Black Dalliances (A Blushing Death Novel) (28 page)

I glanced over my shoulder at Patrick. His expression was confused, searching my gaze for answers that I couldn’t give him.

“No,” Dean growled.

I met his blaring blue eyes and shot him a pleading, apologetic quirk of my lips. I would give anything to keep them safe. I loved them both and Dean knew it. As did Baba Yaga.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“Dahlia!” Patrick hissed.

“No!” Dean growled at the same time.

“What are you willing to give?” Baba Yaga almost purred with delight. Stepping forward, she came within mere inches of me.

My skin crawled with the proximity while my blood rushed through my veins and answered the silent call of her magic. The darkness of her power skittered across my flesh, making my hair stand on end and my heart thunder in my ears.

“Anything.”

“Damn it, Dahlia. Don’t do this!” Dean roared in frustration.

“Whatever it is you want, I will provide it for you,” Patrick said coolly, holding Dean back with a simple cold hand on his shoulder.

“I want nothing from you, parasite.” She glanced Dean’s way and shot him a sinister grin. “Or you, pup. It’s as it should be.”

“What can she provide that I cannot?” Saeran said, still arrogant and distracted. His eyes darted between Baba Yaga and Milagra, keeping his body between the ancient witch and his adopted daughter.

“You are worthless to me, Kingling. She is the prize.”

“Baba,” I said.

“She sacrifices much for you,” the hag snarled at the men behind me then met my gaze with meaning hiding in her black eyes. “You sacrifice too much I think,
Devooshka
.”

“It is mine to give,” I whispered.

“Sweetheart, I’m not worth it.”

“Do we have a deal,
Devooshka
?” The crone snarled, reaching out her hand in search of mine.

A wash of dread trickled over me, sinking in the pit of my stomach like a stone as I glanced down at her frail fingers.

“We have yet to discuss the deal. Terms,” I bit back.

“Ah, so clever, this one. I will put the parasites heart back in his chest and you will be in my debt,” she cackled.

“You’ll put his heart back in his chest and his body will be as if he’d never come to this forgotten wasteland,” I clarified.

“It will be as it was the moment he crossed the veil.”

“Dahlia, don’t do this,” Patrick begged.

“Done!” I grasped her cold, bony hand in mine and shook.

An eerie wind swirled around me, blistering against me with the frigid sting of winter. Dark magic crawled up from the solid ground, swirling up my body and clutching at my limbs like talons. The ivory box in my pocket jumped and bounced against my thigh, searching for freedom.

I glanced down to reach for the box housing Patrick’s heart but stopped. Long, black-shadowed fingers of mist and smoke crept inside my pocket, snatching the pristine white box from my possession. Carrying Patrick’s heart across the space between us, the hand of smoke and shadow dropped his soft beating heart into Baba Yaga’s waiting hand.

“You have many secrets,” Baba Yaga cooed up at Patrick and then me.

As she met my gaze, I knew she felt the murmur of his heart in her hand. She knew it beat when it shouldn’t.

“You have more power than you know. You will be fun to watch.” She flung Patrick’s heart out, slamming the tough muscle against his chest in a spray of blood. Black magic seeped into his chest, digging a hole through fabric, skin, muscle, and bone. Sinking into his body, his heart lodged into place, and Patrick arched forward as his heart claimed its rightful place in his chest.

“Pat?” Dean asked, his voice gruff and unsure.

“That is uncomfortable,” Patrick ground out through gritted teeth as his eyes met mine. Skin and flesh closed over the open wound as if his heart had never been missing. He dropped to his hands and knees, panting and exhausted.

“It’s done,” I breathed, feeling the soft thump of Patrick’s heart in my stomach and the unfiltered shock rippling from him in waves.

“And we,
Devooshka
, have a bargain. Don’t forget,” she warned, her shrill voice low and deadly.

The mortar and pestle circled her, creating a breeze that separated her from the rest of us. I stumbled back to avoid being hit. Clasping the pestle, the crone lifted from the ground, cackling as she disappeared though the thick canopy of trees.

I took a long, steadying breath and my stupidity finally washed over me. I was indebted to Baba Yaga. Since stepping into the fucking realm, I’d played right into her hands and hadn’t even seen it coming.

“Why?” Dean growled.

“It’s done,” I whispered. I didn’t want to have this argument. I wanted to go home.

“Why?” Dean roared, and I wasn’t sure he was talking to me anymore.

Glancing from Dean to me and back again, Patrick’s gaze narrowed on his friend in realization. “This is why she isn’t healing, isn’t it? She sacrificed her well-being for you,” Patrick said, rubbing the spot on his chest where Baba Yaga’s magic had seeped into his body.

“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters,” I shouted, trying to ignore the shiver crawling up my spine and the now-familiar burn of black magic in my veins.

“Of course it matters.” Dean roared his frustration, throwing his hands in the air. He turned and punched a tree, dislodging the trunk from its roots. The huge linden crashed to the ground, echoing in the silence that seemed to go on for miles.

“You matter to us,” Patrick whispered, taking the four steps to close the distance between us and ignoring the felled tree. He cupped my face in his cool fingers and I could have sworn I felt the soft, slow thump of his heart in his fingertips. Peering down at me, his dark eyes swam with emotions I didn’t understand and a determination I hadn’t seen in a very long time. “You take too many risks for us. No longer will I stand by while you risk yourself. I took you and us for granted. I won’t again.”

“I want to go home,” I whispered.

“Pack up!” Dean ordered, throwing my bag over his shoulder. “We’re leaving.” His voice was harsh, unable to hide the helplessness he wasn’t used to feeling. Everyone seemed to ignore the tree.

“See.” Patrick grinned down at me with reassurance in his dark eyes. “Already we bow to your whim. It is time for us to take care of you for a while.”

I nodded, checked my weapons, and waited for Saeran and Milagra to lead the way. I wouldn’t feel safe until I was back home, in my own bed, and Baba Yaga’s black magic was far, far behind me.

Chapter 31

I was actually alone in my house. If you count Ev and Miguel on the first floor watching the Columbus Crew game, alone – and at this point, I did – I was alone.

We’d been back from Faerie for two days. For the first day, I did nothing but sleep, a deep, dreamless sleep. It had been a while since I’d been able to sleep and not dream. I’d gotten out of bed this morning feeling strong, like a new person, and I’d spent so long in the bath that I’d thought my skin would be permanently pruned. But I was clean, and the grime of Faerie and Likho’s castle was long gone. That was all that mattered. I hadn’t talked to Patrick since he’d dropped me off at my door just before sunrise after we’d crossed over through the veil.

I missed him. I’d missed him for six fucking months. I thought we’d fixed this but the fact that he’d stayed away showed how much we still had to make right.

Slipping on a pair of yoga pants and a sports bra, I headed up to the attic to train. Sweating all my frustration out would definitely make me feel better. I slammed my fist into the heavy bag again and again, punching and kicking until my muscles ached with both exertion and continued impact.

“Is it working?” Patrick’s deep voice resonated behind me.

I froze, my muscles tightened in tension, and my heart raced. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wasn’t sure he’d actually come. I’d hoped and prayed but I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. We had all taken too much for granted.

Turning slowly, I met his dark gaze. He leaned against the banister at the top of the stairs, seeming comfortable and casual in a pair of dark jeans, a button down dress shirt in light blue, and a pleased smirk. His shirt was un-tucked and open at the neck giving me a glimpse of dark hair against alabaster skin.

“I guess,” I answered, suddenly shy and unsure.

“Anyone in particular you’re beating to a pulp?” he asked, his lips lifting into a lusciously devilish grin.

“No,” I uttered, knowing he would hear the contradiction in my voice. I tugged the Velcro loose from the MMA training gloves Dean had left for me, slid them off, and tossed them on the weight bench. “I didn’t expect you.”

“We have much to discuss. Don’t you agree?” he asked, stepping away from the landing. He wandered between the weight benches, elliptical machines, free weight racks, and weight machines, not once taking his eyes from me.

“Yeah, we do,” I agreed. Afraid to move, my brain screamed at me to run and kiss him, shut him up, remind him what we were like together. My heart, though, was frozen in fear that he didn’t want me. Maybe he thought I wasn’t worth it anymore. That we weren’t worth it.

“Is that all you have to say?” he asked, but his voice was unnervingly neutral, showing no emotion, and it worried me.

“Honestly, I’m afraid to say anything,” I admitted.

“I’ve never known you to be afraid,” he said, taking the four steps to close the distance between us, “of anything. To let anything stop you.”

“I’m incredibly afraid of losing you, of screwing this up beyond repair.” I laughed nervously. Clearing my throat, I met his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said, finally releasing the tension in my shoulders. I exhaled the breath I’d been holding so tightly my chest hurt. “For a lot of things, actually.”

“I am sorry, too,” he said. He stroked the back of his fingers down my cheek.

My skin tingled at his caress, sending a white-hot need through my core. I wanted him to touch me, all of me. His cool fingers were a stark reminder of the delicate touch that I’d missed. My knees went weak and my panties soaked with the heat of my desire as my body responded to his simple touch.

“I don’t know what else to say,” I whispered. My heart beat a frantic rhythm in my chest, my palms were wet with anxious anticipation, and my stomach fluttered. I was almost afraid to breathe, waiting for him to say something.

“Can you ever love me again?” he asked.

“Patrick, I never stopped loving you,” I whispered.

Stepping into him, toe-to-toe, I slid my hands up the chiseled muscles of his chest. He was all hard ridges and cold fire beneath my fingertips. The slow, soft beat of his heart thumped beneath my palm, and I wanted to believe it beat for me. He was still cold and I wanted him beneath me, stealing my warmth.

I leaned into him and pressed a gentle kiss against his full lips, lingering just enough to breathe in his familiar musty old book scent. I hovered a second, barely brushing my lips against his and waiting for him to respond. I peered up, and his intense gaze was fixated on me with hunger.

My heart thundered in my ears, drowning out everything but the breath in my lungs, the soft beat of his heart, and the blood pumping through my veins. Desire rippled through me, burning me up from the inside out. Gripping my hips, his fingers dug into the soft flesh of my ass, forcing my pelvis against him, rough and desperate.

“I missed you,” he growled before his lips crashed down on my mouth, hungry for more.

I opened to him, sliding my tongue along his, entangling them together as I tasted him. Almost drunk at the feel of him pressed against me, the pressure of his thick, hard cock rocking against me and the hard cool press of his body surrounding mine, made me melt into his familiar embrace.

He slid his fingers up the back of my neck, making my skin tingle and tremble. His possessive caress rocked me to my core, and I felt his desire and that he needed me. Cupping my face, he broke the kiss.

I panted in his arms, unable to catch my breath from the ferocity of his kiss. Need and uncontained desire flooded my senses. I was sure for a moment my knees would buckle beneath so much yearning.

He brushed his mouth against mine, savoring the taste as he ran his tongue along the seam of my lips. Sighing at the slick deliciousness of his kiss, I gasped, and he deepened the kiss. He took a long and luxurious sample as he tasted me. I groaned in pleasure, filling his mouth with the harsh sound.

His hands trailed away from my face, leaving my skin longing for the touch of his cold, gentle caress. Sweeping me up into his arms, he cradled me against his chest like I was Scarlet O’Hara, and I didn’t hate it. I wrapped my arms around his neck and disappeared into his kiss, relishing the feel of him against me. He carried me down the stairs and down the hall. Rearing back from him, I ached for breath as my sex throbbed from want of him.

“Ev and Miguel are downstairs,” I whispered.

“No, they are not,” he said with a mischievous smile. “We’re alone for the night,” he growled, licking the sensitive skin behind my ear and trailing his nose across my neck, breathing in my scent.

“You mean we have the whole house to ourselves?” I asked with a delighted, almost giddy tone in my voice.

He walked into my . . . our . . . bedroom, and my breath caught in my throat. The entire room was covered in candles, lining the room and covering every available surface. Cast in a soft, warm light, the candles flickered with the hum of the air-conditioner.

Carrying me to the lush California king bed, he set me down gently, as if I was precious. His hands slid languorously down my body, taking his time to touch every inch of my heated skin. The cool press of his fingertips left trails of wanton desire tingling across my flesh.

He pressed his lips against my neck, kissing a spark down my jugular. My heart pounded in my throat as he grazed his hot mouth across the two iridescent scars marking me as his. His cool breath skimmed my flesh, overheating my body to the point of blissful delirium.

Patrick shoved my sports bra up, exposing my breasts to the cool breeze of the air-conditioning. Grabbing the spandex across my chest, I jerked it over my head and flung it across the room.

Patrick leaned in and sucked one of my nipples between his lips, flicking the hard, puckered mound with his tongue. He cupped my other breast and grazed his thumb over the tip, tightening every muscle in my body to a fevered pitch until I thought I might actually purr with delight.

Moaning, I arched my back, trying to get more of my breast into his talented mouth. I delved my fingers into his thick, coarse hair, keeping his head right where I wanted it as he suckled me.

“Oh God, Patrick,” I moaned as his tongue laved at me. I couldn’t think about anything but his hands on my body and his tongue teasing my nipple. My thighs quivered and I was wet, ready for him.

“I’d almost forgotten how deliciously sensitive you are,” he growled low in the back of his throat. He slid his hands beneath the waistband of my yoga pants and shimmied everything down my hips and legs, tugging them free of my feet.

I lay on the bed naked and wanting.

Gazing down at me with a ravenous smile on his face, Patrick stood.

He unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders. Candlelight flickered over his smooth, alabaster flesh, the scars of Faerie still visible in the soft light. His muscles moved beneath his skin in smooth lines of definition and my mouth watered at the thought of tasting him.

I got up on my knees, meeting his dark gaze with my own hunger. Spreading my fingers over his washboard stomach, I placed a soft kiss on his chest and sucked his nipple between my teeth.

“Dahlia,” he groaned as my fingers unfastened the button on his pants.

I shoved his jeans over his narrow hips, revealing his fully engorged cock. I wrapped my fingers around the silk-covered hardness of his dick, and his entire body trembled at my touch. His eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of my fingers, and I lowered my mouth over him. I licked across the slit, tasting the rich, salty flavor of the pre-cum already beading on the head. Sliding my lips over the tip of him, I sucked his shaft over my tongue and down my throat.

His hands twined in my hair as he thrust his hips forward and his cock further into my mouth. Running my tongue up his shaft, I reveled in the taste of salt on his skin.

I moaned around him and cupped his heavy testicles in my hand. The vibration rippled through him, trembling his scrotum in my fingers. His entire body shivered above me.

“
Fuck
! Dahlia, you have a hot little mouth but I need to be inside you.”

Forcing my shoulders back, he pried my tongue from his cock and shoved me down onto the soft white comforter. Hooking his hand behind my knee, he shoved it up to my chest and spread my thighs wide to expose my sex. Patrick dipped his finger into my wet patch of curls, grazing his fingers in-between my folds. Glorious sensation shot through my body as his thumb slid over my clit. I bucked under him, my nerve endings on fire.

“So wet,” he growled. His fingers stroked over the sensitive knot at my center until my body exploded with pleasure. I cried out as my insides contracted with bliss.

Shifting between my legs, he pushed at my opening with his tip. He slid his cock easily into my body and I shattered around him as aftershocks ripped through me from the sheer contentedness of being full of him. Patrick stood at the edge of the bed with his dick deep inside me, the tip of him nestled against my cervix to the point of pain.

Clutching my hips, he dragged the length of him against my insides as he slid in and out. He took his time to feel every inch of my body as I sheathed him in my warmth.

“You feel so good,” I groaned as he thrust. Crushing my lips with his possessive kiss, I wrapped my arms around him, forcing him down to the bed with me as he drove into me again and again. I tilted my hips up to meet him, driving him deeper.

Patrick slowed, moving deliberately and methodically. He knew my body like it was his own, stroking the sweet spot deep in me as if I’d never been gone.

He ripped his mouth from mine and brushed the hair from my face, his dark eyes intent and focused. Sucking my bottom lip between my teeth, I writhed beneath him, rolling my hips, anxious for the pressure building with each determined, slow stroke. My legs quivered, my hips ached, and my mind reeled from the pleasure of being consumed by him.

“I’ve thought of nothing but you since that first kiss in the club,” he growled, making his chest vibrate with the words. I brushed his hair back from his face. I wanted to see his eyes, for him to see mine when I confessed the only truth I knew.

“You’re the first and last man I’ll ever love,” I said, stroking my fingers down the hard line of his jaw.

“I want to watch you come.”

He ground his hips into me, shifting his cock in a tight circle with each thrust, stroking that delicious spot deep inside. My climax hit like a tidal wave, convulsing my body around him, milking his cock for the release I knew he so desperately wanted.

His fangs extended, and I turned my head, exposing my neck to him. I wanted him inside me in every possible way. Fangs pierced deep into my flesh, sending a shock through me that shattered my womb into a thousand pieces. Bucking under him as pleasure soaked into my being, he thrust his hips up, again and again. Faster until he swelled and sent a hot shot of his release surging through me.

Patrick licked a hot line up my neck to stop the bleeding, and then collapsed onto the bed next to me. He flung out his arms to either side and I couldn’t help but crawl into my spot at the crook of his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me in tight against him.

“Are we good?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. I pressed a gentle kiss against the cooling skin along his jaw still anxious to hear his reply.

“We will be. I promise you that,” he whispered against my hair.

Closing my eyes, I wrapped my arms around his middle and squeezed a little tighter. I loved him and he loved me but it was different than when we’d begun. We knew we could hurt each other now.