Hidden Desire

by Amy Patrick

  “Sounds like a lot of searching,” Brenna says. “Who are you looking for?”

  “Just... someone. I owe him something.” Laney stops there and takes a deep drink from her glass. “Thank you—this really hits the spot.”

  “Well, okay then. Tell me what kind of place you’re looking for, apartment-wise. I can check around and see if anyone I know needs another roommate. That is, unless you prefer to live alone.”

  “I wouldn’t mind roommates at all. I need someplace cheap, though. I have some money saved up, but Los Angeles is a lot more expensive than I expected.”

  “I see. How cheap are we talking?”

  “Well, I have six hundred dollars left after buying lunch today and paying for the cab ride.”

  Brenna flares her eyes at me, shaking her head in dismay. This poor kid, she adds silently.

  Aloud she says, “I’m afraid that’s not even going to cover first month’s rent, much less last month’s and a security deposit. You’ll have to find a roommate, and one who’ll let you move in without putting you on the lease. And one who doesn’t mind pets. Unless you want to go to Chesterfield or Watts or something,” she jokes.

  “That’s where I was looking until Mr. Busybody came along and made me leave.”

  Now Brenna’s mouth is hanging open in horrified shock. “I was kidding. Laney, Culley was right to make you leave. You can’t live there—you shouldn’t even go to those places.”

  The defiant expression returns to Laney’s face. “Well, I am going back there—tomorrow. That’s where the clinic is.”

  I give Brenna a weary look. See what I’m dealing with?

  “Okay, well, we’ll see. Now, about tonight... Culley, can I speak with you in the other room?”

  Laney stands as if preparing to leave. “Oh no. Am I imposing? I can understand if you don’t want a total stranger sleeping here. I told Culley I’d be fine.”

  “No. Not at all,” Brenna says. “I’ve got some company, that’s all. Actually lots of company. Don’t worry—we’ll work it out. Please, sit down and be comfortable. Culley and I will be right back.”

  Brenna draws me into the living room area. I can see why you brought her here, but I don’t have a single bed available for the next two weeks. Both my roommates are in town—and a bunch of my cast mates from New York arrived this morning. They’re out to dinner right now, but they’ll be back soon. I’ve got people sleeping on every available surface—couches, doubling up in the bedrooms. We only have two bathrooms. There’s just no room for her. Plus, there are bound to be questions and inappropriate conversation, if you know what I mean.

  Shit. I run a hand through my hair. What am I going to do? You’ve seen her. She’s a disaster waiting to happen. I found her on the doorstep of a drug den about to be attacked by gang members. Then she nearly got herself run down in the street.

  Why can’t she stay at your place?

  An acute flutter in my chest makes me cough. With me?

  Of course with you. Unless you’d like to come over and sleep in my bathtub and give her complete run of your place. And I have to say... I’m surprised you even care about what happens to this girl. You’ve never struck me as a human-hugger. Or a lover of small domestic animals.

  I glare at her. I’m not. But I’m not a heartless monster either—contrary to rumor. Someone’s got to look after her. She clearly doesn’t belong here. I’m trying to figure out where she came from so I can put her on a direct flight back to the blessed heartland.

  Well, until you do, it looks like you have a new roomie. Just don’t let your father find out.

  Chill bumps rise on my skin at the mention of my father, Audun. The thought of him in the same room with sweet, innocent Laney turns my stomach.

  The text notification on Brenna’s phone sounds. She checks it then types in a brief response. The look on her face is odd when she glances back up at me.

  Speaking of your father... She holds the phone out to me. Ava needs to talk to you. She says she can’t call you directly because he’s searching for her and your phone is probably bugged, but she says it’s urgent she speaks to you. This is my private number. I use the phone I got through Alfred’s agency only for work. Anything I don’t want the Dark Council to know, I discuss on this line. It’s safe. Here. Her number’s up—press the button.

  “You can’t put it off forever,” she says, encouraging me to call the girl who threw me over for a human.

  There’s nothing I want to discuss with Ava.

  But then my heart leaps, making a liar out of me. I haven’t seen her or spoken to her in four months, and I miss her. I have to admit, if only to myself, I was quite attached to her—she’s the closest thing I ever had to a friend. Maybe I even loved her in my own way. But not enough to give her what she was looking for. Ava wanted epic love, like what we witnessed between Lad and Ryann. She wanted no-holds-barred trust, and fairy tale romance, and family. Family. Ha. I have only the vaguest notion of what that is.

  I’m not fit to be anyone’s bond-mate, anyone’s father. Ever. How could I be? I’ve never had a real father, or a real mother for that matter. The only thing I’ve ever been sure of is my ability to manipulate others using my glamour-enhanced looks.

  Though her paramour is human and will die long before Ava will, I have to admit she still made the better choice.

  “Give it to me,” I growl, holding my hand out for the phone.

  Chapter Three

  Sunset

  Brenna nods to a wide sliding glass door. Take it out on the balcony. Just in case there are bugs in here. Don’t worry—I’ll look after Laney.

  Grabbing the phone, I follow her suggestion, sliding the door open and stepping out onto the oceanfront balcony. The air is cool, the sound of the waves soothing. The fragrance on the wind is a mix of salt and sea. I don’t usually notice these details—it must be the influence of Laney’s fresh perspective.

  For a moment I stare at the touch screen, at Ava’s name there. Then I touch the button to dial it. After a few rings there’s an answer.

  “Brenna?” Ava’s voice asks.

  The sound of it gives me a short, sharp pang. I hesitate, then respond. “It’s me.”

  “Oh. Culley. It’s so good to hear your voice. Are you okay?”

  “Of course. What’s going on?” Her strange question has me wondering now. Is she okay? Has something happened to her—or to Asher? “Every... thing all right there?”

  “Yes. Everyone’s fine. I’ve just seen a lot of bad news coming out of New York and Los Angeles—well, everywhere. And I know you’re in the thick of it.”

  “What do you want, Ava?”

  “We—Lad, and Nox, and Ryann, and Vancia, and I—we’ve been discussing the situation. We’re trying to come up with a plan to end the S epidemic, or at least to slow it down. And I’ve told them how you helped me in New York. They’re willing to forgive and forget—if you’d like to work together and help us. We might even have another unexpected ally in the Dark Court.”

  “It’s impossible. There’s no way to stop the S Scourge. Or slow it down. Any more than you can turn back the tide.” A wave crashes on the shore in front of the condo, providing perfect accompaniment to my statement.

  “We have to try, Culley. I know you didn’t want this to happen to the humans any more than I did—you told me you regretted it.”

  “I regretted it because my actions drove you away. Things are different now. I’m not sure why I should care anymore.”

  Turning away from the view of the beach, I peek in through the glass, searching for Laney. She and Brenna are in the living room now, sitting opposite each other in overstuffed chairs and laughing over something. I’ve never understood how girls can make such fast friends.

  “You do care,” Ava argues. “I know you do. You’re not like Audun. You have a good heart.”

  I scoff at her Pollyanna attitude. “You know what I’ve done—better than anyone.”

  “It’s not too la
te, Culley. It’s never too late to make a fresh start, make your own choices and do better. That’s what I’m doing. You’re no worse than I was.”

  A bitter laugh precedes my sarcastic response. “So you were a drug pusher then? I hadn’t realized.”

  “Culley—listen to me. There’s nothing you’ve done that’s so bad it can’t be forgiven.” She sighs. “I just want you to be happy.”

  I snort. “Like you are?”

  “Yes. I am. You can be too. You have great potential, and I know you have love to give if you’ll just believe in it and allow yourself. You can change.”

  “Why should I?” I laugh. “I have a great life. I’m the world’s highest paid male model. I’m rich. I’m famous.” Unable to help myself, I add a barb to the end. “I can have any woman I want.” Almost.

  “And none of it has made you happy.” She hesitates before continuing. “Brenna says there’s a girl with you now.”

  My muscles stiffen with unwillingness. “Yes. I seem to have picked up a stray today. I’ll be rid of her soon. No doubt you’d love her—she’s human.”

  “You’re not... you’re not taking her to your father, are you?”

  Blinking a few times in confusion, I say, “No. Why would I do that?”

  “Nox said Audun’s been supplying girls from the U.S. to foreign fan pods. Alfred discontinued the practice here under Nox’s orders. But some of the other countries are reluctant to let go of them. And they have a taste for American girls. Unfortunately, there are still Americans who are willing to go—or maybe they’re being forced. He’s not sure.”

  I sniff in disgust. I had no idea my father was involved in something like that. And it hurt to know Ava would suspect I might be. “Do you really think I’d participate in human trafficking? Apparently you’re not as convinced of my redeemability as you claim to be.”

  “No, Culley. Of course not. I’m sorry. It’s just... well, who is she?”

  “No one. She’s no one from nowhere, and she’ll be on her way back there very soon.”

  “Sounds like Culley Rune is being a good Samaritan.”

  I can’t stand the hopeful note in her voice. Her never-ending belief in me only makes me feel worse. “Don’t get too excited. And don’t trouble yourself too much over the S or the humans, Angel. It’s a lost cause. I have to go now. Take care of yourself.”

  “Culley—I’m not giving up on you.”

  If it were possible to hear a smirk through the phone, mine would have been loud and clear. “No, I believe you’ve already done that. How’s Asher by the way?”

  Hitting the end-call button, I slide the door open, stepping back inside where Laney and Brenna are now chatting like old friends and fawning over the stupid mongrel kitten like it’s some kind of pampered purebred champion.

  “Everything okay?” Brenna asks me.

  “Sure. Fine. So when is your company coming back?”

  She glances at the clock on the microwave. “Soon.”

  Laney stands. “I won’t impose on you any longer, then. Thank you so much for the tea. It was really nice meeting you.” She extends a hand.

  Brenna shakes it at first then goes in for a hug. “It was wonderful meeting you, too. You’re such a breath of fresh air. Makes me think I should check out the Deep South sometime.”

  “Oh—I uh... I’m from the... Midwest.”

  “Really? You sound just like one of my dancer friends—she’s from Alabama or Louisiana, or one of those states down there. I never can remember.”

  “Well, I guess we all sound like we have an accent compared to you Californians. And of course Culley is the one with the real accent,” Laney teases. “I feel like I’m hanging out with one of the Hemsworths. Or Keith Urban.”

  Glancing back at me, Brenna says, Your taste in women is improving. I like this one. She winks.

  I glare at her, moving to Laney’s side. It’s not like that, and you know it. “Well, come on then, love. Let’s clear out. You must be getting hungry.”

  “A little,” Laney responds, but a loud growl emanates from her stomach, belying her understatement.

  “Oh, hold on a minute,” Brenna says. “Let me give you some cat food to go. Culley probably doesn’t have as much as a can of tuna over there.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have an extra flea collar, would you?” I mutter, eying the dirty kitten in Laney’s arms.

  “I’ll give you something even better—a cat shampoo that should take care of the problem and leave Cupcake smelling like his namesake.”

  She hands me a blue bottle and follows as I guide Laney toward the door and open it. “You know where to find me if you need anything, Laney. And I’ll ask around about a cheap apartment.”

  “Thank you so much,” Laney says with a genuine smile. “You’ve been so nice. I really appreciate it.”

  After the door closes, she asks me, “So, I guess you’re taking me to a hotel now?”

  I walk her a few steps away to my own front door, insert the key, and open it. “No. Right now we’re getting some supper. We’ll work out the overnight situation later.”

  I already know I can’t trust her to stay in a hotel and not go spend the night on the beach or the street or something to “save money.” Well, I suppose I could sway her, but I’m feeling strangely reluctant to resort to that with Laney. I’m not sure why.

  It’s never bothered me to sway humans before. I’ve swayed countless during my lifetime—at Eton, where naturally I got top marks from all my instructors whether I deserved them or not—anytime I needed to get out of a traffic ticket or disciplinary action or escape a particularly persistent admirer. It worked like a charm during my modeling gigs when a shoot went on too long and I got bored and ready to wrap things up. A bit of Sway sent the photographer’s way and poof, we’re done.

  But swaying Laney feels different. For whatever reason, I like talking to her—the real her. She’s interesting, and surprising, and so full of spirit and determination. And she has this quiet sense of dignity about her. The Sway will strip her of all that, of her inhibitions, her sense of self. She’ll be a victim of my mind control, and I’m finding myself unwilling to victimize her.

  She steps over the threshold into my condo. “We’re in your place?”

  “Home sweet home.”

  Taking a few tentative steps forward into the high-ceilinged great room, she bends to set the kitten down. It immediately darts across the room and under my sofa.

  “I hope it’s okay that he’s in here? You’re not allergic are you?”

  “Not physically,” I mutter. Louder, I say, “No. It’s fine. We’ll collect a pan of sand for him and set it up until I can get to the store for some kitty litter and stuff.”

  Laney doesn’t appear to be listening to me. She’s standing in the center of the room, turning in a slow circle. “Wow. It’s so big.”

  “Pardon my asking, but how would you know?”

  She gives me a tolerant smile. “I can tell by the echo of our footsteps and voices. Also, you don’t have a lot of soft furniture or foofy decorations.”

  Her accurate perception makes me grin. “You’re right. I’m a minimalist.”

  I follow her farther into the hard-floored, white-walled room, with its low, sleek furniture and the bare minimum of modern wall art. Directly opposite us, unadorned floor-to-ceiling sliding doors reveal the ocean-front deck, blue skies, and even bluer water.

  Moving toward one of the open doors, Laney tilts her head back and lifts her arms to the side, clearly enjoying the breeze. “And you have an amazing ocean view.”

  Her choice of words has me burning with curiosity. “Have you not always been blind then?”

  She turns toward the sound of my voice. “No. Only for the past two years. I was born with completely normal vision—as far as anyone knew. But when I was fifteen, my peripheral vision started disappearing. My parents took me to the doctor, afraid I might have a brain tumor or something. Turns out I have a hereditary co
ndition called Retinitis Pigmentosa. It doesn’t always lead to total blindness, but in my case, it will. It took about nine or ten months for most of my vision to leave me. Eventually, I’ll lose it all. Right now all I’ve got left is a little bit of light and dark, some shadows, movement, vague outlines. At least the slow progression has given me a chance to prepare, to learn Braille and stuff.”

  “There’s no cure?”

  “No. There are some experimental treatments to slow the degeneration process but no cure. Not yet anyway. I’m always hopeful. I do miss seeing things like the ocean, the sky... fireworks.”

  “And people’s faces?” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my tone. My whole life I’ve been acutely aware of how important appearance is to people’s perceptions of others, mainly because they’ve always given me way more credit than I deserved. I’ve always been assumed to be smarter, more capable, kinder than I really am simply because of how I look.

  “No, actually. I’ve always been so much more interested in what’s inside of people.” She stops and looks thoughtful for a moment, sad even. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

  “Yes.” There is a sudden lump in my throat. I clear it before speaking again. “So... we should order some food. I’ve got several takeout menus here—Pan Asian, Italian, burgers and fries.”

  “Anything is fine. You order something, and I’ll pay.”

  I can’t keep a smile off my face. “You should hold onto that six hundred dollars a little more tightly, sweet.”

  “No. I insist. It’s the least I can do after the way you helped me today.”

  I’ve got no intention of letting the girl pay for our food, and luckily, this issue won’t require Sway. She won’t be able to see me tuck a few bills into the delivery driver’s hand and put her money back into that tiny purse of hers. If she ever takes it off her shoulder, that is. She’s had it there the whole time we’ve been together.

  That’s when it occurs to me. I haven’t seen any luggage. If she arrived in the city today, she should have some.