Dark Passages 2: Pilar & Elias

by Reinke, Sara

  Had she really been so stupid as to think she could fool him? That it was nothing more than coincidence that he’d come into the club two days in a row and wanted her to dance for him?

  “You son of a bitch,” she said as she snatched her bikini top from his lap.

  “Pilar, wait,” Elías said. Then, his brows furrowed, he jerked mightily against the tie, rattling the brass bar in its casing. “Will you wait a minute, damn it? I can explain.”

  “Fuck off,” she snapped, then turned and bolted from the room.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Son of a bitch, Elías thought as he fought with the tie wrapped snugly around his wrists. After a furious moment’s effort, he worked the knots loose and freed himself. Scrambling to his feet, he hurried after Pilar, catching sight of her across the club as she hurried for the dressing room.

  Son of a bitch, he thought again—as much referring to himself as his own frustration with the unexpected situation. God, how could everything that had been so perfect in one moment get so completely fucked up in the next? Pilar had been astride him, he’d watched her beautiful face soften, her brows lifting, her lips parting in a soft, sweet O as she’d approached climax—not a dream this time, not one of his fantasies, but real and warm and with him. And then, with one stupid, thoughtless utterance, he’d ruined everything. He’d driven her away.

  I can explain, he’d told her. Yeah, he thought bitterly. Good luck with that one, Elías. What are you going to say? “I’ve been watching you dance for weeks now, Pilar, and I’ve fallen in love with you. Only thing is, one of the guys who killed your father and sexually assaulted you has been found laid out like day-old ham salad in the bayou, and the wheel base for the motorcycle your brother gave you matches one I found at the crime scene. So even though I think about you all the time, dream about you, wake up in the middle of the night reaching for you, that doesn’t change the fact that I think Valien might have used your bike to hunt Miguel Torres down and kill him.”

  Yeah. He managed a coarse, humorless laugh. That should clear everything up.

  “Wait,” he said, rushing to catch up and intercept her before she could get through the door and escape. He caught her elbow and she whirled, catlike, eyes wide. “Please.”

  “Don’t touch me,” she snapped, wrenching herself loose.

  “I’m sorry.” Holding up his hands, palms facing her, he said it again. “I’m sorry.”

  “Forget it.” Turning on her heel, she marched toward the door again.

  “Pilar.”

  He said it quietly so that if anyone else happened to be in earshot, they wouldn’t overhear, but loudly enough so that she would. She froze in her tracks, her entire body stiffening.

  She turned slowly to face him and he could tell from her face, her rigid posture, that she was thinking about bolting into the dressing room, hiding from him, not coming out until firmly convinced he was long gone and ancient history.

  “Don’t you ever call me that again,” she seethed, almost inaudible, and God, the look of wounded, bewildered betrayal in her face nearly shattered him. “Do you hear me?”

  “Please.” Elías kept his hands raised. “I just want to talk.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “Yeah? That’s not what seemed to be on your mind a few minutes ago.”

  “I know that,” he conceded, shamefaced. “And I’m sorry. With all my heart, Pilar, I’m sorry. I promise you—I swear to God that’s not why I came here today. I just…” His voice trailed off and he raked his fingers through his hair. I just lose my head whenever I see you. Madre de Dios, woman, you’re so beautiful and you were right there in front of me. I couldn’t think straight…couldn’t think at all!

  “Yeah, and next you’ll tell me you didn’t like it, didn’t want it,” Pilar shot with a frown.

  “God, no,” he said, blurting it out, taking himself as much by surprise as her by the frank admission. “I did like it,” he whispered, his brows lifting. “And I did want it…more than anything.” I want you more than anything, he added in his mind, pressing his lips together momentarily to stifle the words. More than you can know. “That’s why I couldn’t stop myself. Or you.”

  His confession had visibly deflated her fury, at least for the moment. “Please,” he said. “Just hear me out.”

  A heavy hand fell against his shoulder, a low voice with menacing intimacy in his ear. “Hands off the lady.”

  Elías turned in start and found one of the club’s very large, very imposing security guards standing there, dressed in a white tuxedo shirt and cummerbund, both stretched tautly across the broad expanse of his chest.

  “This guy bothering you, Destiny?” the bouncer asked Pilar gruffly. “You want me to show him to the door?”

  Because Elías suspected the man was using “show” in its loosest possible interpretation, he was grateful when Pilar shook her head.

  “No, Joey. It’s okay.”

  The bouncer, Joey, leveled his surly gaze at Elías for another moment, then growled, “Keep your hands to yourself. House rules.” Then with a reluctant glower—as if he’d been hoping for the chance to forcibly eject Elías from the building and thus highlighting what had otherwise been a boring day for bouncing—Joey turned and walked away.

  “Here.” Pilar reached down and took the money Elías had given her out of her waistband. “Take this back. I don’t want it.”

  He shook his head. “It’s yours.”

  She locked gazes with him, stony and cold. Opening her fingers, she let it drop to the floor. “I don’t want it.”

  “Wait.” She tried to leave again, turning away, but he caught her arm. This time, she didn’t try to fight her way free, but she awarded him a look that could have passed as a deadly weapon. “Please. I need to talk to you.”

  “About what?” she asked, huffing out a put-upon sigh.

  “Miguel Torres,” he said, leaning toward her, speaking softly again. He didn’t miss the startled intake of her breath or the way her gaze darted abruptly away, like that of a cornered animal surveying its options for escape.

  “What about him?” she asked.

  Stepping closer, tilting his head, Elías spoke softly into her ear. “He was found dead in the middle of Highway 1226 this morning, half-eaten by alligators.”

  He felt a slight tremor work its way through her, whether a shiver at the revelation of Miguel’s discovery or at his proximity, his breath rustling her hair, he couldn’t be sure. Because in all the weeks he’d been coming to Melaza and all the times he’d watched—longing, envious—as Pilar had danced for other men, he’d never seen her perform for anyone as she had for him. More than just a dance, she’d moved against him, responded to him like a lover. Like she’d wanted him too.

  “What…what’s that have to do with me?” she asked, close enough now so that when she glanced up at him, her cheek dragged lightly against his own, and when he moved in turn to meet her gaze, his mouth hovered just above hers, so close…

  Madre de Dios, he thought, agonized, as he fought the impulse to lean in and kiss her. Mother of God.

  “You tell me,” he breathed.

  Her hands fell lightly against the front of his shirt; then she pushed him away. “Not here.”

  “Pilar…”

  Her brows narrowed. “I said not here.”

  “Then tell me where. Tell me when.”

  Again, her eyes swept nervously about. “I…I don’t know.” He reached for her, but she shook her head and backed away. “I’ll call your office. I’ll let you know.”

  And with that, she was gone; with a sparkle of sequins and a flip of blonde hair, she hurried toward the dressing room, letting the door fall sharply shut behind her.

  ****

  I want you more than anything.

  Pilar had heard this in Elías’s mind, a vulnerable, honest admission he thought he made only to himself, unaware of her natural ability to overhear.

  Her heart had raced at this, all the hurt an
d betrayal she’d felt immediately disappearing. His thoughts had resonated in her mind, replaying over and over. I want you more than anything. More than you can know.

  Hours had passed since then, but even now, she shook like she had a live wire running through her at the memory. His face, his scent, his heartbeat, his body, his voice—all of it had aroused her desire for blood, for sex. For him, she thought. Because I want him too.

  “Pilar?” Her mother’s voice came from the other side of her bedroom door, accompanied by a light knock. “It’s almost six thirty, ma cariña. I need you to help me set up the food for el festín.”

  Pilar had just finished getting dressed for the party, slipping into a sleeveless cream-colored dress with an A-line skirt, princess-cut waistline and a matching satin sash tied loosely in a bow beneath her bosom. Her hem fell modestly to just above her knees and she’d first hot-rolled, then brushed out her long dark hair so it fell past her shoulders in a tumble of cascading waves. Her makeup was lightly applied, nearly unnoticeable compared to the heavy layers she wore at Melaza. When she opened the door, her mother took in her appearance from head to toe and smiled.

  “Bella,” she said, cradling Pilar’s face between her hands and brushing her lips against the corner of her mouth. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Pilar managed a smile. “So do you.”

  Feeding parties had become a bittersweet affair. Before Enrique’s death, they’d been lavish celebrations, with nearly a hundred members of their corillo in attendance, along with their human guests. They’d lived in a larger house, having downsized into the more modest suburban bungalow after Enrique’s funeral. The pack was also considerably smaller now, but the associated ceremonies remained the same, with the corillo leader reciting the Mesoamerican legends of the wayob, powerful spirits who took physical form as jaguars. The wayob had telepathic abilities and had used them to force human women into sexual submission. Upon mating with these women, they’d sired the Nahual, imbuing them with a jaguar’s hunting instincts, strength, speed, agility and spirit—and their relentless thirst for blood.

  Valien now relayed these ancient stories, but because they’d had only a handful of feedings since Enrique’s death, in Pilar’s mind, she still poignantly recalled her father’s recitations, the rhythm of his voice as he’d spoken, the inflection in his words, the corresponding expressions on his face. All these things still remained bright and fresh in her mind, and usually, she couldn’t make it through an entire ceremony without fighting back tears. She suspected Estela struggled in much the same way.

  “You mind to help me carry the food trays downstairs?” Estela asked. “Valien’s already set up the cots. I just sent him out for more ice.”

  Pilar nodded, following her mother down the corridor outside her door toward the kitchen.

  Before the ritual feedings, members of the corilla would sing songs, recite chants and perform ancient dances celebrating the gifts of the wayob. Then the human feeders would be presented, and each Nahual would have a chance to feed. From what Pilar had been told, feeders enjoyed the experience because the Nahual would use their telepathy to lull them into a state of complete mental and physical relaxation. According to their legends, this practice was a holdover from their ancestral feeding practices, when prey would be subdued telepathically, not just physically, to prevent them from fighting back when attacked.

  Afterward, much as if they’d donated blood at the Red Cross, the humans were given rich foods to eat and comfortable pallets or cots upon which to sleep and regain their strength.

  Unlike B-movie vampires, Nahual seldom bit humans in the neck to feed, because to do so would leave wounds too obvious or noticeable to others. In the spirit of discretion, they fed from less apparent places, such as the femoral artery in the upper thigh or—preferably—directly from the heart itself.

  Blood from a human’s left ventricle, the largest of the heart’s compartments, was considered the prime sustenance. Fresh from the lungs, rich with oxygen and yet to circulate through the body, where it could pick up waste products and other dilutants, it was the sweetest blood, “liquid gold,” the most satisfying and nourishing. Because of this, it took significantly less blood to satiate, and several Nahual could feed from a single human in one night without harm to the feeder. The greatest risk came from the infliction of injury to the heart itself. Although the Nahual’s saliva had coagulant properties that allowed puncture wounds from their teeth to close quickly once feeding had ceased, the direct trauma to the heart that occurred with biting could cause lasting tissue damage and even provoke a heart attack.

  “Aquí tienes,” Estela said, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a large platter of sliced cheeses. Here you go. As she handed them off to Pilar, she added, “Y éstos”—and these—and reached behind her, grabbing a large box of snack crackers off the nearby counter.

  Pilar made her way downstairs into the finished basement. Here, she and Estela had earlier arranged freshly cut floral bouquets on card tables draped in linen tablecloths. She set the tray down beside a platter of strawberries on a longer buffet table, placing the box of crackers behind it. With her fingertips, she carefully peeled back the clear plastic wrap covering the cheese.

  “Damn, you’re beautiful, Pilar.”

  With a startled yelp, she whirled, eyes wide, and found Téo behind her in the far corner of the room. He wore a dove gray suit coat and slacks with a black shirt beneath. His sleeves were rolled back to his elbows, his goatee and mustache neatly trimmed for the occasion, his dark hair combed back from his face. He stood with his shoulder leaning comfortably, casually against the wall, his arms folded idly across his chest, his gaze fixed on her.

  “Téo, you scared me.” Pilar gave a shaky laugh as he broke away from the wall and walked toward her. With a nervous glance at the basement stairs, she said, “Does my mother know you’re here?”

  “I hope so.” He smiled wryly, gave a little shrug. “She let me in.”

  Terrific. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Just as Chita and Téo himself were convinced that he was her pareja, Estela believed it too. And in the past year since Enrique’s death—when Pilar hadn’t wanted anyone, let alone Téo—she’d pressed even harder.

  He stopped less than a foot away and there was no place to go; she backed herself into the edge of the table, felt it digging into her ass.

  “Pareces una angelita,” he murmured. You look like an angel.

  He reached for her, brushing the back of his hand against the side of her face. His gesture was eerily similar to the caress Elías had offered her earlier at Melaza. But where she’d welcomed Elías’s touch, had enjoyed it—been turned on by it—she found herself shying away, turning her head from Téo’s.

  “Where…uh…where’s Chita?” she asked lightly, sidestepping to get away.

  “At home getting ready,” he replied. “She’ll be here later on.”

  Terrific, Pilar thought again, heading purposefully for the stairs. “Valien’s gone to the store. Mom sent him to get some ice, she said, but he should be back in…”

  “That’s okay.” Téo’s arm shot out just as she reached the stairs, his hand planting against the doorframe to block her path. “I really came to see you.”

  She cut him a glance, then ducked. “I’m supposed to be helping Mom get ready.”

  His hand hooked against hers, and when she turned, aggravated now, his brows lifted unhappily. “Can’t you even stand to be around me anymore?” he asked. “You used to like it. You used to like me.”

  “I like you just fine, Téo.” Now she couldn’t help herself and rolled her eyes. “And I see you every day. You’re around all of the time. I don’t know what the hell you’re…”

  He stepped toward her, forcing her to back into the stairwell wall. Planting his hands against the wood paneling on either side of her head, he pinned her in, framing her face with his arms as he leaned forward, meaning to kiss her. “I miss you,” he whispere
d.

  She felt her heart seize with anxious fright, a crippling fear that spread through her entire body, stripping her of strength and breath.

  Are you watching, Papito? All at once, she heard Pepe’s voice, taunting and unbidden in her mind. Are you enjoying the show, motherfucker?

  “Please don’t.” Pilar flinched, her shoulder hunching, and Téo’s mouth grazed her cheek.

  “Goddamn it, listen to me.” Téo moved his hand, catching her by the chin, his fingers closing hard enough to make her wince. “I said I miss you. I miss touching you, holding you, being inside of you—coming inside of you. I want that again, Pilar. It’s driving me crazy, I want it so bad. I want you so goddamn bad.”

  Again, his words echoed Elías’s—and again, had the exact opposite effect on her heart.

  “I said don’t!” Brows furrowed, she planted her hands against his chest and shoved him furiously away from her. First he stumbled back into the wall, then tripped over the bottom step and sat down hard. Visibly surprised and bewildered, he blinked up at her.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he exclaimed. “Why are you acting like this? Will you tell me that, at least? Whatever I did that’s made you change your mind, push me away—for Christ’s sake, tell me so I can fix it.” He staggered to his feet and reached for her, pleading. “I love you, Pilar.”

  “Is everything all right down there?” Estela appeared in the upstairs doorway, alerted and alarmed by the clamor as Téo had fallen. She cradled a large crock pot between her hands; the cord dangled down beside her like a swishing tail.

  Pilar brushed past Téo without sparing him a glance, and hurried up the stairs to help her mother. “Everything’s fine, Mom. Here, let me get that for you.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sweat-drenched and intensely focused, Elías pummeled the punching bag in his back bedroom, his breath escaping him in thick, heavy gasps with every forceful, pounding blow. The sun was setting; he’d eaten dinner and shot up insulin, so he attacked the bag with heedless ferocity. He could feel each brutal impact thrumming through his knuckles and wrists, up the length of his arm and into the bridge of his shoulders. His face was flushed and hot; he shook his head fiercely to dislodge beads of sweat that had dripped from his hair into his eyelashes.