In the Dark

by Jen Colly

  After her neck had had a close encounter with his teeth last night, she’d needed the false security of the turtleneck. It concealed the part of her that he desired most. Now she wasn’t sure it was her blood he favored. He hadn’t touched her neck.

  Shivers skittered over her skin. He’d kissed her completely, intimately, and not once had she considered his fangs as he’d devoured her lips.

  The excitement inside her mellowed, and nervousness crept in, spurring her into motion. A step, then two, and she walked aimlessly around the room. She pulled her hair away from her face and up in a ponytail. Time to get serious and sort out her emotions instead of letting them run rampant. But at this point, recognizing logic would be difficult. She lived with a vampire in an underground city. The whole situation was nowhere near logical.

  Did that mean her former life had made sense? No. The constant solitude of home and work had been grating on her for a while. Come to think of it, home hadn’t crossed her mind until now.

  She dashed to the bureau, tugged open the top drawer, and dug under her clothes. Her hand wrapped around the cool plastic cellphone. It had a low charge, and a poor signal. No messages and no missed calls. In the past she might have been angry, or even cried, but the blank screen killed what little compassion she had left for her parents.

  She grabbed a random T-shirt from the open drawer, threw it over her head, stepped into the hallway, and retraced the path leading to the chateau. The first night she’d taken this same path, escape had been on her mind. Tonight was no different.

  She opened the heavy door, pushed her way through. The chilled cement floor permeated her bare feet as she hurried through the cellar and up the stairs. Guardians would be at the gate, but she had no plans to venture further.

  Again, she checked the signal. The cell had great reception at the top of the stairs, not far from the kitchen windows. Soft beeps echoed through the kitchen until she found her dad’s number. It rang several times, then his voicemail snagged the call. He never answered his phone, not even for her.

  If she’d had any doubts about her intentions, they were gone now. Her parents wouldn’t change, but she had.

  “Hey, Dad. I found a place and a job in Paris. I’m not coming home. Tell Mom for me. ’Bye.” She didn’t have any more in her. Neither of them had bothered to find out where she’d disappeared to, or called to make sure she hadn’t been killed. No more waiting for them to genuinely give a damn.

  She marched down the stairs to Balinese, and tossed her phone into the first wastebasket she passed. The resounding clunk left a satisfied smile on her face.

  Soren cared for her. She refused to throw that away because of his fangs.

  Her search took her past his home to the end of the hallway. She found him, arms braced on the balcony railing. He stared out over the pond. Standing there in his pajama pants, he bore no resemblance to the monster his kind had been portrayed as over the years.

  “Soren,” she said quietly, tiptoeing toward him.

  “Go back, Faith,” he growled.

  She stopped, tilting her head slightly. “Are you angry with me?”

  “Yes, I’m angry. You think the only thing I want from you is blood.” His ribs expanded with each deep breath.

  Okay. Point taken. “What is it you want from me, then?”

  Soren turned, pinned her feet to the floor with the sincerity of his gaze. “Everything.”

  “What?” she asked, and rocked back.

  “I won’t lie to you. The urge to bite you beats at my skull when you’re near, but not for blood. I want you in every possible way a man wants a woman.” He clamped his mouth shut and turned away from her, looked over the water again. “Why were you in Paris?”

  “Is it important?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Just wondering why fate threw you at me. That night was the first I’d set foot in Paris in over a year.”

  “This may sound funny, but I’m here on my honeymoon,” she said simply.

  A dark scowl settled on his face. “I see. You don’t seem very brokenhearted about losing your mate.”

  “My what?” Oh, no. He thought she’d been married. Recently. She quickly shook her head and clarified, “I’m not here with a man, husband or otherwise.”

  “Explain,” he said, gaze fixed on her.

  “I packed my bags and took a solo vacation. Every girl dreams of her wedding day, even the ones who claim they don’t. Paris always fits the fairytale, whether it’s the wedding, honeymoon, or ten year anniversary. It’s a girl thing. I just needed to get here.” Admitting to her failed hopes and dreams was embarrassing. Head tipped downward to hide her face from him, she leaned against the railing beside him. “This is difficult for me, you know.”

  “What is, being here?” Hip on the railing, he faced her.

  “Not really, but yes.”

  “Explain that, if you can,” he challenged.

  “This is a beautiful home, comfortable and warm. I can have anything and everything I ever wanted. I’m living with a handsome man who provides these things for me.” She tried to sound practical, remain composed as if she recited a list, but as he stood taller at her side, she had to smile.

  “You find me handsome?”

  “I’d like to find you naked,” she said with a sigh, gazing at his bare torso dreamily. “Oh!”

  Hands covering her mouth, she shot a look at him. Soren grinned from ear to ear, dashing all hopes that he’d missed hearing the N word.

  Her cheeks warmed, and she dropped her gaze to the pond. “Well, that’s not my point.”

  “Too bad,” he said, and when she glanced at him, the spark of desire flared between them instantly.

  She had to get this off her chest, and the way he bit his bottom lip between his teeth derailed her thought process. She tapped his arm with the back of her hand. “Stop it, Soren. My point is that none of it’s mine. It’s like I’m playing at being married, but this isn’t my home. You don’t belong to me.” She paused, wistful. “I can’t recall having anything that was completely mine, something I could take care of, be proud to call my own.”

  “You didn’t have a home?”

  Her brows pressed together for a moment before she answered him. “I had a home, but my dad bought it for me. My mom picked out the furniture, then paid gardeners to update the lawn. Dad retaliated with buying me a car.”

  “Retaliated,” he repeated. “How does one retaliate with a car?”

  “That’s how they prefer to fight with each other. I think it’s a habit left over from their divorce. They lured me with gifts in the custody battle, but neither actually wanted me. Both liked to win, whether it was the house, the boat, or the kid. One day I came home and found a key and an address in an envelope on Dad’s kitchen table. Dad had bought me a house. He picked it out, and he owns it.” She speared her fingers through her hair, angry with them all over again. “Damn it, I just want something of my own.”

  “You want to go pick out a cat?”

  Faith laughed. He’d broken her streak of gloom. “No. Thank you, but no. I don’t qualify to care for something living. I had a goldfish once, and that didn’t turn out well.”

  “All right, no animals. I guess that rules me out.”

  “Soren, I don’t think of you as an animal. I never have.” She’d heard the pain in his voice, though he pretended it didn’t matter. “I like it here, I really do, but I feel like an outsider in your life and your world. I don’t know where I belong. What if I don’t belong here?”

  Soren pushed himself away from the railing. “Would you marry me?”

  The whole sentence floated, wonderful, magical, something so enticing... But, “I still won’t fit into your world. Marrying me won’t fix anything.”

  “There’s nothing to fix. I only want you,” he said.

  “I...I don’
t know,” she stammered. She’d had every intention of giving their relationship a real chance, but marriage?

  “Give us a chance.” With his fingers he brushed through her hair, tucked stray pieces behind her ear. “It’s all yours, Faith, with or without marriage. I’m yours. Whenever you’re ready.”

  Chapter 12

  She’d expected Soren to ignore what had happened between them. Instead, she’d caught him watching her throughout last night with carnal heat in his eyes. She’d been just as bad. Every time he spoke, her gaze had drifted to his lips.

  Odd tension had always popped between them, and now she easily recognized it as desire. Mutual desire. The night had already started off with a few lingering glances that had left her lost in a daydream, her cup of Earl Grey forgotten, cooling in her hands.

  The bathroom door swung open and she turned her head to the subject of her fantasies. He sat on the edge of the bed, a shoe on one foot and the other in his hand. She slowly entered the bedroom and paused, pressed her shoulder against the doorway. Why would Soren be dressed completely in white? “You’re not dressed for class. Where are you going?”

  “I’m teaching.”

  “In that?” She pointed at him from head to toe.

  “The first day of practice for a new Guardian is ceremonial. Titus and Dyre will also be wearing white. We fight for first blood,” he said as he stood.

  “What?” She straightened, horrified and hoping she’d heard him wrong.

  Soren took one look at her expression and laughed. “The intention is not to hack off limbs, Faith, only to draw blood. Rarely is anyone seriously injured.”

  “Sounds like fun,” she said with a fake grin.

  “You’re welcome to stop in and watch,” he offered.

  “I wasn’t any help last time you brought me with you. Because of me, multiple boys got lectured, and you knocked one on his ass. I think I’ll stay here,” Faith said with a short nod.

  He put his hand over his heart. “That really hurts, you know. I thought you liked watching me practice.”

  “I did,” she said quietly. She bit her lip to keep from smiling like a ninny.

  “So, the truth comes out.” He met her in the doorway, filling the small space. “You ready to marry me yet?”

  She cleared her throat. “You can’t expect me to marry you based on attraction.”

  “No, but attraction is half the battle, and it appears I’ve already won that,” Soren said with a wink, then dashed out the door.

  After the door latched shut, she wandered into the bedroom and pulled out her jeans and brand new button up black shirt. She skimmed her fingers over the collar. She’d bought it with Soren in mind. In fact, he often occupied her thoughts.

  The door flew open and she gasped. Soren strode in, and she was relieved to see him. Until he advanced on her. Each step he took kicked her heartbeat up a notch, and in an instant he’d pinned her to the dresser, deliciously crowding her.

  He leaned closer and she shut her eyes and parted her lips, ready to accept him. His lips didn’t make contact. Instead, he brushed his cheek against hers, his lips moving against her ear. “I forgot my guns.”

  “Liar.” The accusation had come out as more of an airy whisper.

  He backed away, the smooth slide of metal against wood verifying his story. Smiling, he holstered the weapons and walked out.

  Damn it, but the man was a tease. He hadn’t kissed her on purpose. Hands planted on the dresser, she steadied herself. He’d given her one phenomenal kiss, offered marriage, and now he was holding out on her?

  If he planned on tormenting her, then she’d have no remorse over doing the same to him. She might as well go watch him practice.

  One cold shower and a half an hour later, she hit the training room, and was instantly puzzled by the silence. No one shouted. No swords clanked together. Titus and Dyre sat alongside the wall, speaking to each other in hushed voices.

  “Where’s Soren?” she asked and both men jumped to their feet.

  Titus coughed, then sent Dyre a nervous glance. How odd. Titus seemed the more boisterous of the two, but he kept quiet, his eyes avoiding her.

  Dyre answered. “He’s been injured.”

  “Where is he?”

  “The medical room is three doors down on the right,” Dyre said.

  Faith was in motion before she’d comprehended her destination. Gripping the doorframe, she whipped her body around the corner and ran. Navarre and Julian lingered in the hallway. She didn’t wait to reach them before she called out. “Is Soren in there? Dyre said he was injured.”

  “Yes, he was,” Navarre confirmed.

  “Is he all right? Does he need...blood?”

  Julian stepped closer, leaning forward. “Actually, he does. I was just going to call her.”

  “Her? Who?” she asked, clenching her fists at her sides.

  “Excuse me. Julian?” Navarre interrupted, but Julian waved dismissively at his lord.

  “A woman Soren used to see. She’ll allow him to feed from her,” Julian said, and pressed buttons on his phone.

  “You put that phone away. He doesn’t need her.” Pushing up her sleeves, she barreled past the two men.

  * * * *

  The chilly metal table had finally soaked up some of his body heat. Soren sat on the edge, making an effort to remain still. If he turned his head, or reached for anything, pain darted throughout his back. His multiple wounds hurt, and blood still poured from them, but he smiled like a proud father.

  Titus had beaten him. Okay, technically Titus had sent him crashing backward into the glass display cabinet, but blood was blood. The way Titus had risen to the challenge of First Blood had taken him by surprise.

  Now he sat here, bleeding and cringing, smiling. All right, maybe just a half smile, but he couldn’t help it. Titus was one of the finest Guardians he’d trained.

  The hallway door opened, and shut quickly. Julian’s satisfied laugh floated in from somewhere outside the room. Word must have traveled fast. Soren carefully turned his head to his visitor.

  Wide eyed, Faith stared, a hand clamped over her mouth. Damn it, she’d seen the blood. He had no mirror to verify his condition, but he guessed that he’d lost plenty.

  “Faith, I’m fine,” he said gently, attempting to relieve the panic in her eyes.

  Without an ounce of hesitation, she planted her hips between his legs. She gathered her dark hair in one hand, gave it a quick twist, and held it away from her neck.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, leaning away slightly.

  “Bite me.”

  Soren struggled to comprehend her short, urgent response. “What?”

  “You heard what I said. Bite me. Go on, get it over with,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut, teetering forward.

  Would she truly allow him to drink from her? “Faith, you don’t have to do this.”

  “Oh, shut up and do it. You need blood, and I won’t let that other woman touch you. I don’t want you to die,” she pleaded.

  “Faith, I’m not... What woman?”

  “Damn you, Soren. Bite me.” She took hold of his neck and brought him down to her.

  The glass in his wounds sliced new paths through his flesh, making him groan. His palms caught the edge of the table, halting any further movement. He tried breathing through the pain, but it didn’t help a damn thing. His expanding ribcage tugged at the freshly torn wounds. Gritting his teeth, he dropped his head to her shoulder. She curled her fingers through the hair at his nape, and the simple strokes were comforting. He seriously owed whoever had sent her in here fearing for his life. She’d offered herself, persistently, and he wouldn’t turn her down.

  He shifted slightly, brushed her delicate throat with his lips, nuzzled her there, stalling long enough for her to escape him should she change her mind. She
only gripped his neck tighter.

  Swiftly and with skilled precision, he broke through her skin. She went rigid in his arms. Her breaths came in short bursts. Unlike when he’d fed from her in the alleyway in Paris, here she would remain conscious and fully aware of him.

  Shivering, she dropped her hair and clung to him. She’d crossed the threshold, gone from the shock of the bite to the blissful pleasure of feeding. He took only enough to build her passions, to demonstrate that his bite wouldn’t harm her.

  Prying one hand off the table, he wrapped his arm around her, cradled her. Stinging pain skittered across his upper back, and a muffled grunt escaped him.

  He slid his fangs free, and a muscle in his upper lip twitched. His instincts rebelled against sealing the bite. If he left the bite open to heal on its own, she would be marked as his, but he couldn’t make that choice for her.

  He pushed past the urge to mark her and ran his tongue over the bite. With a gasp, she pulled back and searched his face, her rosy cheeks and passion-glazed eyes a lovely sight.

  “How are you?” he asked as he ducked into her line of sight.

  “I’m...I...that was...” Her words gave out, and her knees. She gripped his thigh and caught herself.

  He grinned. “I bet it was.”

  A door slammed behind them, and she jumped. Soren turned slightly to see the intruder. It was Elin. She’d come from the adjoining room with a flat tray under her arm and a fistful of medical tools, and she glared at him as if he’d just become her number one enemy.

  “If you don’t mind.” Elin pointedly ignored him, directing her words at Faith with a fake smile plastered on her face. “I need to fix Soren.”

  “He’s fine now. You won’t be feeding him,” Faith snapped.

  Elin recoiled, but only for a second. “Excuse me? What kind of place do you think we run here?”

  “Elin, it’s okay,” he said, carefully shifting so he could see her.

  Elin glanced at his back, then narrowed her eyes on him. “You know I’m not a surgeon. Two minutes, Soren. You couldn’t have waited two minutes? Now I’ll have to slice you open and find the pieces. Next time, keep your lust contained until after I’ve pulled the glass from your back.”