Love is Darkness (A Valerie Dearborn Novel)

by Hanson, Caroline

  “If he doesn't come after you, will you leave us alone? Let us be together?”

  “You are so certain you belong with him? You have been drawn to me from the moment we met. You behave with me as though I am your lover, but that's done with now?”

  He was cool and collected, talking to her matter of factly. This was a big deal, a breakup in fact. If he wanted her he should be pleading, shouting, trying to kiss her, geez, something to convince her beyond this calm conversation.

  She swallowed heavily, not wanting to talk about her relationship with him. “I think you've done a good job putting yourself in my way, don't you? My mom dies from a vampire attack and while you deny it... I think you must have known. You showed up during...formative years. A golden monster who saved my life. Of course I’m drawn to you. But that’s not enough. Plus, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me if I was a normal girl.”

  He raised an eyebrow in disagreement but said nothing in his defense. I need to get out of here.

  “Take me home.”

  He stood up, looming over her in a way that made her heart pound faster. Frightened and excited at once.

  “I’ve just saved your life.”

  “Is that what we’re calling it? I think you put it in danger— at best it’s a wash.”

  He took a step closer and she backed up.

  “I’ve secured my throne.”

  “Kudos on that one.”

  “Would you have missed me had I perished? Did you not think of all the things we might have done together if we had known what fate had in store for us? The sex and passion. Would we have even gone to the ball if we had known we might not have long to live?”

  “That’s why they say hindsight is twenty-twenty.” She could barely get the words out. Focus, desire, the things she’d just said she wanted from him, he was giving her.

  “Do you know how many children are born nine months after a victory.” It didn’t seem like a question. More like a fact, or, big swallow, like a declaration of intent.

  I thought vampires couldn’t have kids—oh! He wanted to bed her? Now? Here?

  By the look on his face, she was thinking the answer was yes. Her breath stuttered in her lungs and she wanted to wrap her legs around him like a monkey.

  She wanted to run. She wanted to stay. Her fight or flight response was all fucked up like the compass on a plane, unable to decide which way it’s going, right before it crashes into the ocean.

  “That’s…um…an unusual pick up line, I was not aware of that. It makes sense I suppose.” And even if it sucks you can totally practice on me.

  Because he was a victor and she did feel like he had won. And he was charged after the battle, his body thrumming with lust for her. She could feel it, like an echo of her own.

  “What do you feel for me? Is it just lust?”

  He looked at her a little oddly, surprised maybe. “Just lust? You say it like lust is a paltry thing, like Cleopatra did not bring down empires because of lust or that fortunes have not been lost over the urgent necessity to make someone their own.”

  His gaze burned into hers, words quiet and forceful. “You want me to feel more? You want a declaration? Love? I can tell you that I have wanted nothing more than you for hundreds upon hundreds of years, that I will kill anyone for you, anyone you can name. In me you have a shield, could have a lover, a friend and a confidant.”

  His gaze dipped to her neck and it felt like her pulse jumped up to meet him, wanted to feel that hot press of fangs poised at the top of her skin, wanted to dwell in that moment of anticipation just before he would close his mouth, slipping those sharp points into her body.

  Would he do it softly? Would it hurt? Or would it be quick and primal? Her nipples pebbled and she actually rubbed her neck, trying to dispel some of the want.

  Hundreds upon hundreds of years he said. That would be starring in some of her better fantasies for the rest of her life. But she didn’t need fantasies. Here was the real deal. And he was taking her to bed.

  He wanted her. Like fiery ants marching across her skin, she could feel how much he wanted her. But, it was like he was waiting for some sign from her.

  She crossed her arms, hunching her shoulders, trying to think past the desire for him. She closed her eyes to block him out. Think.

  “But you wouldn’t love me, right?” Man, she’d meant to sound tougher when she said that. Instead of hopeful and desperate. She waited for his answer, like she was standing on a ledge waiting for a small pebble to hit the bottom of the ravine.

  It took forever.

  She couldn’t wait any longer.

  He’s Lucas. He’s a vampire. He doesn’t love. He fucks. He kills. He desires.

  But she wanted it all. Could he love her? “What if you drank my blood?”

  “If I drank your blood would I love you?” He covered his mouth with his hand, fingers pressed to his lips, looking away from her. “I will do what I can to make you happy. Now. Without that.” He shook his head. The whole concept seemed so alien to him, like he wasn’t even sure he was pronouncing the word ‘happy’ correctly.

  And a tiny part of her was getting angry. Why wasn’t he just taking her? He’d just conquered! He was a warrior! What was he waiting for? He knew his affect on her. All he had to do was touch her and he could have her.

  But he wasn’t.

  Another man who wants me, but only on their terms.

  “Take me back to Jack. To the hotel.”

  He looked like she’d slapped him.

  “To the hotel, I mean.” Smooth, Val.

  He gave her a searching look, like he was trying to read her mind. “I must change first. Come.”

  Lucas held his hand out to her. It was covered in dried blood. But under it, was him, and his claim upon her was on such a fundamental level that it was deeper than desire, worse than lust.

  Wasn’t that the rub? That what she felt for him was…indefinable. And he only felt lust. Was it like lusting after a handbag? A car?

  He tried to wrap it up in a pretty package, talking about Cleopatra and what not, but it boiled down to an itch he wanted her to scratch. And he had no interest in loving her, even if it they could have more.

  What the fuck was she talking about? What ‘more’ could they have? The end game wasn’t the two of them with 2.5 kids and a dog that barked too much.

  He could never give her the simple things that people used to measure a happy life.

  A knife twisted in her gut.

  His hand was still outstretched and she took it, ignored the fact that it was covered with blood, that by taking his hand the blood of others coated her too, pushed all that aside so she could touch him for just a little bit longer.

  I need therapy.

  He led her out of the room, down hallways, past people and guards, yet all she could think of was his hand surrounding hers. How he stood close to her, opened the occasional door for her and stood aside so she could enter first.

  Guards stood outside his apartments, and he ushered them through.

  “I’ll need blood.” She heard him say quietly and then the door closed behind them.

  This was his bedroom.

  It was weird. It smelled like him, the faintest hint of his cologne lingering in the air. And there was his bed. It was definitely king size and covered in a heavily embroidered duvet that looked stolen it from a museum.

  He groaned and she whirled around. He was lifting his shirt to take it off, the wound open and seeping dark blood.

  He really had almost died tonight. That vicious knowledge punched through her, a vision of Lucas disintegrating before her very eyes—she couldn’t even think about it.

  Val took a step towards him. Screw the consequences or that it was just lust. She needed him in her, imagined her hand clasped around his shaft pressing him deep into her body. He’d pin her to the bed, grab her thigh, wrapping her leg around his waist as he sank home.

  The tight breeches clung to his hips, riding low
so that she could see the top of his hipbones, the muscles of his stomach and then his chest. The shirt came off and he tossed it aside, watching her.

  Waiting for her to make the move.

  That froze her. Why wasn’t he coming for her? She closed her eyes, straining to pick up on his emotions, trying to sort them out. It was like taking stones out of a bag, examine it then put it back, pick out another one and figure out what it was. She felt his desire, his triumph and the one that was the brightest: his restraint.

  He wanted her to come to him. Covered in blood and fresh from murder, showing her just how alien he was, he wanted her to choose him. and he was in control enough to wait for her to do it. She knew his emotions, had his blood, but they were weak, like the last beating flutters of one’s heart before death. Any urgency for this moment was hers.

  She opened her eyes and his gaze scorched her. His resolve wavered, desire for her so thick and heavy it was like she could touch it, hold it in her hands like hot sand.

  Now he’s going to drink me.

  He shook his head.

  Fuck, I’m transparent. She looked down his body again, unable to help herself, knowing he’d see it, maybe even gloat over the fact that she had to look again. She loved the way his arms had bulged as he tossed the shirt away from him, how he’d discarded the piece of material like it was an impediment from reaching her.

  His skin could be naked against hers right now.

  Step forward.

  Close that distance.

  She wanted to—why wasn’t she?

  There was a knock on the door and he turned, going to it, the broad expanse of his back and shoulders more pale perfection. The two little divots on his lower back, perfect for her fingers to press into.

  He was at the door, but he didn’t open it, just leaned his head against it before inhaling. “At least try to shield. I suppose I asked for this misery—”

  He opened the door and reached through, keeping his back to her as he took something from outside the door. She saw his head go back a little, very faintly heard him swallow. She stepped to the side to see what he was doing. He handed an empty glass back outside the door. It had been a pint glass and he’d drained it, handing it back empty, bright red blood clinging to the sides of it, looking like stained glass.

  He turned back towards her, door closed, not a speck of blood at the corners of his mouth or anything. But at least she didn’t want to kiss him anymore. Yuck.

  “You don’t drink straight from the source?” Pathetic attempt at distraction.

  The wound at his side was healing before her eyes, closing up, new skin spreading over him. “Make yourself at ease. I shall shower and return. Then take you to your room.”

  Take you to Jack was what he hadn’t said. It clearly galled him.

  He walked towards her purposefully, almost stalking her, both hands undoing the buttons of his breeches slowly, letting her see each shift of his fingers, as he came closer and closer. And he was arrogant, the set of his shoulders, the challenge in his eyes almost telling her that he knew she wouldn’t look away. That she couldn’t look away.

  God, she wanted him. And then he walked past her and she heard the water turn on.

  She sat down hard and tried to remember what her game plan was. Go home? Some dude, what was his name? Oh, yeah. Jack.

  Jack.

  She fell backwards and stared at the ceiling, belatedly realizing that she was lying on Lucas’ bed. She turned her head, looking at the pillows. Which side did he sleep on? A book was on the side closest to the door and she guessed that was his side. What did a guy like Lucas read?

  She climbed across his bed, wanting to see the book. If it’s ‘Men Are From Mars and Women Are From Venu’s, maybe I’ll stay. If it’s the ‘Kama Sutra’ made out of wood cuts, I’ll stay too.

  ‘The Tipping Point’, by Malcolm Gladwell. There was a match on the front and it said, ‘how little things can make a big difference’. Huh. It was like social psychology. What the hell did she make of that?

  She touched his pillow, about to bend down and— oh shit.

  She was actually going to sniff his pillow when she heard the water shut off. Thank god I avoided that little sign of desperation.

  She dashed over to the fireplace instead, sitting in a chair, looking blankly at his shelves of hard bound books.

  Probably not a Kindle kind of guy.

  Just a guess.

  She heard water again and turned, seeing Lucas wearing only a towel and brushing his teeth. That had to help. And then…mouthwash.

  He was going to kiss her.

  Big sigh.

  And she was going to let him. I mean, really. Like I could stop him now. If she had one wish, right now, it would be for a chastity belt. Please, please don’t sleep with him.

  He came out of the bathroom— hair damp, drops of water clinging to his shoulders and chest. Jesus.

  She wanted him to come to her, pick her up and lay her down on his bed, loom over her and kiss her, cover her with his body. Electricity and desire pushed through her, making her clothes feel too tight, her body sensitive and open, waiting for his touch.

  Then she remembered his hand pulling out a heart before her eyes.

  “You’re underdressed,” she said. Up here, Val. Look at his face! Well, at least she knew he wanted her too. She could see his erection under the towel, heavy and huge, pressed flat against his stomach.

  “You want me to take you to him?”

  “What?” Look. UP.

  She bit her lip so she didn’t say, ‘No I don’t want to go to Jack, I want to stay here with you and fuck you until neither one of us can walk out of this room.’

  And if he’d just come grab her, she’d do it. Put aside all of her concerns and give in.

  She had an awful idea. A way to sleep with him, stay with him and know how much he really cared for her.

  Val stood and looked down at her shirt. It was bloody too. Go figure. She lifted her hands to the buttons, undoing the top one and advancing towards him slowly. Her breath was overly loud in her ears, the room totally quiet and now she could smell him, soap and shampoo, that faint lovely humidity of warm, clean skin.

  His jaw clenched so tight that his cheekbones were in stark relief. Another button undone. Lucas crossed his arms over his chest, stance a little wider. Knuckles white because his fists were clenched so tight.

  She unbuttoned another button, becoming flustered and uncertain. Why hadn’t he looked at her?

  “Tell me, then.”

  She hesitated, nonplussed.

  “You thought of something you want. Yes? It accounts for your sudden change of heart. Your purpose in disrobing.”

  His words were quiet but intense, like there was anger under there. Or lust. Some hot emotion.

  “You said you’d kill anyone for me.” Her voice was raspy.

  He didn’t say anything. All the buttons were undone and there was a slight gap in the material. Her heart pounded from her boldness. She grasped both sides, ready to take it off, panic making her want to pull the shirt tight. She wasn’t brave enough for this. Especially as he still wasn’t looking!