He shook his head, trying to clear it as he pulled onto the street and drove away.
Harlow
Her brain was a muddled mess. Deep, gruff voices floated above like clouds too far to reach. To make out. Unable to distinguish if her eyes actually opened or if she was dreaming, she caught only flashes of dark-haired men and forest-green eyes flecked with gold. Why were they so familiar? The most prominent male form that stuck in Harlow’s mind was a bare chest that looked as though it had been carved by angels.
And that smell. Rainfall mixed with snowy pines. She’d smelled it before, and it made her muscles relax. Not that she could move.
She felt drugged. Suspended between waking and not. Her eyelids were too heavy; there was too much fog in her head. At some point flames of pain licked down her shoulder through her bicep, sending uncomfortable heat all the way into her fingertips. But she couldn’t scream—her lips were glued together.
Then every sensation slipped away. The blankness that enveloped her was peaceful.
A tickling sensation trailed down her neck, slowly grazing her shoulder and her arm. Then it stopped, and exhaustion washed over her once again.
Harlow’s eyes fluttered open to the feel of buttery warmth kissing her skin. Bleary-eyed, she made to sit up, then winced as pain stabbed through her left arm.
“Finally awake. Good,” a deep, velvety voice said from below her feet.
Her eyes snapped open, everything coming into focus at once. She lay on a king-sized bed with soft, silky black sheets covering most of her body. Leaning against the wall across from her stood a man. Though the window above his head cast most of him in shadow, he was tall and well-built from what she could tell.
She sat up hastily, ignoring the pain in her arm. “Who are you? Where am I?”
His arms unfolded from his chest as he pushed off the wall and stepped into the light.
Her breath hitched at the sight of the beautiful man. She drank him in like he was the first sight of water in a vast, blistering desert. He had black hair artfully swept back from dark green eyes which were highlighted with starbursts of gold. His strong, wide jaw was shadowed with stubble. His full, sensual lips pressed into a tight line as he stared down at her…with disdain. Adorned in an expensive grey suit, he looked identical to the hundreds of photos she’d seen of him before.
Harlow’s throat tightened as his name rose to her lips, but she wouldn’t utter it.
Arian Kalvar.
Officially, he was the governor of New York. He was also America’s hottest bachelor and politician for at least five years running. And based on the rumor mill printed in every magazine across the country, he owned most of the East Coast—legal and illegal. Yet there was scarcely a woman alive that wouldn’t kill for a night to be his latest conquest.
And where people whispered his name with pleasure, many whispered it with fear. Though Harlow couldn’t understand why. They were all just rumors; he couldn’t be such an openly public figure, without any of those stories finding traction. Which meant they were all just that. Rumors.
“I’m guessing from the array of expressions on your face, you know who I am,” he said in that silky baritone voice that made heat bloom in her cheeks. He spoke with undeniable command, and her body reacted to it involuntarily.
“Um, yes,” she answered, hating how her own voice cracked. “The governor of New York.” She didn’t add the bit about being the sexiest bachelor on the East Coast. The light dimmed in his eyes, as if her response was not what he expected. “Where am I?” she repeated.
Arian walked to the side of the bed, mere feet from her. The heat that radiated from him brought with him the scent of cool rain and forest air, which made the heat in her cheeks spread down her neck. He handed her the glass of water sitting on the bedside table. She took it without looking up and drained it in several gulps before setting it back down.
“What do you remember?” he asked, moving back to the foot of the bed, as though he didn’t want to stand so close to her.
Harlow forced away the pang of unnecessary hurt from the irritation on the man’s face. Her mind sorted through what she could recall. Driving to the city with Rex to pick up her belongings, then driving back, then—
Her memories flooded back in a swell that made her heart lurch, then pound painfully. The beast in her garage, slamming through her house—god, was it even still standing? The sharp explosion of pain when the beast’s massive claws tore through her arm…
She glanced down at her shoulder. It had a small strip of gauze taped to it, far smaller than she remembered the wound being. What the hell?
With a blink, her eyes trailed inward to her plain white bra. Her dress. Where is my dress? Hands fisting the silky sheet that now pooled at her waist, she yanked it up to her chin with a small yelp.
He tensed, eyes locked onto the sheet as though he wanted to rip the fabric away. But he didn’t move, save for his brows which had slammed down in disapproval.
“Where the hell is my dress?”
“It was shredded and covered with blood,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze.
“How did I get out of my house?” she asked. “Where are those…creatures?”
A muscle in Arian’s jaw flexed. “I found you and got you out.”
Harlow felt her own irritation mounting. If he had saved her, why was he acting so pissed about it? She remembered being swept up by the strong arms of a man, but she hadn’t seen him. She gave a nervous laugh. “Um, okay. What happened to the two bear things?” she repeated. “Did you kill them?”
He gave a bark of mirthless laughter. “If only it were so simple.” Without giving her time to ask what he meant, he continued. “I’m afraid you’re in a bit of danger, Ms. Marks,” he said casually, while inspecting his cufflinks. As though that was not one of the most disconcerting things to say to a woman practically naked in a stranger’s bed.
Harlow’s stomach tightened. “What do you mean?”
Arian’s eyes finally snapped back to her, and unmistakable anger flared in them. “You couldn’t have just stayed hidden in California where I put you?”
Where I put you.
Where I put you.
Where I put you.
The words replayed over and over in her mind. For several long moments Harlow just stared at the strange, beautiful man, her heart thundering in her chest so hard, she felt certain he could hear it. When his gaze dipped to her throat and lingered, she swallowed hard.
“What do you mean, ‘where I put you?’” Her voice was surprisingly strong despite feeling as though she were caving in on herself.
His chin lifted slightly. “Why did you leave California? And so suddenly too. I barely had enough time to prepare.”
Harlow scanned her surroundings as nonchalantly as she could, for anything she could use to defend herself. The room was minimally furnished and other than the empty glass on the side table, she was defenseless.
Arian gave a low, rumbling chuckle, and her attention snapped back to him. “You have nothing to fear from me, Ms. Marks.”
“Really?” she shot back. “Not only do you know who I am and that I’m from California, you just told me you put me there. Which seems impossible because my sister and I moved there right after my parents died, because she got a job offer that…” Her words dissolved into ash in her throat. “Ohmygod.”
Arian’s lips twitched in amusement. “Yes, Ms. Marks, I hired your sister to be a secretary at one of my law firms. To keep you safe from the danger you found yourself in less than twelve hours after arriving back in New York.”
She swallowed hard. “What danger? And why do you care?”
His expression flickered with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher before the cold detachment slipped back into place. “You are a very rare commodity that my enemy would seek to destroy. I was able to keep you hidden for eleven years, but on a whim, you decided to return to New York at the least opp
ortune time. Why?”
“I don’t understand. The beast that attacked me in my house, the two that appeared in the street on my birthday. That’s the danger? What are they and why are they trying to kill me?”
“Not all of them want you dead, Ms. Marks.” The golden flecks in Arian’s eyes surged, wiping out the green, and Harlow gasped.
Those were the eyes that had stared back at her on her birthday. The beast that had let her go.
Though Harlow seemed to recall that the beast had barely restrained itself. She scooted further back into the pillows, wishing she could disappear between them.
“So you’re, what then? Some kind of werewolf-type thing?”
The gold in his irises receded, returning to normal as Arian rose a single brow. “Werewolf? No.” He glanced down at the watch on his wrist. “It is difficult to explain, and I intend to provide you with more answers later this evening, but unfortunately I am late to a meeting.”
As he turned toward the door, Harlow flew off the sheet and stumbled to her feet. Dizziness washed over her, and she leaned a hand on the wall for support until the sensation passed.
“Wait, I need my clothes, I need to go home.” If there was even a home to go back to.
“Your clothing is being retrieved as we speak, and the damage sustained to your home being repaired.” He turned in the doorway, expression severe. “And even so, Ms. Marks, you cannot leave. Only I can protect you now that my enemies know you exist.”
Harlow’s chest tightened. “But my paintings, my life! I can’t stay here for however long I—”
Arian moved so quickly she couldn’t track him. One moment he was in the doorway, the next he stood so close to her, she could feel his heat. He gripped her chin with an almost bruising strength. His eyes blazed with fiery gold.
“Your life is now mine. The second you left California, you gave up your freedom. All actions have consequences, Ms. Marks, and you will live with yours for the remainder of your puny lifespan.”
Then he released her and was out the door. Harlow stood, dumfounded, shaking from head to toe. How much of her life had been orchestrated by Arian Kalvar, and why?
Only one thing was now certain.
She was a prisoner.
Locked away by a monster similar to those that hunted her.
Harlow
Harlow’s mind spun wildly. Arian Kalvar had saved her life. Then he’d abducted her. She was grateful, yet she knew there was far more at play than what he’d told her.
Why were his enemies after her? How was she a “rare commodity”? Was he the one who gave her the key to her family home?
Staring down at her shoulder again, she wondered how on earth it had healed so quickly.
If he’d somehow been keeping her hidden for the past decade and knew her family history intricately, then it made sense that he was the one that had sent her the key.
But one thing was for certain: she wasn’t going to give up her entire life to be a willing prisoner. Maybe if she returned to California, everything would go back to normal. She had to try.
Searching the massive walk-in closet for something to wear, Harlow found a plain black T-shirt that swallowed her up, as well as a pair of too-large gym shorts. She rolled the elastic waist several times just to keep them from falling off her hips. Clearly these were his workout clothes. But her shoes were nowhere to be found. I don’t care about hurting my feet as much as I care about getting out of here, she thought as she pulled on several pair of men’s socks that rose well beyond her ankles, but provided enough padding so she could run if necessary.
She had no idea where she was. There were no city sounds and from the tall trees swaying outside the high window, Harlow guessed they were still somewhere upstate.
The governor of New York wouldn’t have taken her out of state if he had meetings and other political events to attend.
She closed the top drawer of his dresser and paused when her gaze snagged on a painting that hung on the wall at the very end of the closet. Her breath hitched. It was one she knew all too well: a landscape with an ocean as red as blood, and a coarse, black, sandy beach. The sky was an array of oranges, streaked with pink and violet. And two glorious suns shone in the sky while a third sank low on the horizon, just a sliver.
Harlow walked toward it as if in a trance. Her fingertips brushed the oil-painted canvas, just above her barely visible signature in the bottom, far-right corner.
It was the painting she’d done for her final in her senior year of college. They were auctioned off and her painting had sold for the entire cost of her degree. The first painting she’d ever sold.
To an anonymous buyer.
Her vision blurred as she spotted a box tucked in the corner on her left. A dozen wrapped canvases poked out of the top.
She started toward the box, already knowing what she’d find. Her knees knocked together just before she reached the paintings, and she nearly toppled onto them. With shaking hands, she pulled out the first canvas, wrapped in tissue paper. Please be someone else’s paintings, she silently begged.
Delicately she unwrapped the first one, and her blood turned to ice.
Another landscape, this time of a luscious forest filled with more colors than one’s eyes could properly process. She’d painted it just after graduating college. She set it aside and unwrapped another. A moon-lit mountainous scene, with six bright moons illuminating the sky.
Harlow tossed it behind her and pulled out another frantically. A sob caught in her throat as painting after painting bore her signature. She didn’t bother checking them all—she already knew.
Instead, she snapped them in half. Tore the coated fabric to shreds. Hot, angry tears coursed down her cheeks.
Had he purchased every single painting she’d ever sold? There had to be close to a hundred of them. And if they weren’t in his closet, where were they?
Harlow ran from the space that suddenly felt too small. Too hot. She fled his bedroom, entering a large kitchen with a dining table at the end. A basket with freshly baked muffins sat on the table. The delicious scent made her stomach cramp, but she ignored her hunger. The large bay window overlooked a small meadow that met a thick forest. Her heart sank, but she kept going. She made her way to a wide sitting room that was darker than the rest of the house, with no exterior windows. An old, empty fireplace sat against one wall, and she passed well-kept furniture which had probably been the height of fashion in the 1920s.
Through there was a hallway. Doors lined both sides, but she didn’t try any of them—she’d found the one she was looking for. Sprinting for it, she grasped the doorknob and turned, pulling hard.
Locked.
Harlow’s hands fumbled with the bolt, and the telltale click made relief surge through her like a crashing wave. She threw the door open, feeling the morning air wash over her. It smelled of pine trees. She hesitated for a second, as if expecting an alarm to sound, or for Arian to appear in front of her by magic. When nothing happened, she tentatively stepped one foot outside the door, then the other. In front of her was wide open land covered in velvety green grass. No road or path in sight.
She wasted only a second or two before she broke into a run. Her arms pumped as her feet carried her over the dewy ground. Running had been one of her favorite pastimes in college, but now she only went for the occasional jog. Which was evidenced by the way her lungs began to burn after only a few minutes.
It felt as though she was going nowhere, until she crested a small hill. At the bottom began a semi-worn path that led to a dirt road. Just as she paused to catch her breath, the sound of heavy footsteps pounded the ground behind her.
Then a snarl that made her breath catch in her throat. Harlow slowly turned to find not one, but four giant beasts sprinting toward her. Two of them, one slightly bigger than the other, had thick grey fur. Another had a short, snowy-white coat and the other a shaggy, honey-colored fur. None of them were Arian. Yet that
did little to settle her mounting panic. She spun and sprinted down the hill, nearly losing her balance several times.
She knew almost instantly she couldn’t outrun them. The forest ran parallel to her, only fifty or so yards away. It was away from the road, but right now she needed to lose those creatures.
Her sudden change in direction earned her a chorus of snapping jaws and rumbling growls. Harlow could feel the heat from the beasts on her back. They were close.
The narrow spaces between soaring tree trunks were still twenty yards away. She forced her body to move faster.
Her skin prickled and warmth spread through every inch of her body. It made her itchy, but she ignored the uncomfortable sensation, pushing herself harder.
A menacing snarl sounded from directly behind her and Harlow’s throat tightened, cutting off her air.
Ten yards.
In her periphery, two massive, charging bodies flanked her, coating the sloping ground in shadows. They were trying to cut her off.
Her skin felt as though it were stretching, her head becoming heavier. What was happening to her? Her chest heaved with ragged breaths. All she could hear was the thunderous clap of more than a dozen paws slapping the ground in time with her racing heart. She pushed every bit of her strength into the last stretch, but her vision dotted.
The golden beast veered into her path, teeth bared. Harlow lost her footing and toppled to the ground, skidding over the damp earth. The other three slowed to a stop and surrounded her.
Caging her.
Well done, Arian, she thought bitterly as she climbed to her feet. I’m going to die after all. So much for protecting me.
She spun in a circle looking for an opening to dive through, but they were too big. Her hand clapped to her chest as though she could stop her heart from hammering its way out.
Tears pricked her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall. She also wasn’t going to let herself get shredded to bits by four monsters out in the country where no one would ever know.
Marked for Darkness Page 9
