Black Dalliances (A Blushing Death Novel) (7 page)

Chapter 6

Columbus Ohio, Present Day

My heart pounded in my throat and ears.

Why am I so nervous?

I’d been alone with Patrick a thousand times and most of them were very pleasurable experiences. This time was different though. The thought of being alone with him made my pulse race as trepidation tickled up my spine. My face flushed as I stalked across the grand foyer of his mansion determined to ignore my fear. I’d never let fear stand in my way before so I wouldn’t now even if my hands were shaking. The house was eerily quiet but it was still early yet, too early for most of the colony to be awake. I’d picked this time in particular, knowing we would be alone and unwilling to demonstrate just how hurt I was in front of any of the colony.

By Alex’s account, Patrick had been waking earlier and earlier since I’d left. The sun was three hours from setting but I knew he was awake. His power resonated in my bones, the emotions he tried to hide, the ones I couldn’t quite make out—I felt them there in the pit of my stomach, jumbled in a distant, disquieted mess.

The door to his office was cracked, and a soft, yellow light streamed into the dark foyer in a sliver of life through the dead house. I took a deep, silent, steadying breath before I knocked. I’d thought our empathic bond and our general awareness of each other would make it virtually impossible for one of us to sneak up on the other. By the expression of surprised horror shining through those dark eyes, I knew I was wrong. His sharp features betrayed his usual stoicism for a split second before he regained the neutral calm I knew so well. We’d gotten too good at keeping each other out.

Shuffling a few papers and grabbing a pen, he collected himself. Turning his dark eyes on me again, his expression was cool and distant as if I meant nothing to him.

A twinge of regret squeezed my chest as I met empty eyes.

“Hi,” I said, plastering a smile on my face.

“Hello,” he replied, clipped . . . cold.

Okay, so this is going well. At least he’s speaking to me.

“Do you have a minute?” I asked. We were both being too polite, too cautious. But that wasn’t quite right, either. I was being polite. He was tolerating my presence.

His chest filled with air he wasn’t required to breathe and took a long steadying breath, demonstrating to me just how uncomfortable he actually was. His shoulders tensed and the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkled as his gaze narrowed on me and his full lips disappeared in a thin grim line.

“What is it . . .
sweetheart
?”

That one word was filled with anger and pain. As condescending as it was, his bitterness shone through. Cringing, I let the gut twisting regret sink into me. His words hurt, as if he’d plunged a knife into my chest. I suspected that had been his intent. He ignored my reaction, glaring down his nose at the stack of papers on his desk as if I wasn’t even there.

Okaaaay.
I could do this. I could.

“I wanted to thank you for all you did, with the house and everything,” I said. My voice was surprisingly steady even if my heart was beating a hole through my chest.

Glaring up at me through dark lashes with fathomless black irises, his gaze was filled with unconcerned disdain. I wanted to shrivel up in a little ball and disappear at his expression. Maybe it was too late for forgiveness.

“I also wanted to thank you for the, ah, movies,” I said softly, trying to temper the lethal expression in his gaze. “It means the world to me that you found them,” I finished hastily as his anguished anger caught me by surprise and a lump lodged in my throat.

“He showed you?” he growled through clenched teeth, his grip tightening around the pen in his hand.

“Yes,” I said, confused by his reaction. “Dean thought I might want to get out of the hotel.”

“So,” he snarled, iron in his tone. Leaning back in his chair, he threw the pen onto the desk. “He’s taken that away from me as well.”

My pulse beat a steady
thump-thump
. . .
thump-thump
. . .
thump-thump
in my skull. I’d fucked up again and didn’t even know how. Sucking my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from trembling under his glare, I bit down hard.

“Patrick,” I whispered, breaking the tension riddled silence. The thick air seemed to make the room smaller and the space between us much more difficult to overcome. “He’s not taking anything from you.”

“Isn’t he?” he snapped.

The frigid, consuming pressure of his power prickled along my skin, making me shiver and the air on my arm stand on end.

“No,” I said, taking a step back in the face of his anger. I’d never backed away from Patrick, not even when he was trying to kill me. But I backed away from him now.

He watched me for a long, silent moment as his eyes evaluated me from top to bottom. He blinked only once then turned his head down to the contract on his desk in front of him.

“Is there anything else?” he asked, dismissing me with that one sentence.

Batting back the tears burning behind my eyes, I stood frozen in shock. I’d imagined this going so many other ways but never this sense of finality that sat like a stone in my gut. He picked up the pen, flipped through the contract, and signed with his usual flourish. He didn’t glance up at me.

“No,” I mumbled, shaking my head quick in surprise. “I’m sorry to’ve bothered you,” I said, still trying to keep the quiver out of my voice and the tears right where they were, balancing tentatively on my lashes.

He didn’t say a word as I stood before him, hurt, astonished, and broken. The tension was almost palpable as I waited for him to do or say something. But he didn’t, and I stood, waiting like an idiot.

I am being stupid. Walk away and just leave him alone. It’s what he clearly wants.

But
I
wanted to believe he still loved me and wanted to be a part of my life.

Tiptoeing toward his desk on silent feet, I drew a slip of paper from my back pocket. I slid the new code for the security alarm to the house and a new key onto his desk. The clink from the metal key hitting the wood of his desk sounded immense as it echoed in the silent office.

He froze for an instant, as still as death at the sound, then continued writing with his head down.

Turning my back to him, I left without another word. I really wanted a bath. For some reason, I felt dirty.

Patrick felt Dahlia leave more than saw her go. Every time she left, it was as if all the oxygen was sucked from the room with her, leaving him breathless and gasping. Closing his eyes, he reached for the key and slip of paper on his desk. The key was still warm from her pocket, and he ground his teeth with sorrow, regret, and anger. Always anger.

He clutched the metal in his hand and squeezed until he felt the key bend in his palm then stopped before he destroyed it entirely. Somewhere in his darkest depths, he still hoped that everything would be as it was; that he would be able to look at her without feeling betrayed and abandoned.

He didn’t dare look up as Alex’s soft lavender scent filled his nostrils. Patrick didn’t want her to see the uncertainty in his eyes. If nothing else, Patrick’s colony needed to know he would take care of them no matter the consequences or the costs.

“You can’t hide in here forever. That woman is demanding and you are going to have to deal with her. It’s one of the things I like about her,” Alex said, her voice comforting.

Sometimes Alex could be harsh in her speech, not taking into account how her words affected others. Lately, she’d been kinder, softer. He wasn’t sure what caused the change and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Where was the woman who’d helped him plot and scheme for decades just to keep this colony thriving while Ethan had tried to tear it asunder? Where was the Alex he’d counted on to get him through when Dahlia had disappeared?

“I am not hiding,” he snorted, knowing full well that he was. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from snapping and being obstinate just to be contrary.

“No, it’s worse than that. You’re acting like a human, hurt and brooding. As much as the mortal tweenies love a brooding vampire, I find it to be . . . unpalatable.” Alex hopped up on the edge of his desk, crossed her legs, and turned her nails on her right hand up for close inspection.

“I am not brooding either,” he hissed, knowing full well that he was and couldn’t seem to stop himself from doing it.

“If you say so,” she said simply.

“What do you want?” he practically growled at her.

“We need to discuss Ciro and what you plan to do about him when he discovers the Fae are no longer part of his power base.”

“Not now, Alex,” Patrick huffed, finally feeling defeated as he lounged back in his chair. Meeting her gaze, he saw something in her eyes that he never thought to see. Pity.

“How long do you think to avoid dealing with it?”

“Until Ciro moves his first piece on the board. I will not sacrifice a pawn unnecessarily.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Alex said, peering down at him.

“Whatever are you—?” He didn’t finish, didn’t need to with her pitying and judgmental stare boring holes through him. “I’m not avoiding any of my responsibilities.”

“No, but you have been incredibly unpleasant and more so since she got back. You are snapping at Dean and in front of his Pack. I’m not sure how much longer he’ll take that without serious consequences. And pretending she is indisposed will only work so long with the other Lieges.”

Patrick sat silent, staring up at the woman who had been his friend since he’d arrived back in this country almost 40 years before. She’d never been one to pull her punches. As he considered how to respond, she continued.

“If you no longer care for her, the kindest thing to do would be to release her.”

“Not care for her?” he spat, as if that was even an option. Dahlia was in his blood and had been since that first searing kiss. “She is my entire world,” he said, as if realizing that fact for the first time himself.

“Then why punish her? Us?”

“She left us.” Unable to turn his gaze from Alex’s, he tried to conceal a depth of pain and rage he’d never experienced before.

Her dark, almond-shaped eyes narrowed on him and her small full lips pursed. “I don’t think that’s what’s bothering you.”

“Fine!” he snapped. “She left me.”

“She left Dean, too,” Alex added.

She seemed so relaxed, content, and he wanted to strike her for it.

Slamming his fist down on the desk, Patrick snarled, “Why does she need him? Why am I not enough?” Images of her lush body tumbling in white satin sheets flitted through his mind, making his body react as he always did where she was concerned—with uninhibited arousal. But in the next moment, a body was tumbling with her-large, tanned, and not his. He slammed his eyes shut, trying desperately to erase the image of Dahlia and Dean together from his mind. If he thought about that animal’s hands on Dahlia, he might kill Dean with his bare hands.

“I don’t know why, Pat, but you’re not enough, and neither is he.”

Something in his chest tightened with a soft thump and squeezed painfully. He thought his insides might explode from the realization that he could still lose her.

“Talk to her, Pat. She may be lethal but she’s not unreasonable.”

“She’s slipping away into Dean’s arms,” he whispered to himself, sounding more defeated than anything else.

“And whose fault is that?” Alex snapped, the click of fangs sharp in the quiet office. She hopped from the desk and stalked to the office door then slammed it behind her, leaving him alone with his own anguish.

The house still seemed empty, cold even though there was furniture everywhere, boxes and bags from every store Jade had dragged me to. She’d actually managed to get most of the furniture delivered but the few remaining pieces were being delivered in the morning, including the guest bedroom furniture. So, Ev was still at the hotel for at least another night.

It didn’t feel like
home,
not yet.

The quiet hadn’t bothered me earlier when I’d spent most of the afternoon washing sheets, towels, clothes, dish towels, and anything else I thought I might need to survive in the next few days. Dropping my bag and keys on the entry table Jade and I had found, I headed upstairs. That Jacuzzi tub in the master bath was calling my name.

Grabbing the bag of candles I’d picked up at The Candle Lab that afternoon, I trotted upstairs and took them into the master bath with me. I filled up the tub with a generous helping of Mr. Bubble and lit all the candles, five in all. I figured that the candles counteracted the ridiculousness of me owning Mr. Bubble.

Stripping down, I pinned my hair up on top of my head. I stepped into the tub and sank down into the water, letting the heat seep into my skin and wrap me in its comforting warmth. The bath was almost too hot, singeing my skin but I didn’t care. I just wanted the dirty feeling to go away.

I closed my eyes and breathed in one breath after another, attempting to clear my mind. I was tired of feeling guilty and tired of walking on eggshells. After washing and shaving, I lounged back in the water to relax. I couldn’t seem to get my shoulders to release the tension and my muscles ached from the constant pressure.

Patrick’s expression kept haunting me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was nothing left between us. The water had lost the sting of heat and I was about to run some hot water when
his
voice rumbled in the small room.

“You need to remember to set the alarm,” Dean murmured in a husky voice.

Opening my eyes in a slow flutter, I lifted my chin to meet his gaze.

Dean stood in the doorway in a pair of worn jeans, ripped in all the right places, and a pale blue T-shirt that was stretched across his muscular chest to the point of tearing. The candlelight flickered against his dark, olive skin, giving him a delicious glow. I found myself salivating at the sight of him but I couldn’t let him see it.

We were trying to be good, waiting until Patrick was back in the game and things between us were settled . . . one way or another, which was looking bleak all of a sudden. Considering the conversation I’d just had with Patrick, I wasn’t optimistic. Dean wasn’t helping the situation either by looking
sooo
damned good.