The Dark Prince (The Dark Light Series)

by Jennings, S. L.

  Dorian doesn’t budge. He still has not raised his head to meet my gaze or even acknowledge my presence, though I’m certain he is the one who turned on the lights as soon as he realized I was awake.

  “What’s going on? Dorian, please talk to me!” I shout with urgency. I’m afraid; has he been hurt?

  Dorian lifts his head and reveals the reason why he was reluctant to show himself to me. His eyes are dark and menacing. Cold. Yet there is pain and remorse in them. Something has surely transpired while I was asleep and I automatically begin to think the worst.

  “What happened? You can tell me,” I say just above a whisper.

  Dorian’s expression is desolate and unreadable, giving nothing away. His mouth opens just a fraction before closing shut. He wants to tell me, he needs to, but he’s… frightened? No. He could never be scared of anything. I couldn’t imagine a force more powerful or terrifying than he. However, something has surely shaken him and I am writhing in the unknown.

  “I apologize, my love,” he finally whispers.

  What? Oh no. Has he gone to see Aurora? Did he breathe her? Shit!

  Dorian shakes his head a bit, dispelling my trivial worries. “I was unsuccessful.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It didn’t work. I couldn’t…I didn’t,” he stammers. He takes a deep breath then lets his ice blue eyes meet mine, emanating hurt and regret. “I couldn’t fix her, Gabriella.”

  I take in a sharp breath, trying to digest what he’s telling me. “What does that mean?”

  Suddenly, Dorian is next to me, wisps of charcoal smoke surrounding him before quickly dissipating. He turns to me urgently, seething with contempt and rage, his eyes burning deadly blue fire. His hands fly up to cup my face, bringing it up to meet his intense gaze.

  “It means she is stuck, a pile of nothingness. Just. Like. Me. Forever petrified, frozen like a fucking corpse until we can find another way. Or until I kill the fucker who did this.”

  “Dorian, please calm down,” I whisper, reaching a tentative hand up to stroke his face. He instantly recoils, scooting away to put space between us.

  “Calm down? Ha! What world do you live in, Gabriella? Because that’s where I wanna go. Where everything is just fucking ponies and gumdrops,” he spews angrily.

  “That was uncalled for,” I mumble casting my glassy eyes down to my knotted hands on the comforter.

  “Yeah it was. And you know what? That’s the reality. All of this is uncalled for.” Dorian’s breathing is rapid as if he’s just run the length of the apartment complex. But I know he is not physically winded. He’s enraged and trying to get his emotions in check before he explodes.

  He looks back up at me with remorseful eyes, searching for understanding. “You have no idea what it’s like, Gabriella,” he whispers.

  I gaze at my Dark lover, equally pained at his erratic desperation. “Then tell me.”

  Dorian shakes his head a bit, trying to dispel the memories that still haunt him. He can’t bring himself to say it. We sit for several minutes in silence, him looking out into the night through the window, me looking at him, trying to beckon him to talk to me. Finally Dorian turns his head to me, and his icy cold guise has thawed. My Dorian has come back to me.

  “When my father summoned me, I knew there would be consequences for my omissions. No one defies the king. I was certain that I would be put to death and I was accepting of it.” Dorian looks away for a bit as if he can’t look his truth in the eye. “But as he stared down at me, so cold and callous- deadened- I became afraid. I didn’t want to die. I hadn’t even lived yet. Over 200 years and I still felt like something was missing.”

  He runs a hand over his solemn face. “I was a coward, Gabriella. I should have chosen death. But as I looked up at my father, as I saw the contempt, the disgust, the sheer hatred he had for me, I was afraid. I couldn’t do it.”

  The thought that Dorian could be afraid of anything brings me up short. He is so strong, so confident. To me, he’s invincible. Yet, every time he has mentioned his father, he has been visibly disturbed. How could he be frightened of his own father? What kind of monster is he?

  “What happened to you?” I whisper, understanding just an inkling of Dorian’s grief.

  Dorian shakes his head, refusing to speak about the terrors that plague him.

  “Please,” I beg. “Please don’t shut me out.”

  He turns to me, his face twisted with disgust. “What if I told you that my own father is the epitome of evil? So revolted by his own son that he personally carried out my sentence? That he took pleasure in stripping away my power, leaving me a pathetic, lifeless shell? And if given the chance, would be more than happy to end me for good?”

  I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. My eyes water but I refuse to acknowledge the tears. I need to be strong for Dorian. This moment isn’t about my agony, it’s about his.

  “Then I’d say that he is the worst kind of monster that ever existed. And that you are so much better, so much stronger than he is,” I croak with a wavering voice.

  Dorian shakes his head, refusing to believe my words. “I have taken dozens of lives. Death meant nothing to me. I’ve sucked the life out of more people than I can remember. I’ve enjoyed the brutality. I was addicted to it. The thrill of the hunt, chasing them down only made me want to slaughter them more. I was like a bloodthirsty animal. Tell me, does that sound like someone that deserves love or death?”

  Slowly, I extend my hand towards him, holding my breath and preparing for his rejection. He remains still, and I let my hand rest on his. “Everyone deserves love, Dorian.”

  “Really?” he asks incredulously. “Serial killers? Terrorists? Rapists? Do they deserve love? Because I am no better than them.”

  I mull over Dorian’s question in my head. Could I love a serial killer or a rapist? No, absolutely not. Those people deserve nothing but a slow, torturous death. Dorian is not like them. He is not even a person at all. He is the Dark Prince, a supernatural magic force of evil. And he does deserve love. Who he is expected to be and the man before me, the man that I love, are not aligned, regardless of what he’s done.

  “You are not them, Dorian. You are good. I don’t care what you did before. The Dorian I know is good.” I let my hand stroke his beautiful, forlorn face. “Dealing with this, trying to help Tammy, brought it all back to the surface for you, huh?”

  “Yes,” he nods slowly.

  “I should have never asked you to get involved. I was desperate and I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m sorry.” Shit. I should have been more sensitive instead of just assuming Dorian could do it.

  “No,” he shakes his head. “It is not your fault. I should have been stronger.”

  I scoot closer to him and awkwardly try to wrap my arms around his tense, rigid body. “Don’t say that. You are strong. It’s okay to be afraid, Dorian.”

  His glazed eyes focus on nothing in particular. “When I saw her, staring blankly, unable to talk, move, anything… it reminded me of myself. It was like looking down and seeing your worst nightmare. But your worst nightmare is you.”

  “You don’t have to live that anymore,” I whisper gently, rubbing his back. I begin to feel him release some of the tension that binds him so tightly. “You’re not that person anymore. You’re free.”

  Dorian turns his body towards mine, his eyes searching for something in my mask of a reassuring smile. Because he knows the truth; he knows how I really feel. I’m just as afraid as he is. No one is really free, not until the killer is found. And even then, we are all slaves to our alliances, our heritage. We are slaves to the magic that flows through our veins. Whether we are taught to kill or taught to heal, taught to love or taught to hate, we have to choose a side.

  And as I squeeze Dorian tight, I know that my own choice will annihilate me. I can’t lose him by aligning with the Light, pledging to go against the Dark that threaten to extract their power. Yet I could never side with
the Dark, abandoning everything my parents, both biological and adopted, taught me and become a ruthless savage. I am stuck, frozen in my own petrification, just like Dorian. And right now, not even his love can fix me.

  Chapter Nine

  “Hey Carmen, I’ll be back in the office doing some paperwork. Think you can hold it down out here?”

  “Sure, Gabs. I’ve got it!” she beams proudly.

  It’s been two months since I’ve started my new job as manager at Cashmere. Two months of rooming with Morgan in our plush new apartment at Paralia. And two months since Tammy, Jared’s mom, was petrified by an evil, sadistic Warlock who lusts for my blood.

  Luckily, running a high end boutique is a lot more time consuming and distracting than I initially thought, but I enjoy the challenge. Anything to stifle the immense guilt I feel for what happened to Tammy. And to get my mind off of Dorian, who has thrust himself into hunting the vicious predator, and as a result, has been keeping a little distance between us. I can’t stand it, but I know it’s for my own good. Being so close, breathing me, is dangerous for the both of us. Not to mention the insatiable sexual need we have for each other. It’s nearly impossible to think of anything else, or resist drinking in too much.

  Though we talk daily, our conjugal visits have been limited to only a few times a week. I can’t help but feel somewhat disjointed from him. I know he loves me but my body craves him just as much as my heart does. Maybe even more.

  I open my email and skim through the countless messages from designers, vendors and other business-related matters. Surprisingly, I’ve been doing well with staying on top of it all, especially since I hired Carmen, Miguel’s style savvy sister, as my personal assistant and right hand. She’s been a huge asset and without her, I think I would have been as lost as a whore in church with all the fashion terminology.

  My face instantly brightens when I come across an email from Dorian. I open it with haste, wondering if it’s one of the more risqué notes we’ve been exchanging during our days apart. They’ve been hot enough to torture me into the late hours of the night yet the promise of reenacting each scenario upon our next encounter has been more than worth it.

  ----------

  SUBJECT: Tonight

  Gabriella,

  My love, an urgent matter has arisen and I won’t be able to see you tonight. I will call you as soon as I can, but I cannot say when that will be.

  Be especially careful and diligent until I see you. Understand what I am saying, Gabriella. I will contact you when I can.

  I love you,

  D

  ----------

  Damn it! What the hell is going on? I know Dorian needs me to read between the lines. Something is going down and he wants me to be careful. I have to trust him in this. I read the cryptic email again just to be certain that I’m not missing something. Should I reply? Should I call him? No. He said he’d contact me. Before I can worry myself into an early grave, my cell phone chimes to life. I nearly break my neck trying to answer it, praying that it’s Dorian, yet discover that it’s Morgan. I try to swallow the feelings of disappointment before answering.

  “Hey Morg, what’s up?” I say, trying to muster a few ounces of enthusiasm.

  “Just working, girl. I wanted to hit you up real quick to see what’s up for tonight. I was thinking… we should have a little housewarming dinner at the apartment, just our close circle, as a way to maybe get Jared and James out for a little while. They’ve been so stressed; I think a Friday night of fun would be good for them.”

  “Good idea!” It really is; the guys have both visibly lost weight from eating so much hospital food when they do eat at all. With their mom still in her fixed state, their entire lives have been turned upside down.

  “What’d you have in mind?” I ask, genuinely excited to hang with my friends.

  “Let’s make it a fiesta! Tacos, nachos, and, of course, Senor Tequila! I can make a mean margarita.”

  “Cool, let’s do it.” I could use a good distraction and tequila has proven be a great coping mechanism in the past.

  “So I’ll call Miguel, the guys, and I’m guessing Dorian and Aurora will be there?”

  Just the mere mention of his name makes my heart sink, causing a twinge of grief to attack my chest. “Ummm, not Dorian. He has a business matter to tend to this evening.”

  “Oh. Ok, I guess. Well, then I’ll see you later. I’ll stop by the store after I get off at 7 so I can get everything together. I’ll even have Miguel come over to help so he can make sure I don’t muck it up. What time will you get home tonight?”

  “Eh, around 9:30. Save me a margarita?” Lord knows I need it and then some.

  We say our goodbyes and I continue to sift through my inbox. I receive one from an email address I don’t recognize and the subject field is blank. Probably just junk mail but my curiosity gets the best of me.

  ----------

  SUBJECT: (none)

  Dark Light,

  8 months

  Align with the Dark or Die

  ----------

  Ugh! Seriously? So now messages at my job? I get the freakin’ point. A bunch of threatening messages is not going to sway my decision. And can they be any more predictable? First, Dorian cancels our plans for some unknown reason and now I get some asinine cyber threat? Just not my day.

  Out of sheer annoyance I hit the ‘Reply’ button and begin to fashion my own email.

  ----------

  SUBJECT: Real original

  Dear Dark Assholes,

  I get the point. Showing me that you know how to log onto a computer and utilize Google must’ve taken some pretty keen strategizing on your part.

  Really, really cool trick. Now leave me the hell alone.

  -The DL

  ----------

  I hesitate before pressing ‘Send,’ knowing that I am just provoking them and asking for trouble. But hell, I don’t care. If they want to harass me for simply living, then they can get a taste of their own medicine. Soon after I have sent the message, I receive an ‘Undeliverable’ notice in response. Oh great. Seconds later, I get another email from Dorian.

  ----------

  SUBJECT: STOP

  Gabriella,

  Don’t ever do that shit again. I’m serious.

  -D

  ----------

  The fuck? How did he know? It doesn’t even surprise me. Something obviously has crawled up his ass and his attempt at reprimanding me just makes me even more annoyed. I power down my computer without responding and rejoin Carmen on the sales floor for the remainder of the evening, desperately trying to forget all forces of Dark, Light or other.

  As I am counting the register after closing, I receive a text message from Morgan, asking me to swing by the grocery store and pick up another package of taco shells. I lock up the store for the night and jump in my trusty Honda and head for the nearby market, which lucky for me, stays open late. The aisle housing the Mexican cuisine features an array of products and brands. I choose one at random, and when I turn to head for the register, I nearly collide with a broad chest clothed in navy blue pinstripes.

  “Uh, um, excuse me,” I stammer, taking a step back to gather myself.

  “No, excuse me,” a deep baritone croons.

  I look up to give the gentlemen an apologetic smile and am struck senseless by the mere sight of him. Smooth tan skin with not even a shadow of stubble, dark slicked hair, and striking blue eyes. He’s tall with broad shoulders, draped in what I can only imagine is an expensive designer tailored suit. I can tell he’s a good bit older than I am, maybe mid 30s at the most, but as handsome and dashing as he is, no man 10 years his junior could compete. Now I know what the term ‘debonair’ means; he is the living embodiment of it.

  From what I can see in the few seconds our eyes lock, the man emanates class and elegance, causing an unwelcomed pulsing below to break me from my musings. I quickly flash him a nervous grin and all but run to the checkout to mask my flushed cheek
s. Wow, I must really be craving Dorian. Other than him, I’ve never been so sexually affected just by a simple glance.

  I race home, trying to escape my embarrassingly erotic reaction to the painfully handsome stranger and the image of his enticing smirk as he watched me exit. Shit! Something was off about that man. Something I’ve seen before. Felt before. I can’t be certain but a deep-seated instinct is telling me that whoever- whatever- he is, he’s dangerous. And I was dangerously drawn to him. I shake my head, trying to dispel my guilt-mixed desire, and make my way inside to my friends and many needed shots of tequila.

  “Gabs! You’re home!” Jared slurs, enrapturing me in one of his famous bear hugs. Looks like he’s already beat me to it.

  “Hey, Jared! I missed you, buddy!” I greet him, equally enthusiastic. I make it a point not to bring up Tammy’s condition. This night is about fun, and anguish mixed with hard liquor is not a good combination. “Where’s Aurora?”

  “She couldn’t make it but this really isn’t her thing anyway,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Definitely our thing though.” He gives me a little nudge of his elbow and returns his attention back to loading his plate.

  Platters of tacos, nachos, salsa, guacamole, and condiments crowd our dining room table along with a pitcher of margaritas. I toss my purse and head to the kitchen to stow the taco shells. When I return to the fiesta, I see that Morgan has on a giant sombrero, a margarita in one hand and is about to belt out a tune on the karaoke machine. Wow. Even Dolce, her pretentious Chihuahua, has on a brightly colored outfit and mini sombrero. Jared, James and Miguel are all lounging on the couches, munching, laughing and talking.

  As I grab a plate and a family-sized margarita, I smile at the sight of my friends. It’s just like old times- the five of us hanging out, acting like rowdy college kids. We were carefree, only worrying about the prospect of getting lucky that night or not being too hungover at work or class the next day. This is how it should be. We should get the chance to be young and dumb instead of being bogged down by supernatural crises.