Light Shadows (21 page)

I sit on one of the tan couches and slip off my boots, folding my socked feet under me. After a few restless nights, the cushions feel sumptuous and I settle in, propping a pillow behind my lower back. Dorian sits a few yards down at a table, where both Niko and Alex are huddling guardedly. A beautiful red-haired attendant instantly appears with a tray of drinks, beaming at the three gorgeous men.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Skotos,” she coos, her voice melodic and silky. Her tight, blue, wrap dress accentuates every ample curve of her hips and shows off a generous helping of cleavage. Her pale skin is so fair and delicate that I can nearly see the blue veins in her slender neck. If I didn’t know any better, I would think she was Dark. But her scent is so potent, amplified by her arousal, that I know she is nothing but merely human.

“Damn. What is it with these guys? Does everything around them need to be so ridiculously beautiful?” Morgan mutters, settling beside me on the couch. She flips through an Elle magazine, stopping on an article about erotic romance books and the sexy authors who write them.

“What do you mean?” I ask, plucking up a magazine of my own, trying to ignore the scene just a few feet away. Niko is introducing Dorian and Alex, and the smell of the attendant’s excitement is nearly nauseating. Ugh.

“Well…look at them. They all look like GQ models. They drive the best cars, wear the nicest clothes—shit, we’re in a private plane for crying out loud! Imagine what their women are like. I mean, is anything just
ordinary
with them?”

I look down at my plain jeans and red-checkered button up. My boobs aren’t huge, my belly is soft yet flat, and I have more ass than what is deemed desirable by most fashion magazines. “Well…
I’m
ordinary,” I shrug, feeling the sting of that realization.

“Oh, honey,” Morgan says, reaching across to squeeze my hand. “You’re more than ordinary. You’re extraordinary. I just mean…they must have been surrounded by gorgeous women their entire lives. They’ve probably each had their fair share of models, actresses, pop stars. And the women
like them?
We’d probably look like ogres next to them.”

I shoot her pointed look, refusing the urge to roll my eyes. “Um, Morgan, you do realize that Aurora is one of them, right?”

Morgan smacks her palm to her forehead, realizing her flub. “Duh. I knew that. Well…double damn. Could you imagine if she and Dorian had actually gotten married and had babies? Holy shit, they’d be like the cutest kids on the planet. And I hate kids.” As soon as the words leave her lips, she claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, I’m sorry, Gabs. I keep saying the wrong thing. You know I didn’t mean that. Of course, you and Dorian’s babies will be even more gorgeous. And I’ll actually like them.”

I divert my attention down to my magazine, praying that she doesn’t notice the hurt crossing my face. “It’s ok. And completely unnecessary of you to say. I’ll never have kids with Dorian.”

“Huh? Why not?” Morgan sounds genuinely perplexed.

Before I’m forced into the diatribe of the curse that left me barren, unable to ever give Dorian an heir, the flight attendant walks over to us, her smile still bright yet slightly dimmed from the loss of male company.

“Hello, I’m Lynda with a Y and I’ll be serving you this evening. Is there anything I can get you? We have a fully stocked bar and onboard kitchenette. If you want it, I’m sure we can provide.”

I’m glancing over at the guys, huddled around glasses of premium scotch and talking quietly in a language I don’t understand, when I hear Morgan speak up. “Nice to meet you, Lynda with a Y. Bring us your best bottle of champagne, caviar, some jumbo shrimp cocktail and two of the most tender filet mignon you’ve got. That should be a good start.”

Stunned, Lynda with a Y nods and scurries to the back to fulfill our ridiculous order. I cast an amused glance at Morgan who has already resumed flipping through the pages of Elle, completely unfazed. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” she smiles. “Besides, I’m starved. Don’t you immortals ever eat? Shit. Can a bitch get a sandwich or something?”

I can’t even help but laugh. My girl is back. Although she nearly had a full-on meltdown when we had to drop Dolce at her parents’ house—feeding them a story about a beauty convention on the east coast—she was handling our temporary relocation like a champ. I was more than proud of her. I was in awe.

Without an announcement over the loud speaker, the plane begins to taxi the runway minutes later. I turn to gaze out the window as we take off, watching as the glittering city lights grow fainter and fainter before they disappear completely, eclipsed by heavy clouds and the majestic Rockies.

I don’t shed a tear as I say goodbye to Colorado Springs. Even if I could return, I have nothing else left to come back to.

WE LAND AT the small private airport at nearly three a.m. eastern time to a single dark limo on the otherwise empty tarmac. There doesn’t even seem to be any other signs of life inside the terminal. A weary Morgan and I slide into the massive vehicle, sinking into leather bench seats at the far end of the backseat. After a couple bottles of champagne, and more food than we could ever finish, we’re both beat. The guys acted as if we didn’t even exist, and the less mature side of me really, really wished they would have.

After stowing our luggage, Dorian, Niko and Alex slide into the car and sit across from us, too quiet and somber for my comfort.

“It’s a long ride to the house. You two should get some rest,” Niko mutters, firmly shutting the door. The glass is thicker than any I have ever seen. Darker somehow.

“Why did we fly into an airport in the middle of nowhere?” Morgan questions as the car begins to move. Come to think of it, I don’t even remember seeing a driver.

“Safer,” Niko replies. “Too many eyes in the city. Relax. We’ll be there in a few hours.”

I chance a glance at Dorian sitting directly across from me, and am instantly hypnotized by his penetrating gaze. It calls out to me, telling me to stop fighting. Begging me to just let go and let him in. It would be so much better, so much easier. There’d be no pain or suffering. Just passion, love, tenderness, all wrapped in sweet agony…

Dammit.

I narrow my eyes at him as realization sets in. He got into my head, and I let him. Maybe I really
am
tired. Or just tired of fighting.

You are.

Before I can mentally chastise that pesky little voice in my head, Dorian manifests beside me, wrapping his arms around my frame. I open my mouth to protest, but he presses a finger against my lips, causing all words and thoughts to blow away in the humid, southern wind.

“Shhhh,” he whispers. “Not now. Just rest.” And with that, he cradles me into his arms, pressing my head against his chest. The moment my lungs are filled with his intoxicating scent and the lulling rhythm of his beating heart, sleeps overcomes me and I slip into the dark expanse of a dream…

Flickering candles surround me, providing the only light in the dark room. I’m lying on a massive, four-poster bed of gold and black, much like the one at the Broadmoor. Yet there is no room, no walls to contain us. Just endless darkness.

I feel his essence crawl over my naked skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps. I gasp at the initial burn, then moan when it grows cold and soothing, as if he’s blowing on my heated flesh with icy-cool breath.

“Please,” I whine. “Touch me.”

He says nothing. Just continues to let those invisible hands touch me all over. He stays in the shadows, refusing to let me see him, but I can almost imagine that sinister smile and the intensity in those aqua eyes. He’s probably biting his full, bottom lip as he concentrates on barely grazing each erogenous zone. He doesn’t give me too much, just enough to drive me wild.

I thrash on the bed, fisting the comforter, but I am bound by invisible restraints. I want more—so much more. So much that it aches me. I search for him in the dark, but he still won’t step into view.

“Please,” I beg. “It hurts. It hurts all over.”

Answering my anguished plea, the sensation intensifies, setting the surface of my skin on fire. I cry out as every nerve ending in my body evolves into its own entity, exploding with its own thoughts and feelings and desires. They all weep in endless ecstasy, writhing in pleasure and pain. My body contorts and arches off the bed, control completely relinquished from my limbs. I couldn’t stop it if I tried.

I can make it hurt,
he whispers in my head.
That’s what you wanted, right?

“Yes!” I scream, pressing the red button of my own self-destruction. I want this—
I need this.
The Dark in me must be fed.

A million, icy pinpricks pierce the surface of my skin, digging into me, infecting me with erotic bliss. I come apart so violently that the bed begins to shake and candle flames begin to shimmy in a hedonistic dance. The prickles centralize, becoming concentrated, and move to my breasts. They attack my nipples with such ferocity that another wave of climax overwhelms me, pulling me deeper down into obscurity. There are stars behind my eyes, and I know that any moment I may lose consciousness.

The prickles ease, becoming more of a soothing balm to my swollen breasts. Head lolled to one side in exhaustion, I moan at the feeling of a soft, imaginary tongue licking its way down to my belly button. It stops there, dipping into the tiny hollow before tracing the line from one hipbone to the other. It’s gentle, tender, and while it doesn’t tempt my more carnal cravings, it’s exactly what I need.

The wetness of his invisible tongue leaves a trail of coolness on my humid skin, lapping up beads of sweat. It touches the tops of my thighs and I shudder with anticipation. My knees slowly part, and the sensation moves with them, laving the soft, sensitive skin between my legs.

I feel him there, his breath fanning over my sex, chilling the stifling heat. He doesn’t move for several minutes as if he’s just staring at it—at me. Admiring the wet mess he’s made and contemplating how to destroy me once more.

The moment the tip of him brushes my entrance, I sob. I’m so sensitive, and his touch is so amazingly arousing. He delves into me deeper, tasting my softness in slow, lazy strokes. I feel him vibrate with a moan as he licks me from the top of my sex all the way down to that hidden place below. It all feels good—too good. I know that any second could mean sudden death. And I want it. Oh God, how I want to die a thousand deaths with his head between my thighs.

I feel his tongue grow thicker, wetter. Hell, I swear it’s covering my swollen mound completely. He’s sucking me, licking me urgently and so deeply that I don’t even have time to comprehend the shift in his oral assault. I can’t catch my breath; I’m choking on my screams. Satin disintegrates in my palms as I shred handfuls of the comforter. He dips inside me, and a hum erupts in his throat as he savors my taste. He’s drinking me, sucking out my orgasm with tongue and teeth and lips so soft and full in their perfection, they should be patented. And all I can do is scream as he eats me alive. Scream until my throat is sore and my voice is hoarse, as I break again and again in delicious agony.

He laps up every drop of me, through multiple waves of orgasm that drift into trickling aftershocks. My body jerks and trembles as it settles into passion-induced fatigue. He crawls up my body, kissing me still, murmuring his praise against my skin.

That’s a good girl.

Shhh, it’s ok, baby.

You taste so good.

When I feel the silken strands of his hair against my nipples, I know he has come back to me. He gives each nipple a soft kiss before lifting his head, the longer layers of his jet-black hair falling into those smoldering, ice blue eyes. One side of his mouth crooks into a satisfied grin, pleased at how thoroughly he’s shattered my body. When he speaks, I nearly quake at the sound of his voice, causing a low, feral hiss to escape between my teeth.

“You’re a vicious little creature, aren’t you, baby girl?”

I AWAKE TO sunlight, warmth and the smoothest bare chest in the world. The only chest I’ll ever need to feel from now until eternity.

We’re on a bed of fluffy pillows and down comforters. The walls are bare, aside from vividly colored oil paintings that look hauntingly familiar. Outside of that splash of color, everything is white—the linens, the rug, the drapes. And there are three large picture windows, welcoming bright sunlight to fill the room.