Read Hearts of Darkness Online
Authors: Kira Brady
Hearts of Darkness (19 page)
Hart knew he wasn't going to like whatever came next. Inside him, the beast tore at its prison. Its thoughts shot like bullets to ricochet through his skull. An alpha was safety. An alpha was loyalty. Norgard was no alpha, with his poisonous protection. Sweat broke on his skin.
Soon
, he crooned to the madness inside him. Soon he'd have enough to pay off Norgard. Soon they would be free.
Soon
, he crooned to the madness inside him. Soon he'd have enough to pay off Norgard. Soon they would be free.
Norgard wouldn't make it easy on him. Oh, no. Hart fully expected the fucker would use every devious trick in the book to get Hart to repledge himself. Thank the Lady he'd learned a thing or two in the last fifteen years. He wasn't a starving kid anymore, desperate for the smallest scrap of affection. The binding magic required a willing sacrifice, and he had no intention of giving his consent this time.
Death would be better.
“Walk with me, soldier,” Norgard said, and Hart fell into step beside him. They strolled down the long row of monitors. Norgard closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “I sense it on you. I would have it now.” He held out his palm.
Hart gave him the necklace.
Norgard sighed in pleasure. “Ah, much better. I have another treasure I wish you to reclaim for me.”
His final job. Hart held his breath.
“I want my child,” Norgard said.
That was impossible.
“You mistake me,” Norgard said. “I don't require you to pass beyond the Gate and return my stolen heir. Even if the child had been born, it would take one greater than you to return him to me.”
“Then whatâ”
“The living sister. I wish her to be the mother of my child. Deliver her, and you will earn your freedom.”
Hart froze. He wished his hearing were poor, wished Norgard had asked for something else. Anything else. He should be disappointed in himself. After all these years, he thought there was nothing that he wouldn't stoop to do for his freedom. But Kayla . . .
“What am I to do with you?” Norgard asked. His voice was deceptively calm, but a thin wisp of smoke escaped out of one nostril. “You've been loyal, and yet here, so close to your freedom, you fail me.”
Hart found himself thinking of ways to get out of it. He could tell her to run tonight. If she got far enough away . . . but no, he'd be sent to hunt her down.
Norgard examined his sharp nails. “We both know you have no choice in the matter. I want her returned to me. Whole and unsullied.”
Ah, fuck.
Deep inside Hart, the beast growled. Possessive rage boiled up, and he ruthlessly tamped it down. He couldn't afford to say no.
Deep inside Hart, the beast growled. Possessive rage boiled up, and he ruthlessly tamped it down. He couldn't afford to say no.
“Perhaps you're not eager to leave my service,” Norgard suggested. “You can always repledge.”
“No, I got it,” Hart promised. He had no choice. His soulâdark and tainted as it wasâcraved the solitude of the wilderness. Freedom was all that mattered. It had to be.
Norgard glanced at his pocket watch. “It's almost midnight. You have twelve hours.”
Hart nodded. Maybe, if he sent Grace to whisk Kayla away, he could give her a twelve-hour head start before the slave magic forced him to comply. He was saved from further questioning by a piercing whistle from a runner monitoring the lair's entrance.
“Reaper at the front gate!” the runner shouted. “She's down! I repeat: The Reaper is down!”
Inside Hart's head, the beast sent up a long, low howl that reverberated across the bones of his skull. If Grace was injured, there was no hope left. Oscar was needed here to patch Grace up. There was no one else Hart trusted to send after Kayla.
The room burst into a flurry of activity.
“Report,” Norgard demanded. “How injured? Can she walk?”
“Blood, sir, lots of it,” the kid yelled back. “She's crawling down the tunnel.”
Norgard's eyes, usually devoid of emotion, sparked in excitement. Hart had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat. Two operatives ran past carrying a stretcher. Runners cleared boxes out of the way, creating a path from the entrance to the private tunnels that branched off on the other side of the cave. Someone pulled out the medic kit, just in case. From the video feed, it looked too late to use it.
Hart turned away. Poor, driven Grace. For such a skinny little girl, she took big risks. She knew the price of failure. Norgard might demand a high price from his male operatives for his healing blood, but from Grace he took it all. Her innocence. Her dignity. Her soul.
Why did Hart let himself care? He didn't. He couldn't. There was nothing he could do to help her.
But damn it, he didn't have to watch.
Chapter 10
Morning dawned red and hazy. There was a bite to the spring air, almost like a crowd full of disapproving ghosts. Hart didn't pull out his Deadglass to see if it was true. Some things were better off not knowing. That was Kayla's problem. She wouldn't let things go. She didn't understand that sometimes self-preservation had to win out over morbid curiosity. And now look at what she'd gotten herself into.
Hart kicked the wheel of his Mercedes. The car didn't want to start this morning, even after a gentle push. It was almost like the car knew with her female intuition what he was about to doâand disapproved. Fuck it, he was a cold-blooded bastard and didn't give a damn about anyone's feelings.
He yanked open the hood and breathed the heavy perfume of oil and diesel. He sprayed starter fluid into the intake manifold, hoping it would be enough to start her under ghostly conditions. One last job. This was it. He could feel the hated golden bands burning through his upper arms. Soon, so soon he could taste it, the blood price would be satisfied. All he had to do was deliver the package to Norgard, and he'd be a new man. A free man.
How could something so ridiculously easy be so hard?
He slammed the hood down and climbed half in the driver's side door to give the car another try. This time she rolled down the steep hill, and her engine coughed to life. He gave her a loving pat, pulled himself the rest of the way into the car, and slammed the door.
The city rolled awake around him, blurry-eyed against the unusual cloud-free sky. A day like today should be stormy to match his mood, but the Lady was ornery. She liked rainy weddings and sunny funerals.
It should take him no more than an hour to complete this last job. By ten o'clock he would be cruising the open road with not a care in the world. Freedom wouldn't cure the moon madness, but he'd be his own man.
He pulled up in front of Desiree's apartment. His knock on the door was greeted by a vision wrapped in a white fluffy towel. Kayla's gorgeous chocolate hair was piled high on her head, leaving her long neck and shoulders blessedly naked all the way down to the damnably small towel. The rise of her beautiful breasts spilled over the top, taunting, seducing. The towel hit high on her creamy thighs. The muscles in her smooth legs were strong, powerful and graceful like a gazelle. The beast saw those curves and lunged forward, yanking at the Aether to force the Change, one thought ringing in his ears: Mine.
This job might be the end of him.
“Did you forget something?” she asked.
He licked his lips.
She opened the door, just like that. Let the big bad Wolf into her house without a thought to her own safety.
He should throw her over his shoulder and make tail for Norgard before he did something incredibly stupid. But the beast had control of his brain.
He strolled past her into the living room. The door shut firmly behind him. The walls of the little apartment seemed closer than last time. The air thinner. The couch larger. Her scent teased his nostrils. He could hear her blood rapidly pulsing in her veins, like she'd been running. Or was terrified. Or aroused.
All three called to the Wolf inside him. His canines descended.
She came up behind him and boldly wrapped her arms around his waist, obviously having decided to finish what they started the day before.
He swallowed. “Lady be.”
Her firm breasts pressed against his back. He wasn't strong enough to resist this.
“Now that you're feeling better . . .” Her soft voice wavered, and he knew she was nervous.
So why couldn't she back off?
Her small hands explored beneath the edge of his shirt. Her touch on his abs was the sweetest torture.
Don't touch me,
he wanted to say.
he wanted to say.
“Lower,” slipped out instead.
Her fingers slid beneath the waistband of his jeans, and he let out a groan. With his eyes closed, the world shrank to nothing but her touch, the press of her hand shyly exploring him, her scent, lilac shampoo and soap. He wanted to taste her, to roll his tongue over her folds and spread her fragrance on his lips. Inside him, the beast howled in anticipation.
Before he knew what he was doing, she was in his arms. The towel dropped to the floor, and there was nothing to prevent him from looking his fill, devouring her lush body with his eyes. He needed more.
He wanted to dive into her smooth skin and drown every sense with her essence. They stumbled to the couch, touching and tasting, licking and biting. He blocked out everything but the pleasure of tactile sensation.
“You're wearing too many clothes,” she gasped.
He didn't have time to take them off. If he stopped, the real world would come crashing back in. He couldn't let that happen. All they had was this one precious moment, and he didn't want to waste a heartbeat of it.
He pressed his mouth to hers to silence her. Her lips parted beneath his assault. Her tongue slipped against his hesitantly, then grew bolder as she learned what made him moan. Just like the womanâempowered by knowledge, selfless in her mission to help others.
He didn't deserve her kindness.
She protested when he tore his mouth away. He traced his tongue down her throat, paused at her rapid pulse, and explored farther to her deliciously puckered nipple. Lady, but she tasted good. He blew on the wet tip, and she moaned, so responsive to his every touch.
He slid a hand down her smooth stomach and over her furred mound to the center of her pleasure. Her legs parted for him, and her scent shot straight to his head like a bullet. It was overpowering, pleasure and pain. His balls grew tight in response.
She was hot and wet. His beast wanted to dive in teeth first. How had he thought he could resist this?
“Tell me what you like, babe,” he whispered.
“You,” she said. “I like you.”
He growled, more Wolf than man, and moved from her breast down her body, stopping to pay homage to the delicate curve of her stomach and dip into her navel. The closer he came to her core, the closer the Wolf came to the surface. His skin tightened until he thought he would burst out of it. Sweat broke down his spine with the effort to rein in the beast.
The first taste of her on his tongue almost made him explode in his boxers. She wasn't even touching him. His dick throbbed with the need to bury itself where his tongue lodged. Instead, he licked harder, faster. He played with her nerve endings like a fine instrument and drank up every moan, every heated sob.
His vision began to blur with the effort of holding himself back.
Her hands fisted in his hair, driving him on. He loved it. Loved the sounds she made and her uninhibited response to him. Loved the way she trusted him with her body.
His zipper was in his hand before that last thought hit his brain.
She
trusted
him.
trusted
him.
Horror coursed through Hart. Shame hit him squarely in the chest, propelling him off the couch and across the room. He pressed his back against the far wall, breathing deeply, trying desperately to keep the beast from bursting out of his skin and claiming what it wanted. The Lady help him. He didn't even realize his arms were burning beneath the gold slave bands until he had a clean breath free from her drugging scent.
Kayla sat up tentatively. She pulled the towel over her, suddenly shy. “What's wrong?”
What wasn't wrong? How could he tell her what he had done or what he intended to do? He couldn't explain the choice he had to make: her freedom for his. He'd made his choice when he'd first pledged himself to Norgard. Now, half a lifetime later, the blood on his hands made him unfit for anything else.
She couldn't understand. She was a healer. He was a killer, and he would always be a killer. Poisoned from birth, unable to control his beast, his very presence pulled death from the woodwork like a leech siphoned blood. The black spot was his calling card. Everyone who got close to him died.
He shouldn't feel guilty. He'd warned her to stay away from him, warned her not to trust him. She hadn't listened, had she? Got roughed up and kept coming back for more. Stupid. Innocent.
“Hart?” Her beautiful chocolate eyes were huge and hurting.
“Get dressed,” he said. “We've got an appointment with an informant. He's got answers for you about your sister. Everything you want to know.”
“Shouldn't we talk about this? About us?”
“This was a mistake. It won't happen again.” He zipped his jeans and fixed the buttons on his shirt, anything to keep from looking at her. He didn't deserve to breathe the same air.
Still, she trusted him. She rose and went to the bedroom. When she emerged, mercifully clothed in jeans and a concealing red sweater, she had her game face on. That was the woman he knew: strong, toughânothing could knock her down for long.
He hated to be the one to shatter her illusions.
She walked gingerly, as if her jeans abraded sensitive skin, and he realized he had worked her up and left her high and dry. She had to be hurting something fierce.
He really was a bastard.
“Who is this informant?” she asked as they took the stairs down to the parking lot.
“Someone who knew your sister really well.” Intimately, but he didn't want to dwell on that point. He couldn't think of where he was bringing her. He'd perfected the art of living in the moment, and he drew on that skill now. One foot in front of the other, step by step.
Stiffly, she climbed into the passenger seat. The scent of her arousal was suffocating in the small space. He quickly rolled down the windows, but it didn't help. If he'd been free, nothing on earth could have prevented him from pulling her into his arms and ravishing her on the side of the road. Lady be damned. Damned, tarred, quartered, feathered, gutted, and lit on fire.
Hart drove west toward Puget Sound. Crows clung to the trees overhead, watching but not interfering. Sticking his head out the window, he welcomed the harsh salt wind scraping against his face. He gunned the engine. Inside him, the beast whined.
He'd thought he had no conscience left, but each block closer to his freedom dropped another lead weight in his gut. It hurt. Regret, apprehension, guilt, griefâwhat the hell? He hardly knew the woman, but somehow she'd managed to get under his skin in a short period of time.
And now he was fucked.
If he hadn't intervened with Norgard in the alley behind Butterworth's, he wouldn't be here now delivering her back into the hands of the soul-sucker. His moment of madness had been a colossal waste of time.
It was small consolation, but maybe Kayla would be spoiled and seduced before she entered the ranks of Drekar concubine. Rumor had it the women were head over heels in love when they joined up. Not that Kayla would have a choice. Maybe she'd like it. Norgard would shower her with diamonds and gold. He'd sweep her away to exotic destinations and buy her whatever trinkets her heart desired. Hart didn't think Kayla was the type to want useless glamour, but with her influence she could make Norgard put some of that wealth to good use. He could see her building orphanages and hospitals in third world countries. That would make her happy.
Hart couldn't offer her shit. No house. No money. Stuck with a crazed werewolf every full moon was no kind of life. He wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy.
She shook out her ponytail and refastened it, thinking. She was always doing that, tidying things, ordering things. He could easily imagine her trying to tuck him under her wing to fix him up, like a broken toy.
Right. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put him back together again.
The factory was perched high on a cliff overlooking the Sound. Next door, the turbines of the Ballard Locks whirred and dinged. Two aquifers, one salt and one fresh, brought water from the Ship Canal to power the giant boilers. The brick and stone mansion had been built in the Second Empire style, with a mansard roof and a widow's walk. It extended multiple stories into the hillside below. Five massive chimneys belched steam, filling the air with the tantalizing aroma of chocolate. It masked the telltale iron scent of the Drekar, giving them the advantage if one wanted to sneak up on him. Hart didn't like it. He needed to get in and get out as quickly as possible.
There it lay: freedom.
But he couldn't do it. Jerking the steering wheel, he spun the car in a tight one-eighty. The wheels squealed angrily on the wet road.
Kayla braced herself against the door as she was thrown sideways. “What's going on?”
“Can't do this.” He was throwing away his life for a woman he barely knew. Norgard would kill him this time for insubordination. There were no second chances. No forgiveness. No riding off into the sunset, not in real life.
He pushed the pedal to the floor, gunning the engine back down the hill and onto Market Street. He had to get her to the airport, as far away from the chocolate factory as he could before Norgard found them. The Ballard Bridge loomed ahead, sun glinting off the water below with sharp clarity.
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