“What is it?” he whispered, and leaned into her side for shelter.
Should she tell him? Nightmares would follow him all the rest of his life, though she suspected that was already an occurrence. “Go home, Joseph.”
“I am home.”
Damn. “Who is that man? Do you know him?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. What’s it doing to him?”
Feeding. She picked the boy up by his shoulders and turned him in the other direction. “Get out of here.” She shoved him on his way, watched him stumble a bit before he found his footing and took off.
Keeping the man and the Darkling in her sights, Amaya snatched her purse from the ground. She took what she needed from the interior, stuffed her pockets with everything important, and then freed her blades from the sheaths strapped to her forearms, hidden under her long-sleeved shirt. She faced the drama unfolding in the culvert, prepared to kill the Darkling.
Except…the Darkling didn’t consume the unfortunate man. The man consumed it. He opened his mouth and either drank the dark entity in, or it crawled willingly inside.
Amaya hesitated. What would it do? This new behavior had to be documented, studied, reported to Michael. The man veered away from her and exited the culvert at the opposite end. She followed and tracked him through the awakening city. He nodded, said good morning to people, stopped for coffee and two muffins. She tracked him all the way to his house, a split-level duplex that had seen better days. He jogged up the stairs, whistling a merry tune.
She circled around to the back and spotted a woman through a crack in the kitchen blinds. The man walked in, gave the woman a long good morning kiss, which turned into a series of kisses, heavy petting, a shifting of clothes, and action on the kitchen table. She wasn’t a voyeur. Not her thing at all.
She watched because nothing about his normal behavior and the strange behavior of the Darkling made sense. Darklings consumed humans by absorbing them, leaving nothing behind. They couldn’t devour everyone, or else humanity would’ve ended at the beginning. Only those with a corrupt heart were at risk.
But what she saw, that was a game changer.
Amaya retraced her steps back to the homeless encampment. She stopped in the culvert, searching for clues, as if she were a member of CSI. Needless to say, she found nothing and left the culvert without any idea as to why a man with a family had made a pit stop in this dump. She climbed up the embankment leading back to the tents and cardboard homes. Halfway through, Joseph jogged up to her. She ignored the boy until he blocked her path. She moved around him and kept walking, the patter of his rapid footsteps behind her.
She spun sharply and said, “What?”
Joseph stepped close and looked up at her. His gaunt, dirty face disturbed something inside of her, a bud of maternal instinct she had no idea what to do with.
“What was that thing?” he whispered.
She couldn’t say it was nothing when clearly he saw the Darkling. A colorful lie wouldn’t work on the street savvy kid. Protecting him from another nightmare was pointless. The truth, she didn’t know what the hell they saw.
Amaya kept walking.
The patter of feet continued behind her. “Please.”
Amaya stopped and ground out a curse. Please was her kryptonite, especially coming from a kid. Joseph came around her and blocked her path. The streets were busier since she entered the homeless encampment. She dropped to her haunches to keep the conversation between the two of them. “Who was that man you were with?”
“My uncle,” he said.
“You live in that encampment?” She received a nod. “Anyone else you can stay with?”
Joseph shook his head.
“Then I suggest you turn yourself into social services, kid. You need to get off the streets ‘cause I’m not sure what happened back there, or if it’s gonna come back again. The night is not safe.” She squeezed his shoulder.
He scowled at her. “The night never was safe to begin with.”
Amaya couldn’t deny that statement. “Some things are predictable. That thing back there”—she pointed toward the encampment— “that is the kind of danger you can’t predict. You and your uncle can’t fight it. All you can do is get clear of it.”
Joseph snorted and patted his chest. “I ain’t scared.” He knocked her hand off his shoulder and swaggered away. False bravado or not, the boy had balls, hopefully he’d get to keep them.
18
Two nights in a row, Amaya returned to that same house and watched. She even followed him and his female companion to a restaurant and sat next to their table. They laughed, kissed, made wedding and honeymoon plans. She had no explanation for what she saw and her pleas to Michael went unanswered, as usual. She didn’t know what the UnHallowed would do with the information—kill the guy, maim him, imprison him within the shadows—so she kept it to herself.
During the day, she walked the farm, as she was currently doing. Motion sensors couldn’t detect everything. Six hours patrolling the farm brought her to noon. She made lunch in her brand-new kitchen, then showered in her new master bathroom, with its glass octagon shaped stall big enough to host a party, and went back to the porch and stretched out on her swing. The sun was low when she woke. She checked the motion monitors and there was nothing to note. No humans poking around. No animals of any kind. Not even traffic on the road.
Around this time, she usually made another snack and waited for sunset, then got the hell outta there ASAP. She didn’t want another snack. She wanted dinner, when luncheon meat and stale bread were the only things in the refrigerator.
She pulled up Google and found an Italian restaurant that delivered. The farm was well outside of their five-mile radius—until she offered a one-hundred-dollar tip. Ordering enough for two was stupid, but she did it anyway. There was always tomorrow and she loved leftovers.
It took two and a half hours to arrive. By the time it did, a thunderstorm had rolled in. The sky was dark, though sunset was still an hour away. She didn’t have plates, silverware, or glasses, none of the finery to set a table for her first meal in her new dining room. The lack of those items didn’t make the moment less special and at least Bane had left her something to buy.
She hadn’t seen or caught his scent since that kiss. That damn kiss she couldn’t erase from her mind. Sometimes she wished she could. Sometimes, while walking the farm, the feel of his lips, the taste of his tongue, his leather and night scent, his tender touch, the memory of it all consumed her.
She opened the basement door and peered down the dark staircase. The first step is the hardest. Tonight, the last step would be the hardest, because the last step would bring her to him.
“It’s just a meal. He’ll say ‘No, thank you,’ and I’ll eat dinner alone.” That’s how all her evenings went. Alone. So nothing to get excited over. Soft lighting from wall scones illuminated the way as she walked downstairs and came to the first common area. It was still bare, with plain gray concrete floors and walls.
She had no idea which room was his or if he was even here. The honeycomb layout confused her, maybe that was the point of it.
“Stupid idea,” she mumbled and reversed back to the staircase.
“What’s a stupid idea?” Bane stood in an open doorway.
She startled and immediately felt ridiculous. He wasn’t the boogeyman and she was more than capable of killing the bastard if he were. She drank in his presence, the white button down with the open collar, showing the strong column of his throat. Tucked into his leathers, he appeared cosmopolitan, not fallen angel, especially with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
“Sorry for invading your privacy. I would’ve knocked, but I didn’t know which bedroom was yours.”
“It’s the one I’m standing in.” He moved into the common area. “You haven’t invaded my privacy. The house, the land, and everything underground belong to you. I am your guest and at your mercy.” He spread his arms.
She couldn’t stop h
er smile. At her mercy, yeah right. “Would you join me upstairs?” His gaze narrowed and his relaxed stance turned tense. “The sun hasn’t quite set, but it’s raining hard, all the curtains are drawn and the shutters are closed.”
The tension bled away from his shoulders. “Then lead the way.”
Back up the stairs, into the root cellar and through the kitchen, they went to the dining room. She walked around the head of the table and pointed to the setting beside her. “Would you join me for dinner?”
Hands loose at his sides, he strolled to the seat, passed it without a single glance at the food. He stopped beside her and said, “Allow me.”
Amaya stepped aside and Bane pulled the chair out for her to sit. She tried to hide her grin and failed as she sat all prim and proper. Bane sat and surveyed his meal.
“It’s veal parmigiana and spaghetti, my favorite, with a vinaigrette salad and garlic bread. I-I don’t know if you don’t eat at all. You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to—”
“You’re correct. I don’t have to eat. I haven’t eaten in centuries. I will eat with you because you invited me.” He picked up his plastic fork, twirled it around the spaghetti, and ate a mouthful.
She held her breath as he chewed and swallowed.
“It’s good, though I don’t really have a reference.”
Why did she feel like she’d aced a test? She dug into her own plate. When he grabbed the water bottle next to his plate, she said, “I usually have wine.”
“Next time, we shall.”
Next time sounded as if they had a future, as if they had years together, years of dinners, years guarding the Cruor, years of—
Rain pounded against the shutters. Overhead, the lights flickered. They both looked up, waited for the lights to decide on or off, and when they stayed on, continued eating.
Bane mimicked her and dipped a piece of bread in sauce, and brought it to his mouth. He licked his fingers and repeated the process. He really did seem to enjoy it, hadn’t lied when he said it was good. “I can cook. I can make us something, for next time. There are some recipes I want to try out, and now that I have a new kitchen there’s no excuse not to.”
A grin full of hungry anticipation coasted over his face. “I guess I’m your guinea pig.”
True enough. “Good thing you’re immortal and can’t die from food poisoning.”
He laughed, a rich sound filled with amusement that made her join him.
“I want to kiss you.” Oh hell! I did not just say that aloud.
His laughter died and the smile slid away. A faint glow circled his irises. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything sexier. “Then do it,” he commanded, his voice thick and low.
Like a deer in the headlights, she blinked, stuck in the surreal moment. She wanted to look away, but her gaze had glued to his lips.
“Either you do it, or I will.” He scooted the chair back, scraping the wood floors, and rose.
Amaya copied him. One step was all that separated them. Breathing became impossible. Rational thought took a hike. His mouth on hers, his taste on her tongue was all that mattered. Ending the distance between them, she took that step, tilted her head, and—something beeped. An alarm of some sort. They froze, both angling their heads toward the sound. “What is that?” she asked.
“The motion sensor,” he growled, and darted into the kitchen.
She was beside him when he snatched the monitor off the countertop and tapped the screen.
“They’re in the field behind the barn,” Bane said.
“What? What’s in the field?”
“Something that shouldn’t be there.”
“Darklings?” she questioned.
“Too ethereal. This something is solid.” With a flick of his fingers, the shadows peeled away from the corners of the room.
Amaya ran to the kitchen window and yanked open the heavy curtains and shutters. Night had fallen while they ate. Still, it didn’t make sense. What he said made sense except… The man she saw in the city, the one inhabited by a Darkling, it was ethereal and solid. More than solid enough to set off a motion sensor.
She whipped around and shouted, “Wait!” but the shadows had already taken Bane. She had to get to him. She had to get to him now before he made an awful mistake.
19
Amaya tore out of the house and ran hard through the wet field. She passed the barn and kept going, into the dark. There was no moon to guide her way and even with her superior eyesight, the field resembled spilled ink. Sounds of a struggle reached her and she changed direction. The dull glint of silver caught her attention followed by a high-pitched scream that couldn’t have come from Bane.
“Stop,” she cried out, though she knew she was too late. She tripped over the first body, splayed like fallen timber, and landed on top of the second.
Amaya scrambled away and bumped into a leg. She glanced up to find Bane with a blade poised over her head. Slowly, she climbed to her feet, prepared to defend herself. “Bane?”
She had his attention, but he didn’t seem to see her. His lips moved, yet he had no words. Then she caught the strained whisper, “What have I done?” The blades dropped from his hands. He backed up, wobbled.
Amaya reached for him.
Bane jumped back and shouted, “Don’t.” Shadows gathered. They frothed, competing for supremacy.
She had to tell him. “Bane. I—”
In a giant wave, the shadows swarmed him. He was gone and she was alone with two bodies. No, make that three bodies. She spotted the third, a few feet behind where Bane had stood.
Amaya knelt amongst the slaughter. She wasn’t a crier, yet tears lined her cheeks after she pulled the first wallet out of a back pocket. Mitchell Chaimani, age thirty-five, with a picture of him and two little boys; Manuel Stevens age twenty-six, also had a college ID; and Diana Proctor, age thirty, with a picture of an older couple. The female doubled for an older version of Diana. Humans, innocent humans, as far as she knew. How would their loved ones go on, year after year, not knowing what happened, wondering if they’re alive, fearing that they’re dead?
She sobbed and trudged back to the barn for a shovel. By the time she returned, Bane was there. He took the shovel and dug a single grave deep enough and wide enough for three bodies. He buried the dead and went back into the shadows.
Back in the house, she dropped to her knees in front of the fireplace. It took a while to get the fire going. Once it blazed, she tossed their driver’s licenses, credit cards, and all the other pieces of information that humans collected, into the flames and choked on the burning plastic. While it was still dark, she got in her car and drove the side streets and roads circling her property until she was certain the trio hadn’t arrived by car. Two had come from Chicago. One had a site seeing map of Las Vegas. One, the college student, his driver’s license was issued in Florida, which probably meant he relocated to the area, but still. Why were Darklings from other states here, in Danville, Michigan?
The sun was up by the time she parked in her rutted driveway. She walked into the house, passed the dining table with their congealed food still waiting to be finished and the smoldering fireplace. She didn’t stop until she was inside her bedroom where she stripped her filthy clothes and stepped into the shower. The spray was as hot and as hard as she could stand, and she didn’t leave the stall until the water rivaled an artic stream.
Amaya dressed in her last set of clean clothes, a pair of sweats and wife beater, got back into her car, and drove to her hotel. She packed her things and checked out. Back to the farm, she returned to clean up the leftover food, close all the blinds and curtains. She sealed out the light, and sealed herself inside. In effect, she turned her home into a prison.
Her next stop, the basement. No surprise he wasn’t there in the spartan room with only a king-sized bed. There wasn’t even a chair to sit on. She left a note. Her body begged for sleep and Amaya couldn’t fight it any longer. She passed out on the living room sofa
in front of the fireplace.
“Why can’t you train me anymore?” Clutching Braile’s myst robes, she cried into the material.
“Destiny calls, Amaya. My duties take me in other directions.” Braile stroked her hair.
“But you said I’m your duty. And what direction? You’re an angel. You can be anywhere at any time. I don’t understand,” she sobbed. A ten-year-old didn’t understand a lot of things.
“And you won’t understand. Not for a very long time,” he murmured. “You cannot fight what is meant to be. Our paths diverge. This is the last time we will meet, Amaya. I do not want tears to be how we part.”
She cried harder. “W-why? Who is going to teach me? You said I have more to learn.”
“Michael oversees your training now.”
Viciously, she shook her head. “He doesn’t like me. He hates me.”
“Angels don’t hate.”
“He does! He hates me. I know it.”
“Amaya! Enough. This is unbecoming of what I raised you to be.” Braile dropped to his knees and cupped her face. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his gold orbs. “One day, all of this will make sense. Power equals sacrifice—”
She knocked his hands away. “Then I don’t want power. If I have to sacrifice you, then I don’t want it.”
He took a measured breath and took her hands. “The gift I’ve given you is not returnable.”
She rubbed at her eyes and dragged her arm under her snotty nose. “I don’t care. Take it back. I want you. I don’t want the power.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and stood. She clung to him, arms wrapped tight around his waist, head buried in his chest. “Don’t go, please. I’ll do anything you want. Train harder. Won’t argue with you. I’ll even get good grades. Just don’t go. Don’t leave me, please, Father.”
With a flex of his power, her arms dropped to her sides and Braile stepped away. He wiped her tears with the pads of his thumbs and lifted her chin so she could meet his cold gold eyes. “You do me great honor, however, I am not your father. I am sorry, Amaya.”
Only One I Want (UnHallowed Series Book 2) Page 10
