Edge of Darkness (A Night Prowler Novel)

by J. T. Geissinger

  He stared at her as if she were insane. “This doesn’t change your contract—and there’s nothing in the contract that says I can’t take money from anyone else for payment of your rent.”

  “You have to return all the money, Dante.”

  He laughed at that, a big, belly-clutching laugh that had the heat in her cheeks spreading to the roots of her hair. “Ha ha! I love this American sense of humor! Muy divertido!”

  “Dante! I’m not kidding! No es broma! You have to return all the money, I don’t accept!”

  It took a while for Dante to stop laughing, but when he finally did, he said, “Ah, hermosa. So proud. He said you’d be too proud to like this.”

  “And who is this he?” Ember asked, knowing exactly who he was, but wanting to hear Dante admit it out loud.

  He shrugged again. “I cannot say. But I don’t think it would be breaking my contract with him to say that I think he knows you very well.”

  Ember sputtered, “Your contract? With him?”

  He peered at her. “This was a substantial amount of money, hermosa. Do you think there would not be a contract for so much money?” He began to tick off a list on his fingers. “It covers what happens if you move out, if the building burns down, if it’s bought by someone else, if you die—”

  Ember gasped. “If I die! Jesus Christ, Dante!”

  Dante was unfazed by her outburst. “It is no good cursing at me—I just sign the thing and take the money. This friend of yours is a very good business man, hermosa. He asked me what I wanted to do in case you ever moved out—where the rest of the money should go, because the rent is paid up for a very, very long time. Longer than you would ever live, hermosa. And I told him: to the charity for the cystic fibrosis. So it can help other little girls like my granddaughter Clare. So, you live here as long as you want—your whole life if you want—and if anything happens in the meantime the rest of the money gets put to good use.” His brow furrowed. “This is correct—put to good use?”

  Ember sat down on the stairs outside Dante’s door, put her head into her hands, and groaned. From between her fingers, she saw Dante’s sock-covered feet shuffle forward until he was standing right over her. He said in Spanish, “Let me tell you something.”

  She uncovered her face and looked at him. He said sternly, “Do not look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  Ember felt like groaning again. Instead she put her head back into her hands and sighed.

  Dante went on, “This is not something you give back. This isn’t a pair of earrings, Ember. This gift is big—very big—something most people would weep with joy over. You…” She felt his disapproving look. “You act like somebody just died. This is wrong thinking. I know you’re a smart girl and I know your father was a good man—he brought you up right, God bless his soul. So what you should do is tell this man—and I have not told you who it is, understand?—tell this man that you are very happy and grateful, and see if there is something you can do to make him happy and grateful in return.”

  Ember lifted her head and peered at him with narrowed eyes. He grinned down at her, wiggling his eyebrows. Switching to English, he pronounced, “He is rich, smart, generous, and well-mannered. And I am no Asher, but even I will admit this friend of yours is muy masculino—any woman should be glad to have a man like this.”

  Then he folded his arms across his chest and nodded in satisfaction, as if he’d just finished a commencement speech. Ember wanted to shout, “Yes, he’s amazing, except for one little thing: HE’S NOT HUMAN!”

  Instead she put her head back into her hands.

  “Ember?”

  She looked up at the sound of Clare’s voice to find her standing in the doorway of Dante’s apartment, looking wan and tired in a flowered nightgown. A plastic tube was hooked over her ears and fitted beneath her nose, delivering oxygen from a small metal tank on wheels she dragged behind her. In one arm she clutched the largest teddy bear Ember had ever seen; it was almost as big as she was.

  “Hi, honey,” Ember said gently. She knew instinctively Clare had gotten worse since they’d met. She glanced at Dante and a look passed between them: act normal. “It’s nice to see you, Clare.”

  Clare smiled at her, a true smile, wide and happy, and Ember felt a squeeze inside her chest.

  “I have to go back to the hospital tomorrow,” Clare said, matter-of-factly. “My bugs are getting bad again.”

  The squeeze tightened. Bugs—she meant the infection in her lungs. Ember and Dante shared another look.

  “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “I’m not,” said Clare, resting her head against the fluffy bear’s. “I get to see all my friends there again. Nurse Montoya is really nice, and so is my doctor. She’s a lady doctor—if I ever become a lady I want to be a doctor, too. She helps a lot of people. That would be cool.”

  If I ever become a lady. Translated: if I live long enough to grow up.

  Oh God.

  Swallowing her horror, Ember asked, “Can you take your bear to the hospital with you?”

  Clare brightened. “Yes! Isn’t he cool? His name is Peter Parker!”

  “She likes the Spider-Man,” said Dante, stroking her hair. She looked up at him and smiled wider, and Ember had to look away for a moment because she thought she might start to cry.

  Why was life so cruel and unfair? Why would God inflict something like this on such a beautiful, innocent little girl?

  Because there is no God, Ember. There is only chaos, and suffering. You of all people should know that.

  Ember shoved that terrible thought aside and smiled at Clare and Peter Parker. “He’s beautiful. I’ve never seen such a big teddy bear before.”

  “Christian gave him to me,” Clare announced, and Dante stiffened. His hand on her head stilled. He shot a fraught glance at Ember, but she ignored it, concentrating on what Clare had said.

  “Christian?” she repeated slowly.

  Clare nodded. “My abuelito’s new friend. He’s my friend, too. He said little girls should always have a best friend they can tell all their secrets to, and since I spend so much time in the hospital I don’t really get to have so many friends. So he gave me Peter Parker so I could talk to him if I ever got lonely.” She cocked her head and looked at Ember, her expression now very serious. “I don’t ever get lonely, though. I have Roberto and my abuelito and Bieber my dog. And God. I talk to Him, too.”

  There was a winch slowly tightening around Ember’s chest, closing her throat and causing her stomach to flatten. Behind her eyes she felt the hot prick of tears but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to smile.

  “Does God talk back?”

  Clare said, “All the time.”

  “And what does He say?”

  Clare smiled a smile then of such loveliness and innocence it literally stole Ember’s breath. She said, “He says I shouldn’t be afraid. So I’m not, because God can’t lie.”

  She couldn’t look at Dante. If she did, Ember knew she would burst into tears. She simply whispered, “That’s good, honey. I’m glad you’re not afraid.”

  In a gentle voice cracking with emotion, Dante said to Clare, “Inside now, gordita, back to bed. You should be resting.”

  “Okay,” replied Clare, turning away. Then she turned back, slowly walked to Ember and hugged her. Into her ear, Clare said softly, “You shouldn’t be afraid either. I asked God to watch out for you because you seem really sad, and He said He would.”

  That did it. Tears welled in Ember’s eyes and she squeezed them shut, and squeezed Clare tight, her arms wrapped around her frail little body. “Thank you, Clare.”

  Clare gave her a motherly pat on the back, then broke away and walked back into the apartment, Peter Parker clutched tightly to her side.

  Feeling a thousand years old, Ember stood and looked at Dante. A lone tear slipped down her cheek, which she didn’t bother to wipe away. They stared silently at one another until Dante finally rested a hand on her shoulder.

&nb
sp; “Life is full of pain, but also many gifts, hermosa. We accept the pain because we have no choice…” His gaze grew penetrating. “Or maybe because we feel we deserve it, but we have to know how to accept the gifts, too. You have been given a great gift by this friend of yours; accept it. But you also have another gift, an even greater one, that you are taking for granted.”

  He paused, staring at her, eyes misted with sorrow. Ember shook her head. He said, “Time. Don’t waste it. You never know when it’s going to run out.”

  Then he turned and went into his apartment, and slowly swung shut the door.

  Ember didn’t know how long she’d been walking.

  She didn’t know how many miles had passed by unnoticed, or when she’d first decided on her destination, her feet on an automatic path, drawn forward as if pulled. She didn’t feel the sun on her face or the chilled breeze that came later when the clouds rolled in, blocking out the bright morning sky. She only came to herself when she once again stood shivering and drenched in front of the gate at Christian’s house, rain pouring down with what seemed like a personal vendetta, cold and stinging and hard.

  She was still in the dress she’d worn to breakfast with her stepmother that morning. Her shoes had rubbed blisters on the soles of her feet.

  She pressed the button on the black call box. There was a crackle of static, then a voice came over the line. “Miss Jones.”

  It was Corbin. He sounded surprised, and concerned.

  “C-Corbin,” she stammered, shaking with cold. “I’m here…I’m here…”

  She didn’t know why she was here. Her brain wasn’t working properly. She could hardly speak.

  But it didn’t matter because the huge iron gate swung open with its metallic groan, and Ember stumbled through.

  Off in the distance, the front door of the house opened, and Christian appeared in it. He took one look at her and began to run.

  Just seeing him caused the storm inside her to break free with as much force as the sky had opened over her. She sank to her knees in the middle of the gravel road and began to shake uncontrollably. Tears blurred her vision and streamed down her face. He was beside her in an instant, that impossible speed of his bringing him there in a streak of painted color against the gray of the rain, his clothes and hair soaked as he bent down and lifted her into his arms.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her face into his chest, and whispered, “I don’t want to waste any more time. I don’t want to waste any more time, Christian.”

  He didn’t bother asking her what had happened. He didn’t bother with words at all. He simply turned and ran back in the direction he came, holding her firmly against his chest, his feet swift and silent over the ground.

  His bedroom was larger than the vast lobby of the hotel she and her parents had stayed in on their trip to New York, when she auditioned at Juilliard all those lifetimes ago.

  Designed with an eye for luxury, in a masculine palette of earth tones accented with pops of crimson in a few tasteful accessories—throw pillows on a leather sofa, an abstract oil painting above the fireplace, a sculpted Murano vase on a side table—it was warm because of the fire crackling in the hearth but dark in the far corners. Heavy velvet drapes were drawn across the windows, and dancing shadows played along the ceiling and walls. The firelight and shadows conspired to create an atmosphere of intimacy that perfectly complemented the fever pounding through her veins.

  Outside, rain pattered against the windows in a melody that rose and fell, haunting and ineffably sad.

  Christian eased her down onto the bed, shucked off her shoes, and pulled the wet dress off over her head. She sat shivering violently on the bronze silk duvet in only her bra and panties, staring up at him with wide eyes, full of a nameless need and the realization that the man standing in front of her now—the man who was not a man—had the ability to make her forget everything. At least for a little while.

  Another gift. She was determined to make the most of that one.

  She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  He was caught off guard, she knew by his fleeting hesitation and the telling catch in his throat, but soon enough he was the one kissing her, bending her back as he held her face in both of his hands, fierce and intent, his body a hard heated form against hers. She pressed herself against him, feeling the fever in her blood burn even brighter when his hands moved from her face to her body, and began stroking over her skin.

  “You’re freezing,” he said angrily, breaking away for a moment when he felt her goose bumps.

  She protested the loss of his mouth with a small moan and tried to kiss him again, but suddenly he lifted her back into his arms and carried her across the room, toward the fire. In seconds she was on her back on the soft rug in front of it, with Christian on top of her, his hands and mouth and body warming hers.

  “I’m not complaining, but you have to stop walking here in the rain,” he scolded between frantic kisses, reaching around her back to unhook her bra. Desperate to be rid of it, she wriggled out of it and flung it away, then kissed him again.

  “No more talking,” she breathed, looking into his eyes as she fumbled with the top button of the jeans he wore. She found the way of it, pulling all the buttons open with one hard yank, and then found him, hard and hot in her hand, already fully erect. She stroked him base to tip and back again, and he shuddered. She whispered, “Not another word.”

  His lips parted and his eyes flared, molten green and glittering in the firelight. His expression changed—tender to ravenous—and a low rumble of noise went through his chest. Large and masculine above her, he was imposing, but instead of feeling fear, she felt a wild sort of freedom, dark and almost as dangerous as he was.

  What lay on the other side of this moment, Ember didn’t know.

  She didn’t care.

  With one hand, he slid her panties down over her hips. She lifted her bottom and he pulled them off, watching her face. His lips tipped up at the corners in a sly, scant smile that set her nerves alight. He licked his lips and kept watching her as he skimmed his fingers up the inside of one thigh, his smile growing wicked when he pressed his palm between her legs and held it there while she fought to keep her breathing even.

  He kept watching her as he waited. She knew what he wanted; she parted her legs and was rewarded with that dark smile again as his finger slid inside her and a small gasp slipped from her lips. She arched her back and her eyes slid closed, a second gasp escaped her as he added another finger to the first and began to stroke the pad of his thumb over her clit.

  She felt his mouth close over a nipple. She moaned when he tugged on it with his teeth. Her hands found his hair, she twisted her fingers into it as his fingers found a perfect rhythm. When she began to tremble and writhe against him, he removed his fingers, slid swiftly down her body and replaced them with his mouth.

  Ember moaned again, and this one was broken.

  Everything became a jumbled blur of sensation: his lips and mouth and tongue; his fingers digging into her bottom; the rough scrape of his unshaven cheeks against her thighs; the sound of the muttering fire and the murmuring rain; her heartbeat loud as thunder in her ears. She was dimly aware of the noises she was making but was unable to stop herself and didn’t care in any case—all that mattered was him.

  Christian. Beautiful, inhuman Christian.

  As he said he’d wanted, and so easily it should have scared her but thrilled her instead, he was making her come apart at the seams.

  When the pleasure became an almost unbearable pain, sharp and hot beneath her skin like a thousand heated knifepoints, his mouth was suddenly gone and he was hovering above her, his arms braced beside her head, his stomach pressed against hers.

  Wordlessly, his gaze ferocious and dark, he pushed himself inside her.

  It was shallow and slow, but his next thrust was deep and hard and buried him to the hilt. Her head thrown back against the rug, Ember cried out and shuddered. She fe
lt his mouth on her throat, on the muscle between her neck and shoulder, tongue and teeth and savage kisses. He thrust again and bit down at the same time and when she sobbed his name he made a noise like a wild animal’s.

  His hands slid into her hair and he grabbed fistfuls of it, thrusting hard now, his breath hot and ragged at her ear. She wrapped her arms around his back and gave herself over to him, abandoning any remaining shyness or hesitation, her kisses now just as savage as his own.

  So male, so big, so deep inside her, he was as tender as he was wild. He told her in broken whispers how good she felt, how much he’d wanted her, from the very beginning, how beautiful he thought she was.

  He kept saying that, “Beautiful…you’re so beautiful,” and it moved her in some deep part of her that she’d put away long ago. It made her feel cherished and worthwhile and…loved.

  For the first time in years, she felt loved. She felt worthy. And it was because of him, because of his words and his need and the glowing dark burn of his eyes.

  It was all because of him.

  In one swift move, he rolled flat onto his back and took her with him. Straddling him, she took him deep as he flexed his pelvis and reached up to caress her breasts. She began to move, small, circular twists that made him groan and growl, his fingers greedy against her flesh, her hair tumbling down her back. She rode him until they were both breathless and mindless, their bodies bathed in sweat and firelight. When she leaned down to kiss him, he took her tongue into his mouth and wrapped his hands around her hips, coaxing her to move faster, harder, to take him as deep as he would go.

  She moaned, feeling her orgasm bearing down. She was almost there—almost—

  He flipped her onto her back again, leaned down over her and put his hands on both sides of her face. His eyes were wide and dark, staring into hers, searching, burning, his look almost anguished.

  Everything honed to a bright, crystalline clarity. Just before she broke apart in his arms, Christian whispered, “Ember—Ember—God—”