Such Violent Delights: A Holiday Paranormal Romance Anthology

by S. L. Jennings

  “—Don’t even sweat it, baby girl. I get it.” Get what? I don’t even know what I’m supposed to get. Before I can exude my thoughts, he turns toward the foyer. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.” I follow him through the main foyer and up the circular stairwell. He pushes open a white door and gestures inside the room. “You can stay here while we figure out our next move. Sound good?”

  I nod, my lips tucking between my teeth. “Yes. Thank you again.”

  “Stop thanking me.” He points to the closet. “I filled that when we got here. Just a bunch of shit like what you’re wearing.” He flicks his hand down at my attire. “Figure that’s your style, so I filled the rest with similar shit like that. Shoes, soaps, tv, that’s all here. TV is different here, just turn it on and you’ll see. Once the hunger hits you, and it will hit you in time, help yourself to anything you need. This house is now yours too.”

  “The hunger? I think it hit me when I first tasted sushi…”

  He chuckles, licking his lip. The way his head tilts to the side has my stomach fluttering in ways I’m still unversed to understand. “Not what I mean.”

  I don’t know how to thank Killian for all that he’s done. I’m still in the early stages of learning who I am, what I am, and what I’m doing here, so to have someone like Killian not only going through it with me but allowing me to use his resources too, fills my chest with something warm and fuzzy. It’s then that I realize humans have a lot of feelings. I wonder idly if they act on them impulsively.

  Without thinking, I leap into his arms, squeezing his body close to mine. “Thank you,” I whisper into his neck, inhaling his scent. “I mean it.”

  He stiffens and then relaxes. “Yeah, no problem, baby girl. Get warm and I’ll be back.”

  He leaves, a little too quickly for it to not be obvious, so I head to the dresser, pulling out a large oversized shirt that says Led Zepplin across it. It hangs to just above my knees, but I figure it will be perfect to sleep in. I open one of the smaller drawers, onto—“What the—”

  I hook my finger through the lace, the fabric scratching against my flesh. I hang it up and inspect it, turning my head. Underwear. This is underwear. Not much of it, but I guess it will be better than wearing nothing, so I take it, along with the large tee and slip into the bathroom that is adjacent to the bedroom. The bathroom is glossy black marble with dark ceramic tiles and cabinets and even a gloss cherry black tub. There are little light bulbs that line the outside of the mirror hanging on the wall, with a long counter that stretches out enough to have many things scattered over it. I open the glass shower door and turn the faucet over to hot. My hand goes under the scalding hot water, but it’s still not quite warm enough. I crank it up again, waiting for it to heat more. After waiting too long and somewhat frustrated with the cold water, I turn it all the way to hot and then finally slip underneath the pelting drops, sighing at how relaxed I feel instantly. I reach for the bar of soap and lather the suds onto the palm of my hand, rubbing it into my flesh. Once I’ve spent roughly forty-minutes under the heat, I turn it off and wrap the towel around my body, stepping out. Rubbing the condensation off the mirror, I swipe all of my white hair to one side, letting it trail over and down my stomach. The black streaks are looking more vivid than they did when I was in Nirvana.

  I quickly get changed and make my way deeper into the bedroom. I want to take a minute to look around, but my head is pounding and my eyelids feel heavy, so I flop onto the bed, yanking the covers off and fall down into a deep slumber.

  Something is trying to explode behind my lids. Flashing of hot light, loud noises, and…

  I wince, reaching for the blankets to pull them above my head. It’s the damn sun.

  “I’m sorry, lady, but I have strict orders to make sure you are up and dressed and ready,” a voice says from somewhere deep in the back of my brain. Narnia? Are we there? Chocolate? I’ve always wanted to taste chocolate. My mouth waters at what that might taste like. My tummy growls.

  Another yank of the covers. “Up.”

  I groan, rolling to the side and slowly opening my eyes. The assault from the sun is blinding, so much so I instantly squeeze them shut again. “Oh my gosh, can you please close those blinds.”

  Silence, and then shuffling before the room is fifty shades dimmer than it just was.

  I peel my eyes open again, this time getting a first-hand look at who my intruder is. Standing in black slacks, a bright white dress shirt and a tight black vest, has to be a man who is either around my immortal age—eighteen—or a little older. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows displaying intricate weaves of tattoos inked into his flesh.

  “Ah, hello?” My eyes travel to his face, where stubble is scattered over his jaw and his blond hair hangs down to his neck. The hair and the tattoos contradict his attire and mannerism.

  He tucks one side of his sandy blond hair behind his ear. “Morning, Lady, you need to be up and ready.” Then he turns around and leaves. What?

  I crawl out of the bed, taking the blanket with me when my foot catches something. I step backward, looking down at the floor and see the corner of a box sticking out. I pick it up, dropping the blanket back down to the bed and yank open the box. A small tape recorder sits in the middle, surrounded by nothing else. I look up to the door to see if anyone is there. A feeling, an indescribable feeling is telling me that I should not be opening this box. It’s covered in smooth brown suede, stitched to perfection. Biting my lip, my hand curles around the small device—a phone rings, shocking me, and I drop the entire box to the ground.

  It continues to ring, so I reach toward the old circular phone on the bedside table, answering it instantly. “Hello?” My voice is breathless, and I internally try to calm it down.

  “How was your sleep, baby girl?”

  I sigh, exhaling when I hear Killian’s smooth and reassuring voice. “You scared me!” I lean back into the headboard, tossing the covers onto the floor to cover the box on the ground—just in case the stranger from earlier decides to make a reappearance.

  He chuckles, the sound making my heart thud in my chest. Why am I having such a reaction to this man. “Yeah? You ain’t seen nothing yet, sweetheart, listen, I’ll be back a little later. Did you meet Juan?”

  “Ah.” I clear my throat. “The blond hottie who rudely woke me up from my excellent sleep?” I’m reminded about what I was thinking about just seconds before being woken. Chocolate. My stomach grumbles.

  “Yeah, that’ll be him. Stick to him today and don’t leave the house. Understood?”

  I nod and then remember that he can’t see me. “Yes. I understand.”

  “Good,” he pauses and then adds. “I’ll see you soon.”

  I hang up, putting the phone back onto the base. I know what’s happening—I’ve formed a crush. It’s only that he is physically attractive, it’s how he has treated and made me feel in the short time that I’ve known him. The way someone looks to me, I feel doesn’t mean anything. Appearances change, but the way someone has made you feel has the capacity to leave its scent violently attached to your soul. Juan, he’s… well, I don’t know. He’s very very good looking. Where Killian is rougher around the edges with scruffy dark hair, eyes like cognac, and a natural tan over his skin—and let’s not forget about the dimples—Juan is dipped with something else. Tension, confusion, and chaos, all buttoned up with a suit and a smile bright enough to make angels weep. Then there is his polite manner, inked skin, and untamed eyes. There’s something about him that made me…my eyes catch the ground where the pile of blankets lie, reminding me what I was doing before Killian interrupted me.

  Yanking the blanket off the floor, I kneel down and grab the recorder again. Should I listen to it now, or go downstairs and make sure Juan is occupied? I decide on the latter because of the cravings for chocolate. How can I crave something that I’ve never tasted before, but I swear I can feel the silk of molten chocolate slip down my throat. Kicking the box bac
k under my bed, I tie my hair up in a messy bun on the top of my head and slowly make my way down the spiral staircase. My fingers grip the marble railings, clenching roughly on my descent. I make a beeline straight for the kitchen once I’ve reached the bottom, opening up cupboards to find something that comes even just a little close to chocolate.

  “Damn it!” I curse once I realize there’s nothing in here but food I don’t recognize. This is nothing new, though, we didn’t have artificial food in Nirvana. We had fresh cut meat, grains, breads, and red wine. Lots and lots of red wine.

  “Can I help you with something, Lady?” The voice from earlier freezes my movements.

  “Ah,” I spin around, my cheeks flaring. For someone who says appearances don’t mean anything this guy sure has an impact on my being able to breathe. “Maybe? I need chocolate.”

  “Chocolate?” He tilts his head, licks his lip and grins.

  I don’t really like that grin. The look he gives me slips over my body and seeps into every crack, hole, and pore I have, seeding roots inside of me. Poison ivy, probably.

  I cross my arms in front of myself, my eyes flicking over his shoulder slightly to fixate on a large portrait hanging on the wall. A swirl of red and black is smudged with what looks to be oil paint. It’s interesting because it almost looks like a woman.

  “Yes,” I answer, my attention coming back to him.

  His eyes intensify, and for a split second, I wonder if I should look away. I don’t. Something about him challenges something deep inside of me, stirring it awake.

  He steps forward, and I’m strangely aware of his closeness. “Why are you craving chocolate, Tatyana?”

  “What kind of question is that, Juan.” My answer came out a little snappy, but my hunger levels have hit a high. Sort of.

  I turn back around to face the inside of the pantry, looking over the labels again.

  A soft whoosh of warm air pushes against my back, gripping the back of my neck and flicking my hair up softly. “It’s a question, that’s what kind of question that is,” he answers, and his voice is right there, his breath kissing the flesh on my back. I grip the edges of the pantry door, closing my eyes, confused—again—with the overwhelming feeling of want. Need. Lust. Shit. This is lust. It’s different, I think, to what I feel for Killian (though it’s too early to tell), but I can call it right now that how I feel about Juan’s proximity and Kill’s proximity is completely different. Kill makes me feel safe. I somewhat trust Killian, the way he makes me feel has butterflies flickering in my belly. Juan, on the other hand, makes me feel like my skin is on fire and I’m about to combust on the spot.

  I step out of his nearness, reaching for the first thing I see that looks like melted chocolate, only in a jar, and then I dip under his arm that is reached out, caging me inside the walk-in pantry and scoot onto one of the bar stools.

  Twisting the cap off, I sniff it and then shrug. “Smells close enough.”

  I dip my finger into the mud-like texture, scooping a decent amount onto my index finger and then press it to my tongue. My mouth erupts like a box of fireworks and my eyes pop open.

  “Oh my gosh!”

  Juan snatches the jar, scowling at me in disgust. “This is Nutella. It’s a hazelnut spread—not chocolate.”

  I suck the rest off my finger, glaring at him. His eyes narrow on my hand, but I ignore him, sucking every drop off and popping my finger out of my mouth. “Give it back.”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  I lick my lips, eager to get every drop of taste in. “Give. It. Back.”

  I can feel my chest rising and falling in anger. I liked the chocolate. I want the chocolate.

  Juan grins, then dips his finger into the delicious spread and sucks his finger into his mouth. He licks it all off and then smirks. “No.”

  I launch off the chair, my eyes fixated on the jar, and just as I’m about to snatch it off him, he dodges me and I’m falling. My face hits the marble tile with a smash, and numbness takes over. “Ouch, I think I broke my nose.” I can hear Juan laughing in the background and it sets off another feeling I’m not familiar with, I believe the feeling is dislike.

  “You better shut up, Juan.”

  I go to turn onto my back, but I’m halted by something jarring my movement. Something big and stretched out. I turn my head slightly over my shoulder—“Christopher! My wings are out!”

  Juan’s no longer laughing. I look up at him, wondering why he’s stopped and hoping like hell that he has disappeared, but instead, I find him totally fixated on my wings—the wings that have decided to make their first appearance after I’ve fallen on my face.

  Crap.

  Juan steps closer, his head tilted and his eyes glistening in something that I’m not sure I want to elucidate on right now.

  “Wait! What are you doing?” I throw my hand up to halt him as he stumbles closer.

  He hits it out of the way fluidly and reaches to touch my feathers with his other hand. “Fuck they’re beautiful.”

  The crass word falls from his mouth smoothly, only laced with a different tone than he had earlier this morning when he was all “Morning, Lady.”

  He licks his lip and steps back, his eyes piercing mine. “I’ve never seen black ones before.” He straightens his shoulders. “Apologies.”

  I stand back to my feet, rubbing my cheek while checking my nose. Nothing broken—thank shit. “Any idea how to make them stand down?”

  He laughs, putting the Nutella onto the counter. “Do I look like an angel to you? Get ready, I’ll take you to get real chocolate once you figure out how to” —he pauses and seems to think over his next words, then he smirks —“make them go down.” He disappears through the doorway leaving me standing there, huffing my hair out of my face. I slow my heady breathing while trying to remember one of the lectures from when I was a child about wings and gaining them. I know how angels make theirs go down, but maybe it won’t work for mine. I try anyway. An image of them lowering down and tucking into my shoulder blades without a trace flash through my head, and instantly, they’re pushed away again.

  I exhale, sagging in relief. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 5

  The bright sun blasts my eyes so I quickly push my glasses down to shade out the rays as I head through the foyer, pushing through the main doors of the mansion.

  “You not used to that yet?” Juan asks, shutting the front door behind us. He’s wearing the same suit with his sleeves rolled up.

  “Ah, no. No, I’m not.”

  Putting his aviator sunglasses on, he puts up a wall between me and his black eyes. “Get used to it.”

  I follow him down the steps, taking in the dark floral arrangements that are surrounding the main entrance of the house. A black limo pulls up and Juan takes my hand to lead me toward it. I almost retract my hand to ignore the flick of electricity that passes between us, but before I can, he’s let go and pulling the side door open. I slide into the back seat and freeze when I see I’m not alone.

  Juan slips in beside me, grinning when he catches the shock on my face. “This is Aamon.”

  My eyes go to Aamon, and I lick my lips. He has dark hair slicked back with the sides shaved very closely, and tattoos that go up the side of his neck toward his head. His knee jiggles, his finger tapping over his thigh as his eyes blaze through mine. Black, bleak and emotionless. He doesn’t offer a smile or a simple inclination that he sees me. He simply, exists.

  “Hi. I’m Tatyana.”

  He doesn’t answer me. With a mere flick of his eyelashes, he looks back at Juan, as if to say Who is this peasant. I don’t think I like him either. In fact, none of Killian’s friends I like very much so far.

  “Are you guys friends of Killian’s?” I ask them both, twisting my fingers in my lap. The door opens and another male figure slides in, this time scooting beside Aamon.

  “Not friends, sweetheart, more like—”

  “—Abraxa, quiet!” Aamon snaps, and his voice w
as like a sharp blade slicing through the air.

  I wince but ignore them.

  Abraxa winks at me, his smile eating up the tension, then he looks back at Aamon. “Oh chill out, brother, you know I’m playing. And quit using my full name. It makes me hella edgy.”

  Aamon sneers.

  Juan scoffs. “Brax, shut up before he kills you. How about that?”

  Brax shuffles into his seat with a shrug and that smirk. “No problem. As long as you use Brax.”

  I’m confused and my face must display it because as the limo finally pulls us out of Killian’s house, Juan leans down, his lips skimming over my ear, sending chills over my body.

  Just as he’s about to say something, Abraxa interferes. “No playing with the subject, Juan. She might not like being roasted.”

  I tilt my head to look at Juan because as much as I’d hate to admit it, he is the only one here who I semi-know. Right now. Until Killian gets here, at least. Where the hell is Killian anyway?

  “Subject?” I ask, eyebrow quirked.

  Juan shakes his head and politely smiles. “We will explain.”

  “When?” I brave myself to ask.

  “When we say, Sub,” Aamon snickers.

  “Sub?” I don’t miss the disdain in his tone, or his icy stare.

  He grins.

  I decide to leave it, too overwhelmed with what’s happening.

  Aamon glared at me the entire trip to town, Juan sat upright and alert, while Brax fell asleep. I’m not sure what part of this dynamic confuses me the most.

  Probably the part where it exists.

  The limo stops, and Juan climbs out with ease, reaching inside to take my hand. I give it, allowing him to help me to my feet.

  “Wow!” I gasp, overwhelmed by the buildings and architecture. I ignore what’s going on behind me because I’m completely entranced by what exists ahead of my naked eyes. Buildings line a marble road where yellow and purple lilies spring out from the ground, tracing the edge of the sidewalk. Only these lilies are larger than the ones I’ve ever seen, almost the size of a small child. It’s beautiful. Each shop has lights flashing and hanging from the storefronts with various signage to announce who they are and what they sell. A hand comes into mine and I exhale, biting down on my lip. I know it’s Kill, only he would hold my hand, but when I turn around, I’m face-to-face with a smug Brax.