Find Me in Darkness (13 page)

I skid to a stop, then turn back the way I came. There’s something familiar about this moment, as if I’d seen him before. But I don’t stop to ponder that feeling because when you see someone with a face of flame, you don’t think—you run. And now that I’m heading the opposite direction, I’m picking up speed.

Not enough, though, because I feel the flame man’s hand close around my upper arm and yank me backwards.

I stumble, then fall on my ass even as someone unseen grabs the flame man and tugs him into the shadows.

“Mal!” I scream his name, only realizing as the name passes my lips that my savior isn’t Mal at all.

But I know this man, this savior.

The copper hair. The piercing eyes.

Asher
.

“Thank you,” I say. “Oh, god, thank you.”

But he is paying no attention to me. Instead, he takes what looks like a switchblade from his pocket. Only when he extends the knife, I see that it’s not a short blade at all. Instead, it’s the length of a sword and seems to be made of forged light.

And as I remain sprawled on the ground, he takes his sword or lightsaber or whatever it is and stabs it through the heart of the fallen flame man—who immediately combusts, leaving nothing to mark the moment other than a small pile of gray dust.

Apparently the jury is in—I really have gone completely insane.

I scramble to my feet, wanting nothing more in that moment than to get inside—to get to Mal.

“If you get them through the heart, they disintegrate,” Asher says conversationally. “Anywhere else, and you have to deal with a body.”

I gape at him, not at all certain what I should say to that. “Um.”

I clear my throat and try again. “I—Mal’s upstairs. I—we should go. We need to tell him.” I need to hear from him that this is real and I’m not crazy.

“Wait,” Asher says.

I hesitate. My gut is telling me to run, but Asher just saved me from the flame man, so I figure I owe him at least some basic courtesy.

“Did Mal tell you? Who that guy was, I mean. Did he tell you who was after you? Did he tell you why?”

I lick my lips. I’m starting to get the feeling that I’m not crazy. Which is good.

But I’m also afraid that I’m in the middle of something very, very strange.

And that part is bad.

“Christina?” Asher presses. “Did he tell you?”

I shove my hands into the pockets of the jeans I’d put on. “Just that his security company is trying to protect me. That some group is trying to kidnap me. But he hasn’t said why. He said it’s too long a story.”

“No,” Ash says. “It’s not long at all. They want you because you’re a weapon.”

I don’t have time to ask what the fuck he’s talking about before he continues.

“It’s too dangerous to keep you around, Christina. Mal’s fucked this one up, and leader or not, I can’t let him risk the world. And I’m sorry, because I know you don’t remember it, but you and I used to be pretty good friends. But you’ll come back. Mal will see you again. And the odds are damn good that you won’t remember any of this.”

I shake my head, because I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about.

At the same time, though, I take a step backward. Because while I don’t understand what he means, I’m pretty damn sure that it doesn’t end in warm fuzzes for me.

I only get one step when he extends that freakish sword again.

I burst forward, drawing on all my strength, but I’d seen how fast he moved with the flame man, and I know that there’s no way I’ll get away from him.

A wave of terror crests over me, so potent I can taste it like bile on my tongue. The fear is hot and boiling. Like it’s not only going to fill me, but it’s going to explode out of me, wild and red and utterly dangerous.

The weapon
.

Oh, dear god, he was right. It’s not fear that I’m feeling, not entirely. It’s the weapon, too. And I have no idea how to control it, and—

I scream as I see a sword arcing through the air toward me. And for just a split second, I think that maybe it’s a good thing, because if the weapon inside me gets out—and it will, because I don’t know how to control it, and—

—And then Asher’s sword falls to the ground even as his mouth hangs open in surprise.

I watch, confused, as he topples to the ground, and the next thing I see through the building red haze is Mal rushing toward me, shouting for me to back it down, back it down!

I can’t. I don’t know how!

But then he’s holding me, and the redness is fading, the wildness sliding back inside.

It’s Mal—he’s doing this. He’s holding me. Touching me.

He’s saving me.

I feel a tear trickle down my cheek, then taste salt when Mal presses his lips to mine in a gentle kiss.

When he pulls away, I nod toward the circle of fire that is consuming Ash’s body. I’m not scared or bewildered. I know that it is phoenix fire. That it will destroy and regenerate.

That Asher will be back.

I tilt my head to look up at Mal through a veil of tears. “You didn’t kill me this time.”

I see the surprise on his face. “You remember?”

And with a shock, I realize that, yes, I do. “Some of it, at least. It’s strange.” I frown as I try to explain. “It’s like remembering a movie that you mostly slept through. I’ve got bits and pieces, but not the whole thread. And it doesn’t feel like the memory belongs to me. I know the memories are mine, but I’m Jaynie, too. And everyone else I’ve been born as over the years.” I frown. “It’s a lot of memories. I don’t know if I can keep them all.” I clutch his hand. “What if I lose them? What if I forget?”

“You might,” he says, drawing me close and wrapping his arms around me. “You have before. But it doesn’t matter. I love all of you. Christina, Jaynie, and everyone in between. And I will always keep you safe.
We
will keep you safe.”

I actually laugh as he pulls me close, and I let his words soak in.
Love.

He’d said he loved me. The word makes me smile—and, yes, it terrifies me a little, too.

It’s a big step, after all, and one I’m not sure I’m ready for. Certainly, I’m not ready to say it. But with Mal, I know I want to try and get there.

I draw a breath, my eyes still drawn to that circle of fire. “Maybe you should have let him do it.” I squeeze his hand. “I don’t want to be the woman who ends the world.”

“You won’t be. I promise that we can control this.”

“How?”

“Do you trust me?”

And for the first time in my life, I don’t hesitate to say it. “Yes. I trust you.” What I don’t say is that I might just love him, too.

But there is time enough for that. With Mal, there is always enough time.

*

I hope you enjoyed the first part of Mal and Christina’s story. I’d be thrilled if you’d leave a review at your favorite retailer!

And be sure to find out what happens next for these star-crossed lovers in the next two novellas in the trilogy:

Find Me in Pleasure

Find Me in Passion

And if you missed Callie and Raine’s story,
Caress of Darkness
, be sure to grab a copy now!

Finally, don’t close this book yet! Keep reading for the first chapter of Caress of Darkness plus a special bonus: An excerpt from
Tattered Loyalties
by New York Times bestselling author Carrie Ann Ryan that you’re sure to enjoy!

Caress of Darkness

A
Dark Pleasures
novella

By
Julie Kenner

‡

“W
ho the fuck
are you?”

I jump, startled by the voice—deep and male and undeniably irritated—that echoes across the forest of boxes scattered throughout my father’s SoHo antique store.

“Who am I?” I repeat as I stand and search the shadows for the intruder. “Who the hell are you?”

There is more bravado in my voice than I feel, especially when I finally see the man who has spoken. He is standing in the shadows near the front door—a door that I am damn sure I locked after putting the Closed sign in the window and settling in for a long night of inventory and packing.

He is tall, well over six feet, with a lean, muscular build that is accentuated by the faded jeans that hug his thighs and the simple white T-shirt that reveals muscled arms sleeved with tattoos.

His casual clothes, inked skin, and close-shaved head hint at danger and rebellion, but those traits are contrasted by a commanding, almost elegant, presence that seems to both fill the room and take charge of it. This is a man who would be equally at ease in a tux as a T-shirt. A man who expects the world to bend to his will, and if it doesn’t comply, he will go out and bend it himself.

I see that confidence most potently in his face, all sharp lines and angles that blend together into a masterpiece now dusted with the shadow of a late afternoon beard. He has the kind of eyes that miss nothing, and right now they are hard and assessing. They are softened, however, by the kind of long, dark lashes that most women would kill for.

His mouth is little more than a hard slash across his features, but I see a hint of softness, and when I find myself wondering how those lips would feel against my skin, I realize that I have been staring and yank myself firmly from my reverie.

“I asked you a question,” I snap, more harshly than I intended. “Who are you, and how did you get in here?”

“Raine,” he says, striding toward me. “Rainer Engel. And I walked in through the front door.”

“I locked it.” I wipe my now-sweaty hands on my dusty yoga pants.

“The fact that I’m inside suggests otherwise.”

He has crossed the store in long, efficient strides, and now stands in front of me. I catch his scent, all musk and male, sin and sensuality, and feel an unwelcome ache between my thighs.

Not unwelcome because I don’t like sex. On the contrary, I’d have to label myself a fan, and an overenthusiastic one at that. Because the truth is that I’ve spent too many nights in the arms of too many strangers trying to fill some void in myself.

I say “some void” because I don’t really know what I’m searching for. A connection, I guess, but at the same time I’m scared of finding one and ending up hurt, which is why I shy from traditional “my friend has a friend” kind of dating, and spend more time than I should in bars and clubs. And that means that while I might be enjoying a series of really good lays, I’m not doing anything more than using sex as a Band-Aid.

At least, that is what my therapist, Kelly, back home in Austin says. And since I’m a lawyer and not a shrink, I’m going to have to take her word on that.

“We’re closed,” I say firmly. Or, rather, I intend to say firmly. In fact, my voice comes out thin, suggesting a question rather than a command.

Not that my tone matters. The man—
Raine
—seems entirely uninterested in what I have to say.

He cocks his head slightly to one side, as if taking my measure, and if the small curve of that sensual mouth is any indication, he likes what he sees. I prop a hand on my hip and stare back defiantly. I know what I look like—and I know that with a few exceptions, men tend to go stupid when I dial it up.

The ratty law school T-shirt I’m wearing is tight, accenting breasts that I’d cursed in high school, but that had become a boon once I started college and realized that my ample tits, slender waist, and long legs added up to a combination that made guys drool. Add in wavy blonde hair and green eyes and I’ve got the kind of cheerleader-esque good looks that make so many of the good old boy lawyers in Texas think that I’ve got cotton candy for brains.

And believe me when I say that I’m not shy about turning their misogynistic stereotype to my advantage, both in the courtroom and out of it.

“You’re Callie.” His voice conveys absolute certainty, as if his inspection confirmed one of the basic facts of the universe. Which, since I
am
Callie, I guess it did. But how the hell he knows who I am is beyond me.