Standing up, I hugged my arms across my chest and padded out of the room. A long hallway of gray stretched in either direction. There were two doors made of dark wood to the right. To the left there were two more doors and the opening of the hall. I chose left. As I got closer to the entrance soft music and a large, rectangular living room greeted me. I recognized the hauntingly beautiful piano melody as Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. It had been one of my favorites since I was fifteen.
Coming around the corner, I saw Dorian’s large frame sitting on a black, leather sofa. He was leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as his head rested in his hands. His chocolate hair formed a curtain around his face. An amber filled crystal glass sat on the thick wooden coffee table in front of him.
“How are you feeling?” Dorian’s smooth voice carried across the room though he hadn’t spoken very loudly. My heart jolted that he knew I was watching him, but he made no movement to look at me.
“Okay,” I said closing the space between us while I looked around the room. It seemed his entire house was painted in varying shades of gray. The living room was dark, the color of angry thunderclouds. Wrought iron sconces clung to the wall every six feet casting a warm golden glow against the cherry hardwood floors. A kitchen sat toward the back of the room and was made up of one row of upper and base cabinets with frosted glass doors. A granite island separated the two rooms.
“Now I know why you thought my apartment was shit,” I joked. Five of my tiny apartments would have fit in this place.
“If you need to take a shower, the bathroom is at the end of the hall. There’s a closet of women’s stuff in your room if you need to change your clothes. They’ll have to do until tomorrow.”
I didn’t want to know why Dorian had a supply of women’s clothes, nor did I want to wear his one-night stands’ castoffs. I was standing next to him now, unsure whether I should sit or not. He seemed like he was in a bad mood.
I sat down beside Dorian and smiled when I saw my cat curled up on the cushion next to him. “Thank you…again,” I said. He didn’t respond or look up at me. Ignoring my annoyance, I said, “I’ve always loved this song.”
Dorian reached for his glass, taking a drink before leaning back against the sofa. When he looked at me his face was devoid of any emotion. “I’m going to head to bed.” He finished off the glass, stood up and walked around me and to the kitchen. Turning around, I watched him put the glass in the sink and head toward the hallway.
“Dorian,” I called out, confused and angry. He stopped but didn’t turn to face me. Scrambling off the couch I walked over to him and, without thinking, wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him. His body went stiff, unwilling to embrace me back. A door opened, and I stepped away from Dorian. A tall woman with brunette hair exited the far room. She was dressed in a long t-shirt that hung mid-thigh. She giggled when she spotted us staring at her.
“Bathroom?”
“Last door,” Dorian said.
Everything inside of me felt like it had been crushed. My lungs constricted as air tried to fight its way through. Angry and embarrassed, I stepped away from Dorian, turning my back to him. We weren’t a couple in the least so I didn’t want him to see the hurt and jealousy on my face. I had been so stupid to allow another man to weave his way into my psyche. Maybe the reason I kept getting hurt was because I allowed it to happen. I knew as soon as I met Dorian that he hopped from bed to bed. Hell, he’d even told me so himself. So why was I surprised to see a half dressed woman in his home? The more I thought about it the more I realized I was madder at myself then him.
“Listen, Gwen—”
“No explanation needed,” I said interrupting him. Turning around, I smiled though I felt like crying. “Good catch. She’s pretty.” Dorian glanced away, unable to look at me any longer. “Well, goodnight.” I headed for the sofa, willing myself to stay strong and not breakdown in front of him. The sound of his footsteps disappeared down the hall and then a door closed. I sat on the edge of the couch, unable to decipher the change in Dorian’s personality. He wasn’t the man I’d come here with. This man was distant and cold—detached. The door opened and closed again, but I tried not to think about the leggy woman sharing Dorian’s bed. It was none of my business.
A set of French doors led out to a balcony. Heading to the kitchen, I grabbed the first bottle of alcohol I could find and headed through the doors, shutting them quietly behind me. I should have probably eaten something, but my appetite was gone. The balcony was actually a rooftop patio. A wrought iron fence surrounded the entire perimeter. Terracotta pots with blooming flowers sat in the corners. A square table rested in the middle, surrounded by padded chairs. I made my way over to it, sat down and propped my legs up. Unscrewing the bottle, I took a long drink and choked back the burn crawling down my throat. I tried to think about anything except for Dorian and what he could be doing at the moment.
I took another drink from the bottle, sat it down and stood up. Walking over to the edge, I leaned against the railing and stared down at the crowded street. My eyes roamed over the French inspired architecture and I realized we were in New Orleans. I had only seen it in movies, but it looked exactly the same. I smiled as a couple of women stumbled their way down the sidewalk laughing like hyenas. It must be nice to be carefree and human. They had it so easy. At the moment, it made me miss Fiona. I hadn’t talked to her in almost two weeks. I hoped she was having more fun than I was and that her new relationship with the judgmental Ethan was working out. I didn’t like him but he seemed to make my best friend happy and that was the only thing that mattered. I made a mental note to call her tomorrow and catch up.
As I stared out onto the crowded street I found myself falling in love with the vibrant city. There were all sorts of characters to be seen; it was like a Where’s Waldo book come to life. One man was dressed in all black with a skeleton mask covering his face while he posed for pictures with tourist. Another man was painted entirely silver, sitting on a milk crate against a restaurant wall. I smiled watching these two free spirits. They weren’t concerned with what the world thought of them and I loved that. Too many times society played a major role in making our decisions for us. In New Orleans, the residents were true to themselves. I could learn a thing or two from them.
Morning came sooner than I wanted. I hadn’t gotten to sleep until around four. My face was plastered against Dorian’s leather sofa, a thin coating of drool on my lips. Sitting up, I wiped my arm across my mouth and grumbled at the bright sunlight streaming through the windows.
“Morning,” Dorian said from behind me. I turned, brushing my hair out of my eyes. Most of last night had been spent thinking about him and his houseguest, when I wasn’t thinking about Aiden and our bond. I could be the poster girl for chaos and drama.
Dorian’s hair was wet, his white t-shirt snug against his chest and two cups of coffee in his hands. I silently wondered if he was bringing her breakfast in bed. He answered my question when he walked into the living room and sat a mug down in front of me, taking the empty seat across from the coffee table. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses so I had a clear view of the cloudy abyss of his eyes.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, lifting the cup and taking a small drink. I couldn’t look at him without thinking about what he might have done last night; so I focused on the house. It wasn’t at all what I was expecting. Everything had a place and nothing was out of order. On the far wall hung colorful prints of jazz musicians and a large flat screen television hung. The entire place had cherry hardwood floors. A staircase was to the left of the living room, leading down to the front door.
“I thought about something last night,” I ended up saying when the silence began making me uncomfortable.
“Yeah?”
I nodded, glancing briefly at Dorian and then away. “Yeah. Aiden’s eyes didn’t turn blue. I mean they’re blue anyway, but they didn’t turn the electric blue they do when a vampire drinks our blood.”
“Oh yeah,” Dorian said, his voice complacent.
I nodded again, still uncomfortable. Was the woman still here? Would she come out in one of his tshirts and nothing else? And why did I care?
“Something bothering you?”
“Huh?” I looked up.
Dorian signaled with his head to my hands. “You’ve got a pretty tight grip on the sofa.”
I glanced at my hands, releasing the cushions from my death grip. “No, just thinking. It must mean that the NAWC has restored the spell that protects our blood. Otherwise why wouldn’t his eyes change? And why haven’t they called me, or Fiona for that matter? If—”
“Gwen.” Dorian’s voice cut through my ramble.
“Huh?”
“Why don’t you ask me what you really want to know?”
I pursed my lips and feigned innocence. “There’s nothing I want to know.” I took another drink, burning my tongue in the process. Standing, I stretched and asked, “Bathroom?”
Dorian lifted his arm and pointed down the hall. “Second door on the left.”
“I’m going to take a shower. Where’s my bag?”
“First door on the right.”
My head bobbed, and I headed for the hallway.
“Gwen?”
“Hmm?” I didn’t turn around. Instead I looked over my shoulder, pissed that Dorian looked so tempting this early in the morning. His feet were bare and his entire body seemed relaxed. I was trying really hard not to think of why.
He stood up and walked over to where I was. “About last night—”
I held up my hand. “You don’t have to explain. We’re friends, right?”
Dorian nodded. “Yeah, but it’s more than that. I need to get my head straight to gain my sight again. This,” he signaled to me and then himself. “whatever it is, puts your life in danger. Without knowing when you’re in trouble or going to die, I’m useless to you.”
“It’s cool, seriously. Do yothang.” I turned on my heel and sped walked down the hallway. Only when I closed the bedroom door did I let out the breath I’d been holding.
“Do yothang?” I whispered to myself, embarrassed beyond belief.
Pull your head out of your ass, Gwen. I may have even pulled out the finger guns, which only made me cringe with more humiliation.
I spent a good forty-five minutes under the hot spray of the shower before the water began running cold. Sluggishly I dressed in a pair of jeans and green henley. I had gotten four hours of sleep, but my body felt depleted. Running a comb through my hair, I wrung out the excess water and picked up my old clothes, rolling them into a ball and exiting the bathroom.
A woman’s laughter flowed down the hall and to my ears. Grumbling, I headed to the bedroom where I first woke up and stuffed my dirty clothes into my duffel bag. Given the choice between having an awkward conversation with Dorian’s flavor of the night and dealing with rogues, I’d choose rogues.
I slipped out of the bedroom and walked the short distance to the opening of the living room. Craning my head forward, I spotted Dorian and a dark haired woman sitting at the breakfast bar. At least she was dressed this time. Dorian leaned on the counter, a smile on his face and his sunglasses back in place. I wondered if the woman had an inkling of what Dorian was.
“Gwen,” he said, blowing my eavesdropping out of the water. I was embarrassed, not at getting caught, but from acting like an immature child. Dorian was free to do and see anyone he wanted. The jealousy snaking its way through my entire body was irrelevant.
“Hi.” I stepped out into the room. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Dorian smiled, telling me he didn’t believe what I said. I walked over to the wall and picked up the phone cradled there. “I need to make some calls and I forgot my cell at home. I’ll just get out of your guys’ way.” I smiled to myself that I had come up with a good excuse as to why I couldn’t sit and get to know her, but Dorian stopped my brilliant exit. Jerk.
“Don’t be rude, Gwen.”
I spun around, shooting a glare toward Dorian before the woman turned on the barstool to smile at me. Of course she had reason to smile; she spent last night in Dorian’s bed.
“Sorry, I wasn’t intentionally being rude.” I smiled back at the woman, walking over to where she sat. “I’m Gwen Sparks. Nice to meet you.”
“Ah, the Gwen Sparks?” She looked at Dorian with a knowing smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you. The big guy hasn’t stopped talking about you since he met you.”
I could feel my eyebrows crawling up my forehead with my confusion. Who was this chick?
“Pardon me,” she said, still smiling. “My name is Amara. I’m a friend of Dorian’s. He helped me with a pesky poltergeist a couple years ago, and we’ve been friends ever since.”
I crossed my arms, shooting a look at Dorian. “I thought you didn’t do friendships?”
Amara’s mouth popped open and she teasingly slapped Dorian’s arm. “You’re still pulling that bad-boy crap?” She looked to me, the smile still holding strong. “He’s all talk, ya know?”
I nodded, a small laugh bubbling up my throat. “Yeah, I’m learning that. So what has the bad-boy been saying about me?” For all intents and purposes, Amara seemed like a nice person, but did that mean I wanted Dorian telling her about my business? No.
“Didn’t you have some phone calls to make?” Dorian finally said.
I pursed my lips and shook my head, hiding the phone as I crossed my arms. “I’d much rather talk to Amara.” I sat in the empty barstool next to her. Her face was ethereally beautiful and made me wonder what type of supernatural she was. Her long chocolate hair spilled halfway down her back while her large green, almost-shaped eyes lit up.
“Sorry for my rudeness, but are you a fae?”
She tipped her chin down as if embarrassed by my question.
“Amara is one of the Fates, Gwen. She’s who I visited to find out answers.”
I couldn’t do anything but stare. I had always been a fan of Greek Mythology, but I assumed it was just stories, legends. My eyes slid to Amara, then back to Dorian’s face.
“Are you actually Hades?” I breathed. “Is there really an Underworld and a river Styx?”
“More or less,” he shrugged. “But not the Underworld you’re thinking of. It’s the realm of the dead.”
“Wow. I mean I know your name is Dorian Hade, but I assumed you were trying to be clever.” My smile fell away as I thought about something. “You said you were an angel, but Hades is a Greek God…and…I mean you’re not the Devil, right? Because Hades is also another name for hell.” The time from when I stopped talking and from when Dorian answered was mere seconds but seemed like lifetimes. If I was attracted to and kissed the Devil that would truly be the lowest point in my life. In no way did I want anything to do with that sort of man.
Amara laughed, causing Dorian to smile and me to blush. I knew right then that I had interpreted it all wrong. The strain in my chest eased.
“I am an angel, Gwen. I handle the dead, so in some ways I’m like Hades, but not the son of Cronus and Rhea. I am the neutral middle-man, collecting souls and directing them to the hereafter. Whoever takes care of them after that is a mystery, even to me. Most of the Greek gods have either been imprisoned or killed. The remaining few like to keep a low profile.”
I nodded with a smile on my face. This was the most Dorian had talked about who he was and what he did. And the idea of Greek gods existing was the cherry on top.
“So as one of the Fates, Amara, you know why Dorian cannot see my death?”
“I do,” she grinned.
“Why then?”
She looked up at Dorian and then back to me. “Perhaps this is a conversation better left between the two of you.”
I looked to Dorian expectantly. “Now would be a good time to make those phone calls.”
I could tell Dorian didn’t want to discuss it, either at all or with an audience so I nodded and headed out to the rooftop pa
tio. Walking over to the wall, I leaned against it and punched in Fiona’s number.
“Hello?” She sounded confused.
“It’s Gwen.”
“Where are you calling from? I don’t recognize the area code.”
“I’m in New Orleans with Dorian. Flora was getting a little crowded.” Understatement of the year.
“What does that mean?” Fiona asked. I could hear people talking in the background and wondered if Ethan was sitting next to her eavesdropping and rolling his eyes. That man did not like me. The feeling was mutual.
“Never mind,” I told her. She didn’t need to know rogues had invaded our hometown. My drama was the reason she stayed in Moon. “I’m calling because I have reason to believe the council members restored the protection spell.”
“Just a minute,” she whispered. I heard her say something to someone and then her footsteps as she walked away. “What have you gotten yourself into, Gwen?”
My face scrunched in confusion. “I haven’t done anything. Why? What have you heard?”
“Everyone is gossiping about you, saying that you’re going through with it.” Fiona’s voice was a hiss as she tried to keep her voice down and still coat her words with the severity of what she was saying.
“Going through with what?” The people of Moon gossiping about me really wasn’t that big of news. I hadn’t made a lot of friends there when I chose to continue seeing Aiden while they were all gearing up to take the vampires down. They saw me as some kind of traitor. Now that I knew the truth about Aiden, I was claiming stupidity instead.
“Going hybrid,” Fiona whispered harshly. “Don’t do it, Gwen. You know supernatural blood cannot coexist in the same body. Everyone thinks you’re either suicidal or up to something.”
I rubbed my forehead in hopes to ease the confusion out of my brain. “Why in the world would they think I was going to try and become a hybrid?” Just the thought of becoming half vampire and drinking blood made me cringe. I had my hands full with being a spirit walker; I didn’t need to add to the burden.
Coveted - Book 3 in the Gwen Sparks Series Page 13
