Into Darkness (A Night Prowler Novel)

by J. T. Geissinger

  “Seriously, how much does it cost to keep this place clean?” she said sourly, eyeing the acres of dust-free carved-wood wall paneling, furniture, and screens.

  “Who knows? Money isn’t one of my problems, lass,” said Gregor dismissively, leading them down a thickly carpeted corridor toward a suite of rooms where he’d said they could rest.

  “Obviously,” Lu grumbled, thinking of the years of near-starvation she’d endured growing up in this very same city, while men like Gregor—criminals!—lived in such luxury.

  “Life isn’t fair, princess,” he said, turning to fix her with a look. “It’s eat or be eaten. And I’d much rather be the one holdin’ the fork and knife than starin’ up from the plate.”

  Thanks for that fantastic visual, she thought, disgruntled. She’d never look at food the same way again.

  “Here we go,” Gregor said, rounding a corner and opening a door. Lu and Magnus followed, and she gasped at the grandeur that lay within. Her eyes went immediately to the enormous, four-poster bed in the corner. Just behind her, Magnus snorted.

  Wanton wench.

  Without turning, she gave him a swift kick in the shin.

  “I’ll be back at sundown,” said MacGregor briskly, checking his watch. “In the meantime, I’ll try and find out what I can, and set up the meeting with my contact. If you get hungry, just dial nine on the house phone; it goes straight to the kitchens. They’ll bring the food up.”

  “They?” said Lu.

  Gregor waved a hand. “The wee kitchen elves, lass. Who else?” He turned and disappeared through the door.

  “Alone at last,” said Magnus, his voice husky, and she turned to him with an eyebrow arched.

  “And I’m the wanton one?” she teased.

  His answer was a deep, hot kiss, his hands pinning her wrists behind her back, his body hard against hers, his passion edged with something like desperation. When he came up for air, Lu asked breathlessly, “Why did that feel like an end-of-the-world kiss?”

  Something flashed in his eyes, there then gone. Then he picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and loped over to the bed as she squealed and pounded his back in fake protest. He dropped her to the mattress, where she bounced, then stood staring down at her with eyes molten and dark.

  Examining his face, she fell still. “Magnus, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  He gave a barely imperceptible shake of his head. “Nothing could ever be wrong with you looking at me like that, angel,” he whispered.

  She didn’t believe him. Something was suddenly, definitely wrong. She sat up, grabbing his wrist. “Don’t lie to me! What’re you thinking?”

  He hesitated. Then, in a voice low and infinitely dark, he said, “I just feel like the luckiest man alive. And I want this to last forever.” He knelt down beside the bed and took her face in his hands. His eyes were so tortured it frightened her. “I want that more than anything else in the world. To be with you forever.”

  “You’re scaring me,” she whispered back.

  “Don’t be scared, angel. Everything’s going to be okay; I know it.” He pressed the gentlest of kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her chin, trying to calm her, but she’d begun to tremble.

  “Magnus—”

  “Shh,” he shushed her gently, kissing her again. He pressed her back against the bed, his kisses growing deeper, longer, his hands roving over her body. As always when he touched her, it was a sweet and wonderful homecoming, the best feeling in the world. It was so blissful, in fact, she heard music . . .

  Magnus stilled. She opened her eyes and looked at him, hovering above her, his face flushed. “Is that music?” he said in a whisper, ear cocked toward the door.

  “It is.” And not any music. Loud music, a throbbing, pulsating beat that vibrated the floor.

  They both sat up. “Where’s it coming from, d’you think?” she asked.

  “Downstairs? Somewhere . . . below.”

  Below. They looked at each other, arrested by the word.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked, and watched a sexy, slow grin spread across his face.

  His voice dropped an octave. “Only if what you’re thinking involves my face between your legs.”

  “Magnus!” Lu smacked him on the arm, scandalized, blushing. She couldn’t believe he’d just said that out loud.

  “God, you’re adorable when you blush.” He grabbed her, kissed her again. This time it was she who broke the kiss, when the throbbing beat of the music became too loud and distracting.

  “Okay, I’ve got to know what that music is all about!”

  Magnus groaned, but allowed her to drag him from the bed. Feeling like a spy, she peeked out the bedroom door, looked up and down the long, deserted corridor. “Coast is clear,” she said, whispering, not knowing why but feeling like it was appropriate. “I think we should head that way.” She pointed to a spiral staircase at the opposite end of the hall from where they entered, half hidden behind a huge stand of artfully arranged potted palms.

  Magnus’s big hands spanned her waist, reaching almost all the way around. “Your wish is my command, My Lady,” he whispered, raising the hair on her arms. She straightened, and his hands slid upward, resting on her ribs, just below her breasts. When he spoke again it was against the bare flesh of her nape, exposed by her new short haircut. “Or would you rather I called the shots?”

  She turned her head and his lips met her ear. “I wasn’t kidding about my face between your legs, angel,” he breathed, his tongue darting out to softly lick her lobe, sending her heartbeat flying. “I need to taste you again. Soon.”

  He slid one hand higher and swept his thumb over her hardened nipple. The other hand he spread flat over her belly, pulling her bottom against his erection, and she let out a soft moan in response. He cupped her chin and tilted her head, kissing her from behind.

  “Okay. The faster we figure out what that music is, the faster we can get back to this bedroom,” she said, breathing heavily, liquid fire pooling deep in her belly where he was rubbing slow, teasing circles, heading lower. She pulled herself away, smiling when he groaned in protest, and tugged on his hand. “C’mon. Five minutes.”

  “Five,” he said firmly, following. He lifted her hand to his mouth, and pressed his teeth into her thumb. “And then you’re mine.” His eyes were glowing, and her smile grew even wider.

  They raced silently down the hallway. They took the stairs two at a time, their feet barely making any sound as they went. They came to another floor, but the stairway kept descending, so they passed it by, gaining speed, their noses picking up the scent of sweat and alcohol, musky perfumes, a dozen different fragrances pummeling them even as the music grew louder and louder. They were getting close.

  Finally the stairway ended in a long, dark corridor, its floor bare stone. At the opposite end, lights flashed bright between the slit in a pair of drawn velvet curtains. Shadows crawled along the walls. The music was almost deafening, a bold, base-heavy techno beat, and Magnus guided Lu down the hall toward the curtain. They pushed it aside, and were shocked at the scene laid out before them.

  A story below, hundreds of people bounced and twisted, dancing with arms overhead or around a partner or flung wide. Lu barked a laugh at the sheer, unexpected spectacle of it all. There was a DJ booth on one wall, a bar on the other, and an old-fashioned mirrored ball dangled from the ceiling high above. The place was mobbed.

  “A speakeasy, of all things!” said Magnus. She barely heard him above the music.

  “Our friend MacGregor certainly is an interesting character,” Lu conceded, watching in fascination as the bodies surged and spun. “It must be an underground thing—it’s after Curfew!”

  No one on the dance floor looked concerned about Curfew. In fact, there were quite a few couples who seemed far more concerned with getting a good grope in und
er the flashing, blinding lights.

  Magnus turned his head and looked at her. His eyes glinted in the light, and the desire and intent in them was unmistakable. Her heart skipped a beat.

  Not here!

  No? He prowled toward her, a scant smile lifting the corners of his lips. Why not?

  Lu stepped back, looking nervously down at the crowd below. Magnus! Anyone can see us!

  His jaw tightened. He gave her a look of pure, possessive lust. You think I’d ever allow another man’s eyes on your body? You think I’d ever share what’s mine with anyone else? Even a look?

  He kept moving forward, and she kept stepping back, assuming she’d come into contact with the wall at any moment. But then she brushed past another curtain she hadn’t noticed, and stumbled into a small alcove off the main corridor, lit with candles. She realized it was a curtained balcony just as Magnus reached out his hand and curled it around her upper arm. He pulled her against his chest, staring down into her eyes with a fierce, burning need.

  “I don’t share,” he growled. With his free hand, he ripped a second curtain hanging on a rod above the entrance around to close the gap between the main set, then guided her to the far back corner of the balcony, around a trio of high-backed chairs to a tufted velvet settee strewn with cushions. He sank down onto it and dragged her onto his lap. The music blared and thumped and throbbed, but it was quieter inside their little cocoon above the fray, and she could hear the irregular rasp of his breathing. She put both hands on his chest, felt the pounding of his heart, and smiled.

  “Good,” she said, leaning over to whisper directly into his ear. “Because I’m only for you. All of me is only for you. And all of you is only for me.”

  He kissed her then, hard, his eyes fluttering closed as a groan left his lips. He fisted his hands into her hair, devouring her mouth, then dragged his lips across her jaw and down her throat, licking and sucking, tasting her skin, ravenous and unrestrained. It excited her on some deep level, his loss of control when he touched her. She loved it.

  She loved him.

  She whispered it, head thrown back as he roughly unzipped her jacket and pushed it off her shoulders, tossing it to the floor. The words were lost to the music and the sound of his harsh breath; he made no indication he’d heard, and maybe she hadn’t said them aloud after all. She was reeling, breathless, drunk with him.

  Her shirt came off next, then her camisole, and then his beautiful rough hands were all over her bare skin, his mouth and lips following everywhere he touched. He set her on her feet and shucked off her boots, dragged her pants down over her hips, tore off her panties. And when she stood naked before him, he looked at her for a long, silent moment, his eyes just drinking her in.

  “Angel,” he said, staring into her eyes with a look of rapt ardor, “looking at you could bring a dead man back to life.”

  “He wouldn’t be looking at me if he was dead,” she teased, cupping his face in her hands, “but thank you for the compliment.”

  She bent and pressed a kiss to his mouth, then, straddling him, pulled his shirt off over his head. He tore his trousers open to his hips, freeing his enormous erection, then flipped her onto her back in one swift, confident move, setting her down carefully against the cushion.

  Maybe it was the music, or the candlelight, or the hunger in his eyes, but in that moment, Lu felt like a different person. She felt powerful, strong, and mysterious, a thread of her long-ago dream self running through her veins, urging her on.

  Show him what belongs to him. Show him what’s his.

  Holding his gaze, she arched back against the settee, spread her legs open, cupped her breasts in her hands. He looked down at her, drawing in a sharp breath. A smile curving her lips, she slowly slid her hands from her breasts, down her rib cage, over her stomach, undulating erotically, totally unabashed, in love with the look of worship and passion in his eyes. He looked starving and brutally dangerous, hovering there above her, and what she said next pushed him right over the edge.

  “I need your mouth,” she said, and dipped a finger into the wetness between her legs, “here.”

  He complied without hesitation, pushing her hand aside to cover her with his mouth. He wasn’t gentle; she didn’t want him to be. He was rough and demanding, sliding his fingers inside her without preliminaries, sucking hard where she most needed it. She arched and cried out, her sounds of pleasure and his growls of desire drowned by the music. He brought her right to the edge of release, then stopped.

  She blinked open her eyes. He stared up at her, her eyes feral in the flickering light.

  “I think we’re going to need some protection.”

  She didn’t understand until he reached for her jacket, and pulled her gloves from the pocket.

  She laughed weakly. He helped her put them on, then positioned himself above her, his arms braced on either side of her head. He eased himself inside her without ever looking away from her eyes, so she could see exactly how good it felt for him, a look she knew was mirrored in her own eyes.

  When he was fully seated, he cupped a firm hand under her bottom and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

  “Feel good?”

  Her answer was a low moan, which made him chuckle. He slid out, then back in, deep, wringing another moan from her throat.

  “Tell me,” he said, husky. “Tell me how good it feels, angel.”

  “Better than anything, ever.” Her voice was unsteady. He slid in and out again, achingly slow, and her legs began to shake.

  “Tell me you love it.” His words were hot and demanding at her ear.

  “Oh yes, yes, I love it.” Her fingers were digging into his hips and she was pulling at him, trying to get him to go faster, harder, but he stayed in control, keeping that slow, languorous rhythm.

  Then, his voice ragged, he whispered, “Tell me you love me, angel.”

  He turned his face and looked at her through hooded eyes, and Lu felt as if her heart would burst wide open. “Magnus,” she whispered.

  “Tell me, angel. Say it,” he demanded harshly, his face strained. “I need to hear you say it.”

  “I love you,” she said, dissolving, her eyes filling with moisture. “I love you. I love—”

  Abandoning all his careful control, Magnus crushed his mouth against hers. His body crashed into hers and he began to pump with hard, powerful strokes, claiming her, possessing her body and her heart and her soul. She met every thrust with one of her own, her hips taking over, both of them going crazy, grabbing, clawing, panting, groaning, all restraint thrown aside.

  “God now, please now!” she begged, writhing.

  Magnus must have been right there, because he moaned, “Yes!” and thrust one last time. Every muscle in his body went taut.

  Lu opened her eyes and looked up at him, this man who’d saved her in so many ways, and watched him fall apart.

  She fell apart with him. They stared at each other through it, both of them stunned and wide-eyed, breathless and wracked with full body shudders, glistening with sweat. He said her name, low and hoarse, the word full of wonder. Beyond the curtains, the music rose to a throbbing crescendo, and the crowd roared.

  Her heart on fire, Lu thought, I would die for you.

  She didn’t know it then, but that simple, impassioned thought changed the course of fate.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Magnus carried her all the way back to the room. She was as boneless as a ragdoll, worn out by their lovemaking but also by the enormity of her emotions, and the effort not to think about what might be coming next. All she wanted was a shower, and to sleep.

  So they shared a bath in the ridiculously huge claw-foot bathtub, running hot water without a thought to the credits it cost. Magnus washed her tenderly, and she washed him, and after they dried off, they fell into bed and slept like the dead.

  Lu awoke hours later,
disoriented and thirsty, feeling certain someone had just called her name. But the room was still, the music from before silent.

  The ghost of her name came again, raising goose bumps on her arms. Carefully, silently, she rose and dressed. With a last, lingering look at Magnus, sleeping peacefully on his back with his arm thrown over his face, she left the room.

  The mansion was as quiet as their bedroom. She wandered aimlessly through vast, echoing corridors and lavish, empty rooms, until finally she came upon the kitchen. There sat Gregor MacGregor alone at a long, wooden table, staring in silent contemplation at his hands, twisting his pinky ring around with his thumb.

  He glanced up when she came in, and smiled, looking awfully pleased with himself.

  “You rang?” she said, rubbing a fist against an eye sleepily.

  “Wondered if that would work. Must be because you were traipsin’ around in my noggin earlier, eh? Now we have some kind of Vulcan mind meld going on?”

  Lu shrugged. “Beats me, Gregor. I didn’t come with an instruction manual, and it’s been hell figuring out how this whole contraption works.” She made a vague, sweeping gesture with her hand, indicating her entire body, and its assorted bells and whistles.

  He stood, lifting his bulk from the table with surprising agility for such a large man, and went to a refrigerator the size of her bedroom in the house where she’d grown up. “You hungry, lass?”

  “Starving,” Lu admitted. “But is that really why you called me?”

  He hesitated a moment with his hand on the refrigerator door. “No.” He opened the door, began rummaging through the refrigerator’s contents. “But I find it’s hard to think on an empty stomach, don’t you?”

  Lu made no comment, having had to think on an empty stomach her entire life. Judging by his size, MacGregor had never had that particular problem.

  He made her a sandwich with cheese, ham, and fresh tomato, of all things, on wheat bread. When he put it in front of her, Lu looked at it as if it had just arrived from outer space.