Dison: Immortal Forsaken Series #2 (Paranormal Romance Novella)

by Verika Sloane

  “In the meantime, I have some money in my savings that’ll get us where we need to go next.”

  “I’ll take care of us. I just need to think.”

  The frustration glowed in her eyes. “What does it matter if it’s my money?”

  “It matters to me.”

  “That’s silly! My money is our money now. I’m your pürist, Dison. We’re in this together. We can’t sit on our laurels because of your pride!”

  “It’s not pride, it’s what I promised! We deserve better.”

  She came toward him, angry. “You don’t get it, do you? I told you I don’t need fancy things or five star hotels or expensive clothes to feel loved. You love me and want to take care of me, but the fact is I’ve been taking care of myself with a lot less for a long time. Please, Dison. Rid this notion that others with money are better off than we are. They aren’t! You know they aren’t any happier.”

  He grasped her upper arms. “But you are good. Money buys us more than a luxury hotel room. It buys us time, protection. Comfort. Security. We need it for the Centurias, which was your idea by accepting that key! You deserve to be up there with them, to show them what they are no better than you. Because they aren’t.”

  She pushed off his hands. “Stop it! I don’t want to be one of them. I just wanted to help you and Marex. I don’t want to spearhead an insurrection of new, righteous upper class vampires who know right from wrong. I want to be me. I want you to be you. Isn’t that enough?”

  “It isn’t and you know it.”

  Her eyes became watery. “Then maybe we don’t want the same thing after all.”

  Why were they fighting? Why couldn’t she understand? He loved her so much, and yet the emotions of years ago crept up his chest and choked his throat. The emotions that had gripped him those last days with her. That he was losing her. Even though they were avowed, it didn’t mean she couldn’t walk away from him again. It didn’t mean she couldn’t demand he undo his remnant. By the gods, if he lost her again, his world would detonate.

  But at this moment, they were not seeing eye to eye, and he could tell she needed her space, as did he.

  “I’m going out,” he told her, moving around her to grab his jacket. It was evening now, and a good walk in the nighttime rain would clear his head.

  She remained standing where she was as he headed to the door.

  Half an hour later, a bartender pushed another shot of vodka his way. “Trinkst du wegen einer frau?” he asked.

  Do you drink because of a woman?

  Dison shook his head. “No.” He pointed to his chest. “I drink because of me.”

  “Ah! Englishman. Welcome.”

  Dison raised his shot glass. “Thank you.”

  “Why the long face? Tell me.”

  Dison remained silent for a long stretch, not keen to the idea of sharing his woes with a stranger in a bar, but he was buzzed enough not to care. “I don’t know who I am. I just know I don’t want to be what I was. Does that make sense?”

  The bartender nodded, resting his hands on the edge of the bar. “Sure, sure.”

  “I thought I was ready to leave behind this life I’d built. I finally have the woman of my dreams and I can’t—do what I planned to do. I’m penniless. Directionless. And my previous employer wants me to suffer for something I didn’t do.”

  The older man’s brow raised to his thinning hairline. “Drink up. You do have enough coin to pay for the drinks though, don’t you?” Dison laid down a bill and the bartender smiled. “Don’t think you’re good enough for your woman? Had she said so?”

  He ran a hand through his damp hair from the rain. “No. But she would never say such a thing. She’s so beautiful, inside and out. She claims she doesn’t need what I want to give her, but it’s not about that, it’s about me fulfilling a promise I made to her. I won’t feel right if I don’t live up to it.”

  The man twisted his mustached lips. “Hm. Does she love you?”

  A flash of the love in her eyes as he was deep inside her came to his vision. “Yes, she does.”

  He slapped the bar. “What the hell are you doing in here? Sounds like it’s all about you, you, you when you should be thinking of her.”

  “I am!” Dison groaned, his voice thick with liquor.

  “No, you’re not. You’re feeling sorry for you. Sounds like a good woman. Better go to her before she gets wise and dumps you for some rich prick on the hill.”

  Dison left the bar and took the bartender’s advice. With every step he took, a desperation sparked hotter and brighter within, as he pictured walking into an empty hotel with a note that she’d left. Would she? Even though they were avowed? Yes. She was strong. Much stronger than him. And she didn’t need a man’s remnant for protection, she only accepted his because she didn’t want another, and never would.

  He groaned at his lack of sense. If she left him, he would find her and beg for her forgiveness on his knees until they bled, and then would keep crawling until she came back to him.

  Breath held, he opened the door to the opulent hotel room. He’d been gone an hour, but it was eerily quiet.

  “Rebekah?” he called, the desperation in his voice obvious.

  No answer. Gut twisting with dread, he marched from the living area to the bedroom, and saw her clothes on the floor. He let out a relieved breath when he heard water splashing in the bathroom.

  He eased open the door to find her in the tub, earphones on, listening to music on her mobile.

  She looked up, and removed the earphones. There was relief in her eyes, and a smile on her lips. “Oh, Dison...”

  Something inside shattered. More than likely, it was his damned pride.

  He took off his jacket and shoes.

  She leaned over the edge of the tub. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be critical or put pressure on you—”

  Rushing over, he bent down and captured her lips, forcing them open and drawing in her sweet kiss. He knew he tasted like bitter vodka, but he didn’t care, he couldn’t wait. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I’d be lost without you. So lost.” Heedless of his state of dress, he climbed in the water on top of her, bracing his hands on the sides of the tub and dipped his head for another kiss.

  “Dison!” she laughed on his mouth globs of water dumped over the sides. She then moaned while his tongue eased between her lips. The warm, sudsy water enveloped him, banishing the bitter cold from the outdoors.

  Rebekah opened her legs and welcomed him in, wrapped her arms around his neck and arching her soft, womanly body into his.

  He moved his right arm under her back and lifted her closer to his form, kissing down her neck and murmuring his sincerest apologies like a broken record.

  She sighed, and let him take in the sweet scent of her wet skin. “You’re drunk.”

  “And stupid.”

  Locking his arm, he turned and trade places, with her on top, straddling him, nipples puckering from the cool air. He dropped his head back on the edge and cupped her breasts, full and weighty in his large hands. By the gods, her skin was such a contrast to his, so soft and flawless. He ran his palms along her sides to her ass and squeezed. His cock hardened, but he just wanted his eyes to take her in for a while and glory in his massive good fortune. Fortune that had nothing to do with money.

  “I love the way you look at me,” she said, cocking her head and unbuttoning his shirt. “No one else ever has the way you do. No one else was ever supposed to, I guess.”

  “How do I look at you?” he asked.

  “Like I’m perfect.”

  He let out a dry sound. “You are.” And he was imperfect so they balanced each other out.

  “If you say so, Dison Huxford. I’ll try not to let it to go to my head.”

  “Speaking of head…” He pushed his hips up to make a point without another word.

  She moaned, biting down on her bottom lip, finished unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Remember the first time we made love in
a bathtub?” he asked hoarsely, getting more and more aroused, imagining her slick pussy gloving his cock, her nipple in his mouth while she rode him.

  “Oh, yes, I remember that night. We made quite the mess.”

  He started to sit up. “Let’s make another one.”

  She placed her finger over his lips. “After we talk.”

  Caught in the frenzy of desire, he moaned his disappointed in any delay, hard as stone and aching to fuck. “Rebekah. Please.”

  “You’re not even undressed.”

  “That can be remedied.” His teeth came down and he ran his tongue along them, rocking his hips up and holding hers down, loving the sound and sensation of the water lapping around them.

  He could tell her body was starting to respond, needing his, and overtaking her will.

  “But I have an idea,” she complained, starting to unbuckle his pants.

  “And I want to hear it. After we come.”

  Dison got his way. She succumbed to him as she always would. The mess they made was too much for the towels they had. Rebekah imagined the cleaning staff would be quite cross with them when they came upon the pile of wet towels in the bathroom, but, who cared? They were paying too much money to really give a damn.

  Later on, they put on the expensive robes and sat facing each other next to the fireplace with a small table between them. They’d ordered a charcuterie plate from room service.

  “What’s this idea of yours?” he asked, sounding exactly like a man who was open to hearing anything after amazing sex.

  Her lips curved. She plucked a Kalamata olive from the board. “I always have a fallback plan should I go too long without being paid. An emergency plan B. I’ve only had to use this a time or two, but we’re in a desperate situation to make money fast. I can’t do a job on the run. My savings will only get us to the next city and I refuse to ask anyone for money.”

  “As do I. What do you need to do?”

  “I have several pieces I can sell on the hush-hush market. I try very hard not to do it except in dire times.”

  He raised a brow. “Why?”

  “Because it can be…hazardous.”

  His throat moved as he swallowed the piece of cheese he’d chewed. “How hazardous, Rebekah?”

  Her voice pitched high to put his mind at ease. “No more than we already are! I’m just saying once I put the word out, things tend to get competitive, and I attract a nefarious character or two looking to rob me and steal the artifact or whatever for themselves. It’s a little tricky, but like I said, I’ve done it before.”

  “If anything is going to place you in more danger then I say no.”

  She gave a reproachful look, picking up another olive with a toothpick. “We don’t have any other viable choices. All we have to do is get to Paris, pick up the piece from storage, meet up with the buyer, and be on our way with the cash. Unlike the last time I tried this, I’ll have you to watch over me. The item will be small enough that we can do it incognito in public, rather than transferring a large piece from a truck in a dark alley. I did that once. Never again.” She deliberately shivered, then realized Dison could be even more concerned if she relayed the details of that scary exchange. “Oh, but it turned out fine! I just prefer something I can carry. Big items are big pains.”

  His gaze dropped and moved toward the fire. “I don’t know… I don’t like going into situations I’ve never been in before. I can’t anticipate the outcome.”

  Just as he couldn’t with Kristof Miocic, she was sure. “But I have done this before and nothing bad has ever happened to me. Please, let me do this for us. You deserted your entire life in London. You deserve a fresh start and time to think about what you’re going to do for Marex and his cause. Not to mention the fact we can’t show up at the Centurias without two coins to rub together.”

  While he’d been gone on his walk—apparently so he could drink and brood—she realized Dison was right. If they were going to make a play to help convince the elite to unite shifters and vampires, they were going to have to rub elbows with them, which meant showing up dressed like them, gambling with them, showing off like them. And that would take considerable money. She wasn’t even sure she had one dress for the many nights of glitter and glam the Centurias put on.

  If they were going to go forward with his plan to help Marex, then they needed to look the part. Many vampires in the past had spent a lifetime’s worth of money just to go to the week-long celebration, only to accomplish nothing for their futures. She and Dison had an agenda; the money wouldn’t be for nothing. It was a necessary evil.

  “Do you trust me?” she asked, leaning over to try and catch his gaze.

  He met her eyes. “You know I do.”

  “So what do you think? Want to try your hand as a clandestine art dealer?”

  With a sigh, he sat back in his chair, the firelight dancing over his gaze. He looked absolutely kingly and deliciously dark in this light, arousing her so effortlessly by a mere glance.

  The corner of his mouth lifted wryly. “Next stop: Paris.”

  Nine

  “I can’t believe you keep priceless art and jewelry in a plain old storage unit,” he remarked before pushing up the sliding door. They’d made it to Paris and went straight to the storage.

  Rebekah shrugged and pulled the string to turn on the lightbulb. “Better to hide things in ordinary places rather than in an elaborate safe I can’t transport. I’ve kept these here for eight years and haven’t had any issues. I paid rent in advance.” She walked in, maneuvering through the boxes toward the rear of the space, looking for something small, portable, and above all, valuable.

  “Let’s see…” Dison mused, crossing his arms and leaning on the jamb. “I spot a Mabel Alvarez…an antique silverware set…a gold crown…”

  She bent over to retrieve a box under a stack of vintage fashion brochures from the Victorian era. “You know Mabel Alvarez’s work?”

  “I’m not a complete dolt when it comes to art, no.” She heard the smile in his voice as he said, “Such as the view I’m taking right now of you bending over. A work of art in its purest form.”

  She straightened and turned around, blowing the dust off the box. “You are wicked.”

  “Guilty.”

  Setting the box on a flat surface, she opened it. “Ah, good. Here it is.”

  “We could sell several of these items for a brilliant payday.”

  “The surest way to stumble into deep trouble is to get greedy. Besides,” she said, lifting the wrapped item and unfurling the cloth to reveal a jeweled dagger, “this will fetch a pretty price.” The jewels caught the dull light, boasting its beauty with a mere turn of her hand. It never ceased the amaze her, a magic all its own with its attractive, deep red rubies and vibrant yellow diamonds circling the base, a contrast to it’s deadly, fatal sharp end that caught the light as though dipped with a diamond point. It was said to be cursed if used. And the last night it was in someone’s hand, it murdered a prince.

  Even Dison was hypnotized. “Whoa.”

  “Precisely.” She sighed, reluctant to let this extraordinary piece go, though she did it a great disservice by keeping it in a storage unit, regardless of its curse. After rewrapping it, she tucked in the breast pocket of her coat, not even trusting her purse to carry it.

  “What next?” Dison next, pulling down the door and securing the lock.

  “Contacting a buyer. The buyer, that is.”

  “The buyer? Through the online black market forum?”

  “Actually, we can skip that part.”

  “How?”

  She pushed the door to the outside parking lot. “I already know someone who would love to get his hands on this dagger. And he lives in Paris.”

  “But?” he asked dubiously.

  “Well, he’s almost impossible to get an audience with. His secretary is militant with his schedule.”

  “Is there no avenue to reach out to him directly?”

  “No. H
is name is Reginald Klaus. He owns multiple large corporations and an obscene amount of real estate. Very busy man. Very targeted man, both personally and professionally. The eternal bachelor. Has never avowed another. Likes rare, expensive cars and even rarer antique weaponry. Has a collection of swords, knives, even throwing stars, but I know he has nothing like this.”

  “So you’ve dealt with him before?”

  “Once. He’s only interested in weapons. And I didn’t want to sell the dagger unless I had to—”

  Dison turned in front of her and grasped her arms. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  She looked up into his eyes, his guilt coming off in waves. “I’m sure we need to do this. Unless you can think of something else?”

  He sighed, dropping his hands.

  Back at their quaint hotel room, she made the call to Reginald’s office. His secretary memorized every acquaintance Reginald ever made and so when Rebekah gave her name, Muriel greeted her with subtly cool recognition. “Yes, Miss Howard. He is not available until next month. He’s leaving for a business trip soon.”

  “It’s very urgent I speak to him.” She couldn’t tell Muriel why or what for. Just because Reginald trusted her didn’t mean Rebekah could. Especially now. “Can you deliver a message to him for me? He’ll want to meet with me I’m sure. He’s the first one I’m reaching out to and,” she added with a trace of nonchalance, “if he misses out on this opportunity, I’ll tell him he can speak to you about that.”

  Muriel caught the meaning. “Very well. What’s the message?”

  “Tell him it’s regarding the Prince of Rahta murder. I’ll be in Paris for two days, awaiting a response, then I’ll move on.”

  A pause. “I’ll relay the message.”

  It didn’t sound as though she would do so with any haste, but that was just Muriel’s tone for everything: nothing was nearly as urgent as anyone said it was until Reginald confirmed it.

  “Thank you, Muriel.” She hung up, biting the corner of her lip, hoping she was right about Reginald’s depth of interest. “Now we wait.”