his hand. “Well-ah, princess, your castle awaits. Are you ready?” He perked his brow, a lazy but expectant look on his face.

  She paused, chewing the corner of her lip. Everything is wrong with this, she thought, and yet, she felt herself place her hand in his.

  “How exactly do you intend to escape?” Keirah asked as Noir curled his gloved fingers around her wrist. “There are bouncers, police, not to mention tons of people who all recognize you.”

  “Why,” he told her with a sickening smack of his lips, “we’re going to walk out the front door, of course.”

  Almost as if on cue, a police siren went off in the distance and the museum alarm began blaring. Noir seemed immune to any distress, however, because he led his prize back into the museum. Instead of encountering awaiting police officers and a SWAT team as Keirah originally anticipated, they were met with nothing. The second floor of the museum, filled with religious iconography rather than mythology, was eerily silent; no curious voyeurs or couples needing somewhere empty could be found anywhere.

  “Funny thing about humans,” Noir said, “is you can pay them to do practically anything. Hum … there is no such thing as pricelessness. Anything can be bought. Anything can be purchased. Happiness and love, passion and hate, contrary to popular belief, can be bought.”

  “What does that have anything to do with …” Keirah let her voice trail off.

  “Why, I thought it was obvious, my dear,” he said, finally looking at her and flashing his yellow teeth. “Money has everything to do with, hum … everything.” His tone lowered as he barked out the last word, and she noticed how jovial he looked. “Quite frankly, it’s the cops I don’t understand. They always take what, uh, well, what isn’t theirs. It took me a good half hour to get my collection of knives back. And they took you from me, didn’t they? Guarding you and whatnot, as though you were some sort of, well, princess.”

  “Yeah,” Keirah said, rolling her eyes as they continued to head down the stairs, “except instead of my prince, the court jester decides to rescue me.” Her ironic tone caused him to laugh.

  “I have missed your wit, my dear-ah. Now, as I was say-ing, cops unnerve me to no end.” This time, his hazel eyes had no amused sparkle in them. In fact, he looked downright scary. “It is always, hum … amusing to me when I outsmart them; although, to be, ah, frank, it really isn’t all that difficult to do, really. You see, money will get you anything you want, especially amusement.”

  They continued on down to the first floor, and when they reached the stairwell door, Keirah held her breath. She was afraid that once these doors were open, officers and SWAT teams would be waiting for them with their weapons drawn. The fact that she was holding Noir’s hand in a seemingly intimate gesture probably wouldn’t help her case for innocence.

  Was she innocent? She had mulled over that question a lot this past month. She hadn’t done anything wrong, per se, and she felt as though the looming feelings she was starting to feel weren’t exactly innocent either. A small but growing part of her sympathized with the man. A large, unabashed part of her was fascinated by him. Another small part of her was attracted to him. And another, more persistent part of her was afraid. Afraid for him. Afraid for his life. Maybe her hands weren’t exactly as clean in this as she would have liked.

  “And what kind of amusement did your money get you?” she asked, a slightly suspicious undertone in her voice.

  With his free hand, Noir opened the door and Keirah held her breath. However, instead of coming in contact with any people, she was met with silence. The lobby was completely empty.

  Noir howled at her reaction and he ruffled her hair. “The building has, uh, well, it’s been e-va-cu-ay-ted,” he told her as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, “due to a sighting of me. Safety first and all that.” He began to walk toward the front door. Keirah had no choice but to follow.

  “If they evacuated because someone saw you, why isn’t anyone in here looking for you?” she asked, still confused.

  “I never said they were looking for me,” he told her as they walked out the front doors of the museum. He quickly popped the collar of his shirt and tilted his fedora down in hopes of masking his identifying features while continuing to lead Keirah through the large crowd of people, all murmuring to themselves, trying to get shelter from the rain, and staring dumbly at the museum. “I merely said someone thought they saw me.”

  Keirah’s brow pushed up as she recognized what he meant. She was so consumed in the unraveling of Noir’s twisted escape plan, she didn’t realize she was in a car until she heard it start up. She blinked once, and then, without thinking, buckled her seatbelt. She looked out the window in the backseat and for a glimmer of a moment, she thought she saw Andie in the crowd. When she blinked, the image was gone.

  “The whole conversation about money was for a reason,” Keirah said, turning to look at him. A man dressed in all black was driving the car, with another man in the passenger seat. “You paid someone to dress up as you and cause a diversion while you came and got me. Then, while everyone evacuated and worked themselves up, we could slip away without any notice.” She paused and pursed her lips before nodding once. “I must say, that was pretty ingenious, except …” She shrugged. “I just didn’t expect you to go through so much trouble for me.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, my sweet,” he said. “With today’s economy, I, uh, well, I didn’t pay the guy that much. Ya see, crime thrives in shitty economies. Everything is a whole hell of a lot, hum … cheaper than normal. It’s simple really, you are mine and I returrrned for what is mine. You are a pet, a plaything, a source of amusement. When I get tired of you, you can easily be, uh, replaced.” He grinned as a thought entered his mind. “All is right in the world so long as cops stay fi
ckle. I will continue to thrive as long as cops stay fickle. Cops will always be fickle, so, well, I will always thrive.”

  “What are you going to do when you get bored of Onyx?” Keirah asked. “Of the Black Wing?”

  “What I always do when I, ah, get bored with things,” he replied, lifting his shoulders nonchalantly. He faced her, his eyes going over every inch of her skin. “Replace them.”

  21

  Reese

  When the alarm went off, Reese was in the bathroom touching up her makeup and brushing out the frizz that always invaded her hair whenever she broke a sweat. Besides soccer, she never really had to worry about it. Though she loved dancing, she knew she was bad at it and therefore rarely participated in the activity, especially in public, but she was at a party and her friends insisted.

  As she began to apply another coat of mascara, her vision turned black and goose bumps sprang up on the back of her neck. She only had this feeling one other time, and that was when— the accident. She barely remembered that vision. There was a man, but she couldn’t make out much of him except gold buttons on a wrinkled self-made brown jacket and scruff on his face. He was holding her, her face pressed in his chest like she fit him perfectly. His hand was pressed flat against the bare skin of the small of her back. It was rough, like he had worked more than she had ever known, but provided her with more comfort and security than she had believed could be found in a single touch.

  It was the first thing she thought of when she woke up from the coma.

  This vision was much worse. She smelled the itchy scent of smoke, heard the snaps of the flickering flames, felt the impending heat as they pressed closer to her.

  She was outside her house—what was left of it. The fire was still raging, but all Reese could focus on were the charred bodies of her family as they lay in a heap just off to the side.

  From then on, it was a blur. She thought she screamed, but she couldn’t be sure. Certainly, she wanted to collapse—her legs were too strained to carry her weight—but something urged her forward. She needed to touch their bodies, make certain they were dead.

  They couldn’t be dead.

  Just as she was about to spring forward, someone intercepted her by enveloping her small frame in his strong arms. He smelled of burned pine, spice, and something else, something gritty but poignant.

  “They’re gone, Reese,” he told her, his voice a low rattling sound that hinted at a European upbringing. She knew him, but the way he said her name was new, as though it wasn’t a common occurrence for him to address her as such. “They’re gone.”

  Reese blinked and the vision disappeared. The burning sound of the alarm refused to give her any time to process what she had seen, and after shoving her mascara into her purse, she rushed out of the bathroom. Andie should be back from her rendezvous with Jack—Reese couldn’t help but notice Jack’s tall, broad stature with Andie’s petite, curvy one as they headed out of the lobby together—and maybe it would be easier to find Keirah outside rather than in.

  She didn’t expect Gabe to block her from heading out of the exit. Reese knit her brows together as she took a step back, not wanting to breathe the same air as he did. He was wearing a simple white collared shirt and dark jeans, completely ignoring the party’s theme. His hair was slicked back, emphasizing his cold blue eyes and the flawlessness of his face.

  “I’ve been looking for you.” His voice was soft but cutting. He took a step toward her as though he knew she wouldn’t come any closer to him. His face revealed nothing about his thoughts, but she picked up on his tone and knew he wasn’t happy.

  “Gabe,” she said, immediately cautious. “What do you want? We need to leave the building.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” he said. “Not until we talk. It’s odd that this is the first time we’re meeting tonight, especially because of what could happen to your father.”

  Reese’s mouth dropped open, ready to retort something scathing when she stopped herself. This wasn’t something she could roll her eyes at and not take seriously. This involved her father and his job, and as a result, the future of her family.

  “I’m glad to see you’re as smart as everyone says you are,” he said, a subtle smirk tilting his lips up.

  “Can we talk outside?” she asked through gritted teeth. After her vision, she didn’t want to take any chances with fire.

  “I’m afraid not,” he said. “What I’m about to tell you isn’t for general consumption. You see, you’re a Seer. My Seer.”

  Reese’s brow furrowed. “What?” she asked, trying to make sense of what he was saying but falling short.

  “Surely you know what a Seer is,” he said. “Someone who has visions of the future.”

  “A psychic?”

  Gabe scoffed. “Seers are much more important than psychics.” He said the last word with disdain. “You were worshipped in your time. Loved. Adored. Respected. Admired. And the man or woman you gave yourself to was the most powerful person on Earth at the time.”

  She clenched her jaw, her ears screaming that now would be a good time to get out of the building if she didn’t want to go deaf. “You’re drunk,” she said with a roll of her eyes. She planned to brush past him, slip by him without a second glance in order to get around him, but he stopped her by grabbing her arm and snapping her to him.

  “Actually, I’m not,” he hissed down at her.

  Reese blinked. He was squeezing her skin—she knew she’d have bruises tomorrow morning—but she was too transfixed by his face to notice. He looked nothing short of furious, but more than that, he looked ugly.

  So he wasn’t perfect.

  “Let go of me,” she said once she had a better handle of her senses. “You’re hurting me.” She tried to yank away from him but his grip on her only tightened.

  “I’m not finished,” he told her.

  “I think you are, Gabe.”

  The unfamiliar voice caused both Gabe and Reese to pause and turn so they faced the stranger. He was almost half a foot taller than Gabe, putting him at a comfortable six foot six, which meant he was over a foot taller than she was, and his frame was broader than Gabe's. He had a mess of dark brown hair that caressed the folded collar of his shirt, lip-length bangs parted down the middle that strategically hid the majority of his face, especially his eyes. As such, Reese couldn’t make out the exact color of his irises, but they were a cross between mud and rain. The lower half of his face was covered in scruff and he didn’t look older than twenty-three at the most. His nose was upturned and pointed at the end, and his lips looked as though they were the softest part of his body.

  His outfit was even more ridiculous than Gabe’s. He was wearing an off-white collared shirt straight out of the Medieval Ages, stained brown, probably from dirt, that dipped to the middle of his chest underneath a heavy leather jacket that looked as though he made it himself. He was wearing a brown vest with its collar turned down buttoned across his stomach. A gold pocket watch hung from one of his belt buckles. It was the only thing that looked shiny or new on his person. His slacks fit, but were a tad loose, matched the color of his vest, and revealed a pair of long legs. The stitching on his clothing was consistent which meant he probably made his entire outfit himself. The material looked strong, durable, and could probably survive the elements.

  In essence, he looked like a man who lived in the woods or something similar. Reese wasn’t sure if she would call him hot considering how unkempt and filthy he looked, but he was definitely intriguing.

  “Ollo,” Gabe said, his voice dry. “I’m surprised that you’re standing and awake rather than passed out on someone’s floor.” A pause, as though Gabe was allowing the man some time to take his insult. Then, sardonically, “What are you doing here?”

  “I think you know why I’m here,” he drawled. There was a hint of a familiar accent but it was too subtle for Reese to be sure.

  She didn’t think it was possible, but Gabe’s grip on her tightened and he pulle
d her closer to him. She had to bite the inside of her bottom lip to keep from whimpering. Gabe’s eyes flashed at Ollo, a warning. “I found her first,” he said in little more than a whisper. Even with the alarm going off, Reese heard him crystal clear. “She’s mine. She was always supposed to be mine.”

  “I’ve been around a lot longer than you think,” Ollo said.

  The conversation made no sense to Reese, but Gabe and this guy seemed to know exactly what they were talking about.

  “I’m nobody’s, actually.” She hadn’t meant to say anything, but Reese was sick and tired of being talked about as though she wasn’t in the room with them. “I’m not yours, and I don’t even know you.” She locked eyes with Ollo through his dark tresses, and saw that her first guess was right; his eyes were a murky brown mixed with a clear blue. Odd.

  “Darl, shut your mouth for a bit,” Ollo said without looking at her. “I’m trying to save you here.”

  Reese’s mouth dropped open and she was about to pull her arm free from Gabe so she could rip the pocket watch from his vest and stomp on it when a slew of police officers entered.

  “What are you kids doing here?” one of them called. “Get out of the building! Now!”

  Gabe had no choice but to release Reese as the three headed outside. Then, without a word, he disappeared in the crowd. This left Reese alone with Ollo, currently huddled under the awning of the museum to protect themselves from the rain. She was wearing a white dress, after all.

  She spun around to face him, having to tilt her chin up to lock eyes with him. His eyes were hooded, waiting, possibly calculating. The smirk on his lips told her he would humor whatever it was she wanted to say, which infuriated her.

  “I didn’t need saving, as you so aptly put it,” she snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. “I was taking care of it myself.”

  “Not from where I was standing, darl,” he replied in what Reese was beginning to realize was his naturally sardonic voice. She still couldn’t place his accent. It sounded like a mixture of raw Australian and melodic Irish.