Black Dalliances (A Blushing Death Novel) (6 page)

Chapter 4

Columbus Ohio, Present Day  

Voices echoed through the foyer; Patrick’s elegant tenor and a baritone I didn’t recognize. A smooth, rolling accent that could only be described as Latin reverberated across my skin, smooth and satiny. Empty at 10 p.m., the mansion seemed more like a tomb than a home. Knowing it was unusual for the colony to already be gone from the mansion at so early an hour, I shivered at the implications of an empty house.

“Mr. Cavanaugh, my sojourn into your territories has been a most pleasant one,” he said, the ‘r’s rolling off his tongue.

“I am pleased,” Patrick answered.

“I hope you are more confident now regarding your decision?” Alex asked. Her voice was firm, holding the authority she wore like a good piece of jewelry, proud and flaunting it.

“There is one issue you have yet to address,” the man said.

Laughter bubbled up from behind the front door to my right and my body tensed at the intrusion. Humans, I could hear their hearts beating and the soft conversations as they entered with Nova and a few others. I nodded once at Nova, and he encouraged the group into the great room to continue the party, leaving me in the foyer alone.

“Oh?” Patrick asked, and I could almost hear the practiced disdain in his tone.

“Yes! And you well know what.”

“Enlighten me,” Patrick said, sounding more dangerous than I’d heard him in a very long time.

“The Blushing Death! You’ve made no assurances regarding her, and I have yet to lay eyes on this woman!”

“We apologize, but The Blushing Death is currently indisposed at another of Patrick’s holdings,” Alex offered.

I could almost hear the indignation in her tone as if she was affronted to even be asked.

“Is she indisposed as she was in Las Vegas?”

The room fell silent and the sound of my heart thundering in my ears was all I could focus on, hoping the vampires would be too preoccupied with their own conversation to notice a wayward heartbeat in the foyer.

“Whatever some may believe, Dahlia was not sent there to assassinate Marabelle.” Patrick’s voice was a tightly coiled threat that sent chills up my spine. “However,” he continued. “Marabelle’s territory is a problem. Soon it will be under my control. You needn’t worry about that.”

“Her territory encompassed Nevada, Utah, and Arizona. How long before you send The Blushing Death into my territory, Cavanaugh?”

“Texas is a very big place. I’m sure there are plenty of places to hide,” Patrick cooed.

“Are you threatening me?”

Power prickled in the air, icy scratches down my arm as an unfamiliar vampire flexed his muscle. I reached for the gun at my back and wrapped my fingers around the cold steel. Listening for the sounds of a fight, I feared waiting much longer.

“Gentlemen,” Alex interrupted.

When the room remained silent, I realized Alex had probably stopped a blood bath before it started with her simple chastisement of decorum. Diplomacy was a wonderful thing if you knew how to use it.

Stepping up to the partially open door of Patrick’s office, I knocked. I was still learning. Diplomacy was a tricky thing and knocking instead of barging in was my form of diplomacy.

“Yes,” Patrick hissed, bidding entrance.

I wasn’t sure he knew it was me. His voice was sharp, and when I propped the door open wide enough to see in, his eyes widened in surprise. Nope. He hadn’t a clue it was me.

Alex got to her feet from the arm of the familiar red leather couch I’d picked out after Ethan’s death. Her dark Hispanic eyes widened. It seems everyone was surprised to see me.

“Someone was asking about me?” My voice was calm and casual as I stepped into Patrick’s office, hiding the anxiety making my stomach churn with uncertainty.

“Dahlia, I thought you would be longer,” he said. But I knew what he meant by the strain in his voice and the tight line of his jaw. He hadn’t wanted me here at all and didn’t want the unfamiliar vampire to know it. A simple stretch of the truth. How long did he expect me to be gone. . .forever?

“Turns out, the situation wasn’t as bad as we thought,” I played along. The realization that things between Patrick and I were worse, not better, made my hand shake at my side. I tightened it into a fist and dug my fingernails into my palm. The pain helped clear my head. I smiled warily at Alex and the other man. The unknown vampire watched me too closely for my comfort as his eyes darted down to my fist.

“Mr. Janus,” Alex said with a smile on her face but I saw the warning in her eyes, “may I introduce Dahlia Sabin.”

Unnaturally bright green eyes stared back at me from a face that was chiseled and hard. His skin was the color of almonds, dulled and ashen by a lack of sun. His jet-black hair was greased back and with a suit and wingtips to match he looked as if it was 1943 all over again. The vampire peered down at me and then over to Patrick with a smirk.

“Is this the creature that has the entire vampire board sharpening their claws and every territorial Liege clamoring for cover?” he asked with a glint of humor in his voice.

“Are they?” I gave him a nonchalant shrug of my shoulders and wide-eyed innocence. I could play innocent well enough when the situation suited.

“Yes, they are.” The sound of the ‘r’ rolling off his tongue carried a blatant sexuality that could send another woman to her knees. Me, I’d heard better.

“Diego!” Patrick snarled. Diverting the vampire’s attention and showing just a bit of agitation, Patrick’s glare flashed with warning.

Diego Janus’s eyes darted from me to Patrick with the hint of a knowing, carnal smirk on his lips.

“I’m merely inspecting your entire operation, Patrick. With the real possibility of you acquiring Marabelle’s territory and already in possession of Darshan’s territory in Pennsylvania, you’ve built quite a little empire. I was simply wondering if all the stories were true, that’s all.”

“What stories?” I asked, squaring my shoulders and emptying my eyes of everything but that familiar peace where nothing existed but me and death.

“That Patrick allows a human to do his dirty work for him.”

The vampire was poking at an angry bear. Maybe he knew it. Maybe he didn’t but I understood he was searching for a reaction from someone
—me or Patrick, I didn’t think it mattered. I could feel Patrick’s gut churning with indignation and rage which was the first emotion I’d felt from him in days. Even if it was nervous indignation, I was happy to have it. But I couldn’t think with his emotion roiling in the pit of my stomach and slammed my aura down hard, closing Patrick out. I didn’t need his distraction.

Alex perched on the sofa arm, silent as she watched us. Her tense shoulders and tapping foot were the only indications she was uncomfortable. Her hands fell loose at her sides as she waited to pounce.

“He indulges me,” I answered.

“Diego,” Patrick snapped. “Alejandra will escort you to your men.”

Alex rose from the couch and waved her arm out with a low bow, holding the door for him.

“I hope, my dear,” Diego said, facing me with a smirk across his full lips and a twinkle in his eye, “I truly hope we meet again.”

He stepped out, and Alex closed the door behind her.

“Who wa . . .?” I asked, but Patrick raised his hand to stop me with a quick flick of his wrist. My teeth clicked as I shut my trap. In complete and utter silence I stood, waiting for Patrick to move, to meet my gaze. Anything.

Patrick’s jaw hardened and his shoulders went rigid as he forced them back. His obsidian gaze fell on me hard like a stone through a plate-glass window. My blood raced through my veins as my instincts heightened and I suddenly felt very much like prey.

“Did you need something?” Patrick’s tone was sharp, unfeeling, and cold.

“I wanted to see you. To talk. But I can see you had company,” I said, hoping he’d tell me what was going on. At least, I didn’t want him to turn me away.

Placing his hands flat on the desk in front of him, he lowered himself down into his chair. Tight, strained muscles bunched and rippled beneath his dress shirt with the controlled movement. The itch to grab my gun was too much to bear. But I was with Patrick. I wasn’t in danger here . . . right?

“We have nothing to talk about.” He folded his hands on the desk, intertwining his fingers together as he glared up at me.

“Nothing? You told that man I wasn’t here.”

“And you weren’t.”

“I could have been,” I almost shouted, finally frustrated.

“I didn’t want you here,” he ground out in a growl so low, I barely heard him. But I understood the rage lacing the sound of it all too well.

“Why?”

“You have proven to be untrustworthy!” he shouted, and I flinched at the hatred roiling in the pit of my stomach that didn’t belong to me. Even if I hadn’t been able to feel his emotions, I would have seen the fire of it burning in his dark gaze, stiff in his tight posture, and the snarl curling his lips.

“Patrick?” I whispered, taking an unsteady step forward.

“Now,” he bit out, his voice deep and husky as he slammed his hands down on the surface of the desk. The deep mahogany wood cracked beneath his strength, and I stepped back. “If you will excuse me, I have to see to my guest and this colony.”

“Patrick, please.”

“Get out,” he snapped, his voice sharp.

My stomach twisted in my gut and my mouth went dry.

As he turned his gaze down to the contracts on his desk, ignoring my presence entirely, I backed out. One slow step after another until I was standing in the foyer with what seemed like the space of the world between us. Pulling the door shut and putting just one more barrier between us, a single hot tear cascaded down my cheek. I held my breath and the sob I knew would follow. I couldn’t give him any indication that he’d hurt me. I didn’t know why, but the thought of Patrick knowing I cried over his dismissal rankled.

But in the back of my mind, the Eithina in me whimpered, knowing he wouldn’t care anyway.

Chapter 5

Faerie, The Outer Realm; Date, Unknown

The fire burned an unnatural blue in the frozen wasteland of the Outer Realm. Milagra huddled near it, wrapped in a heavy cloak lined in rabbit fur. The fire gave her superficial warmth but the frigid chill of the wintry wind still seemed to swirl around her from every direction, sinking deep into her bones.

Saeran, dressed in a heavy tunic of burgundy wool, black leather buck-skin pants, and a heavy green wool cloak draped elegantly across his shoulders, didn’t seem cold at all—not a shiver or a chatter of teeth. He didn’t need the fire to keep his blood warm, he had magic for that. No. The fire was for her.

“Shift, darling, it will keep you warm,” Saeran pleaded, handing her a bowl of stew.

Concern dripped from his voice, making Milagra cringe for being so stupid, for causing him concern, for needing to shift when she didn’t want to be the creature that had caused everyone so much pain.

“N-N-N-No.” Her teeth chattered in her head as she spoke. “I c-c-c-can t-t-t-take it,” Milagra bit out. She cupped the bowl in her hands and forced it to her lips. She sat up straight, defiant.

She hated shifting. It hurt and the memory of her father calling her a beast, an abomination at every full moon when she had to change was just as painful. If she had to be cold to avoid any expression of revulsion in Saeran’s eyes, she would.

“Milagra,” Saeran chastised. His yellow eyes appeared almost green with the reflected light from the blue flame between them. He glared at her in a way that made her uncomfortable in her seat, and she squirmed just a bit. “I can hear your teeth chattering in your head,” he snapped.

“But Saeran,” Milagra whined. Cut-off by Saeran’s steady gaze, she didn’t finish her thought.

“No,” he said, his voice sharp. “Milagra, I’m not ashamed of what you are, and you shouldn’t be either. You are beautiful in both your forms.”

Milagra couldn’t meet his eyes, watching the blue flame of the fire between them instead. “But, my father,” Milagra whimpered. A warm tear slid down her cold skin, freezing the moment the wintry wind blew across her face.

“Your father,” Saeran snarled, disdain dripping as he spat out each word, “is a self-serving imbecile. If I had been your father,” he continued, “I would never have given you up.”

Milagra opened her mouth to thank him but was stopped short. A harsh, rasp of breath that didn’t belong to either she or Saeran filled the silent night. The hairs on the back of Milagra’s neck stood on end as a warning tingled through her consciousness. Something approached them and she caught the faint scent of sandalwood and sulfur on the wind. Squirming in her seat on the downed log, she searched her mind for anything that would carry that particular scent.

For a few brief moments, the frozen wasteland was silent. The wind stopped whipping about, animals practically disappeared in the wood, and her heart stopped beating.

Milagra turned to Saeran, meeting his gaze in question.

His ears perked up at some sound he’d heard, and he jumped from his seat. His yellow eyes darted across the darkness of the frozen tundra and he drew the sword from the scabbard strapped to his hip.

“Milagra,” he whispered, stern and precise.

Panic bubbled in her stomach as she met his eyes.

“Run,” he ordered.

Run? Run where?

“Saeran?” She hesitated. He’d never told her to flee . . . from anything. He’d taught her to fight, hand to hand and with a broad sword. He’d said he expected her to stand her ground on her own. She’d even brought the broadsword with her at his direction.

“Milagra!” he shouted. “
Run
!” Gripping his sword, he stood ready, staring into the inky blackness beyond the flickering blue firelight.

A chill slid down Milagra’s neck as she hopped to her feet. For the first time, she wished she could shift to wolf quick enough to help. Gripping the sword at her side, she ripped it from its sheath.

“It’s too late for her to run, you Seelie pig,” a deep, maleficent voice roared from the darkness.

Milagra caught her breath in a gasp of panic as the thing stepped into sight. Standing two feet taller than Saeran, the creature’s skin was covered in heavy black fur. One giant, black eye stared down at her.

“What do you want?” Saeran barked at the creature, the sword still clutched tight in his grip.

A chill soaked into Milagra’s bones as the creature laughed. Throwing its head back, he gave a hearty roar of laughter, the night beyond the light of the fire quaked with a quivering fear.

“Why, Milord, I’m only here to collect what’s owed me,” it barked, pleasure and disdain buried in his words.

“I owe you nothing,” Saeran spat.

“I beg to differ,” the creature growled, a sinister smile curving its thick lips and exposing rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth.

Milagra’s haunches rose up along her spine and a growl vibrated in warning up her throat.

“Ah,” the creature chuckled, mocking her. “Such a vicious little thing.”

Milagra took a step back. The unsolicited violence of her wolf surged to life, wanting to rip the creature’s throat out. A primordial growl overwhelmed her mind and resonated through her body as her beast grew agitated and afraid. Suddenly, Milagra regretted not running when she’d had the chance.

“I am King Saeran of the Sidhe, I owe no one tribute.”  “This is the Outer Realm, Milord. No longer part of your kingdom.
You’ve made sure of that. Coming and going from my territory, you’ve abused my hospitality for much too long without tribute,” the creature roared. “I’ll take what’s owed me now.”

Milagra’s heart thundered against her chest. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her sword, waiting for the fight to begin.

Quicker than Milagra could move, the thing reached out and grasped her arm. Yanking her flat against its long, hard form, Milagra struggled but the creature towered over her. Its arms were as big as she was and wrapped around her until it was hard to breathe. It was too strong, too big. Milagra couldn’t stop her body from quaking as hopelessness swept over her, making her knees weak and her heart ache to the point of actual pain. Suddenly, she felt defeated and desperate. The emotions sank into her and covered her entire being like a shroud, dragging her down until the hope of escape vanished.

Large, thick fingers the size of her arm gripped her tight around her bicep, nails protruded from the tips as sharp as talons. Her bones crunched beneath the monster’s hold as her joints ground together from the pressure. The beast within her whined through her mind, whimpering against the pain as the broadsword was forced from her small hands. The clank of metal as the sword smacked against the hard, cold ground at her feet echoed through the trees.

“Likho!”

“The little one is mine. I’ll enjoy breaking her,” the creature spat, running a hand down the front of Milagra’s body. The creature clung to her, pressing her so tight against its own body that even her quaking ceased from sheer force. “One day, this precious face will reap my revenge,” the creature snarled as hot drool dripped from its mouth, soaking into Milagra’s hair and cloak.

Her heart pounded in her ears as something foreign crept into her thoughts, forcing her beast back into the recesses of her mind and body. Fear sizzled through her and she reached out, grasping for Saeran in desperation. If she could get to him, the sinking invasion of her mind would end.

Likho smelled of wet fur and death, laced with the pungent stench of sulfur. Instinct boomed inside her mind to run, the beast wanted to seek safety and shelter. She should have run, if she could move. Tears stung her eyes as his scent overwhelmed her nostrils and turned her stomach.

“Such an easy fear to manipulate deep in her deliciously rich mind,” Likho cooed.

She could hear the pleasure dripping from his words. The same unknown force slithered through her mind and squeezed until she wanted to scream out with the pain. Her knees grew weak as fear pulsed through her limbs, a creeping darkness that consumed her.

Her eyes filled with pitch-blackness as her heart raced and she clutched for anything beyond the overwhelming, all-consuming dark. She screamed as the darkness surrounding her grew weighty and into something solid, forcing her down until her knees slammed into the hard ground. But still it came, rushing over her, eating her up until there was nothing left but gloom.

“Likho!” Saeran called.

For a brief moment, she was able to focus on the melodic and familiar tones of Saeran’s voice as he spoke.

“I command you to release her.”

“You command nothing here,” the monster behind her chuckled. She felt its hot breath on her head and neck as its razor-sharp fingernails dug into her shoulder, forcing her to stay on her knees. “This is only a taste of what you will suffer,” the creature whispered to her.

Reaching out to Saeran, Milagra stretched her arms across the fire. She sobbed, desperate to be away from Likho and back in the safety of the Sidhe. She didn’t care if the fire burned her skin and blistered her arms. Adrenaline pumped and panic coursed through her veins like acid. Her lips trembled as tears streamed hot down her face. Stretching for her adoptive father, for salvation, the fire consumed her flesh but Milagra didn’t care. She just wanted to go home.

“Milagra?” Saeran whispered across the flames, making them dance with his magic. He reached for her but the distance between them stretched not only across the flames but until she could barely see him on the other side. Somehow an immeasurable distance separated them and the grip on her tightened.

She stretched as far as her limbs would extend, knowing it would never be enough.

Saeran reached for her but the distance expanded again until his yellow eyes were only a soft flicker in the dark. Before she could answer, Saeran, the fire, and the frozen wasteland were all gone.

The grip on her upper arms tightened and the sinister, full-throated laughter felt heavy in the staunch, humid air that now surrounded her.

Saeran was gone.

Milagra was alone, shrouded in a weighty darkness, and in the hands of a monster.