Edge of Darkness (A Night Prowler Novel)

by J. T. Geissinger

  His skin was on fire.

  The moment her hands touched the exposed flesh of his stomach, his eyes flared with such pure, primitive lust she felt as if cocaine had been injected straight into her bloodstream. He gripped her around the waist, set her up on the edge of the piano, kicked the bench aside so hard it went flying away and hit a stone urn with such force the bench split apart with a crack. He yanked her against his body.

  “I can’t be gentle!” he snarled, his lips peeled back over his teeth. “I can’t go slow! I’m still too strong—I will hurt you!”

  He was trying to warn her. But she didn’t want his warnings. She wanted him.

  So she kissed him.

  And just like that, the fever that always simmered between them ignited and engulfed them both in flames.

  His mouth was devouring, his hands, ravenous, the sound he made in his throat purely animal. His fingers sank into the soft flesh of her hips and he bent her back, kissing her so savagely it stole her breath. Her took her lower lip between his teeth and bit it; suddenly she tasted blood, coppery sweet, and it sharpened her lust to a pagan fury.

  Starvation and need thrummed through her. She pressed herself against his chest, tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him in. Harder. Closer.

  Panting, he broke away and took hold of the neck of her cotton T-shirt with both hands. He ripped it straight down the middle, tearing it in two with one hard pull. She gasped, shocked at the violence of it, but he only pushed her down against the cool, hard surface of the piano with one hand flat on her chest and his eyes locked on hers, curled a hand around her pajama bottoms, and tore those off, too, in one swift yank, so she was lying there, fully exposed, with only her panties.

  They were torn off next. His gleaming, ferocious gaze never left hers.

  He freed himself from his jeans, leaned over and gathered both her wrists in one of his hands, pressed her arms back over her head so they were pinned against the piano, wrapped an arm beneath and around her waist, and, without preliminaries or a single word, shoved deep inside her.

  She arched and cried out. He was hard and hot inside her—so hot—

  He growled something unintelligible next to her ear, a curse or a garbled plea. It almost sounded like mine.

  He thrust into her again, and again, and again. His face was pressed against her neck, his heated breath brushed over her skin, his body burned with that unnatural heat. He filled her, stretched her, held her locked in place against him with his arm like an iron band around her waist. She moaned his name and he stilled for a moment, breathing raggedly, trying, it seemed, to slow himself, or contain himself, but she didn’t want that—so she flexed her hips and took him deeper.

  “Don’t stop,” she begged. “Don’t slow down. Please, Christian, don’t stop.”

  He released her wrists and wrapped his hands around her waist. He reared up and pulled her right to the edge of the piano so her bottom hung off.

  “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice still that strange, gravelly whisper. “Say my name.”

  He slid one of her legs up and hooked her ankle over his shoulder, and simultaneously pressed forward, deeper inside her, so deep it made her shudder. Her eyes slid shut.

  “Christian!”

  He slid almost all the way out, then slammed back inside her. A shockwave of pleasure tore through her; she shivered and groaned.

  “Again.”

  Now his hands were on her breasts, roughly pinching her nipples, sending spikes of pleasure straight down between her legs. His mouth quickly followed his fingers and she felt his tongue, hot and wet, sucking, incredibly wonderful, then pain as his teeth fastened around one sensitive nipple. She cried out and he gentled a bit, sucking again, still greedy and hungry.

  “Say it again, Ember!”

  His words were a rough command, muffled against her breast. She dug her fingers into his hair, whimpering. When she felt the sting of his teeth again, she gasped his name and he snarled his approval.

  “Fuck, I love that—I love my name on your lips.”

  His hands against her skin were strong and sure, roaming everywhere as he pumped into her. She felt as if she were being consumed, devoured—possessed.

  She opened her eyes and saw him there above her, drenched in moonlight, his eyes shining clear and lucid green past the shadows over his face. His shirt was still on and she wanted it off; she wanted to see all of him.

  “Take it off,” she panted, tugging at the material. He complied with swift, brutal precision, tearing it off exactly how he’d torn her own shirt off. Buttons popped and went flying as he yanked it apart and tossed it to the floor; she had a moment to admire him, hard, muscular, and beautiful, before he leaned over and took her mouth. He kissed her with vicious intensity, his tongue thrusting in time with his hips, the heat of his body burning her chest and stomach.

  Then his mouth was gone, he withdrew, and he flipped her over so quickly she gasped in shock. Her belly and breasts were pressed flat against the cool, slick surface of the piano.

  “On your toes,” he hissed, and fisted a hand into her hair. He pulled her hips back with his other hand so her back was arched and her bottom stuck out. She complied without thought, eager to have him inside her again, and was rewarded instantly as he slid between her legs and buried himself as deep as he could go.

  Ember made a sound that was part groan, part whimper, part Thank you, Jesus!

  His thrusts came harder, faster. He reached around and slipped his fingers between her legs. When he touched her slick, swollen nub she jerked and cried out. Pleasure sizzled through her limbs, making her knees shake, her breath falter, and her heart throb in her chest.

  She was close, so close. Her nipples were hard and aching, rubbing against the piano with each of his thrusts, sending more waves of pleasure through her as he wound her higher and higher with his body inside hers and those clever, demanding fingers stroking between her legs.

  “Christian—please—hurry—together!” It was a gasped, stuttering plea, which he answered in a tone so urgent and rough it was nearly incoherent.

  “Can’t—ovulating—mouth.”

  How he knew she was ovulating was a question she would ask later, but what she gathered from those three disjointed words was he wanted to come in her mouth so she didn’t get pregnant. She lifted her head and looked at him over her shoulder. “No—it’s okay—the accident—I can’t—you can’t get me pregnant.”

  He froze for a millisecond. His eyes took on a haunting, uncanny glow, vivid green in the shadows, as if they were lit from behind.

  Then he pulled them both down to the rug beneath their feet.

  He only withdrew to turn her around again, then she was flat on her back and he was between her legs, his hands on either side of his face, his face contorted in something like agony.

  She reached down between their bodies and grasped him, stroked him base to tip as he groaned and shuddered. He kissed her savagely as she guided him inside.

  White fire and aching, breathlessness, heartbeats pounding against chests. She ran her hands down his back, loving the flex of his muscles, the softness of and heat of his skin, and cupped his hard ass, pulling him deeper inside as he thrust into her. He dug his fingers into her hair and held her head in place, staring down at her as his breath came harder and more uneven, little groans working from his throat.

  The world shrunk to the few short inches between their faces. Christian whispered her name.

  It was the way he said it that finally pushed her over the edge. The urgent, desperate plea was both tender and rough; it made her feel wild and delirious. Combined with the expression on his face—astonishment, rapture, stark worship beyond the primal pleasure—it made her feel beautiful.

  It made her feel loved.

  The orgasm that ripped through her was so hard she couldn’t even make a noise. She arched against him, mouth open in a silent scream, eyes clenched shut, the pulsing throb in her core so glorious and enc
ompassing she could only cling to him wordlessly as he continued to pump inside her. He lowered his head and took her nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, and she jerked against him, her throat finally opening to let out a sob.

  “Yes, baby.” His teeth and hot, wet mouth drove another cry from her throat as he suckled her. “Make noise for me. Let me hear you come.”

  She moaned, loud and wanton, clawing at his back.

  He shuddered, his entire body tensed. “Oh God,” he said in a gasped whisper. “Ember—I’m coming, too—angel—”

  She opened her eyes, locked her gaze to his and panted, “Yes, Christian…now…give it to me. Give it all to me now!”

  Her words drove him wild. Hard and uncontrolled, he crashed into her, pounding deep, groaning, all his muscles in his body flexed and rippling. She clenched her thighs around him harder, digging her fingers into his back, moaning louder with every furious thrust of his hips.

  Then, with a strangled groan, he faltered. He pumped deep. Once, twice. He gasped her name and came inside her. She felt it—throbbing, twitching, a spreading heat—then he collapsed on top of her with a gusted exhalation and crushed her against his chest.

  They lay fused together for long, silent minutes, letting their heartbeats slow, catching their breath, both of them wracked by the occasional spasm, sated and flushed.

  Christian inhaled a slow, deep breath against her throat. Then he roused and slowly nuzzled her neck, rubbing his face into her skin, her hair, the space between her throat and shoulder.

  Without withdrawing from her body, he shifted and moved slightly lower to rub his face against her breasts.

  He did it slowly, with an almost reverent solemnity, dragging his face one way and then the other across her chest, down her ribs, back up to her neck and shoulders, caressing her with his lips and hands, the slight stubble on his jaw tickling her over-sensitive skin. All his wild tension and that edge of raw danger seemed to be gone, replaced by sweet, possessive tenderness.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, stroking her fingers through his hair as he lifted one of her arms and rubbed his face against her bicep, burrowing into her armpit with his nose.

  “Marking you.” She thought for a moment she’d misheard him, but he lifted his head and gazed at her, his eyes heavy-lidded and warm. “With my scent.”

  Her lips parted, but there didn’t seem to be a correct response to that.

  “Because you’re mine,” he softly explained, seeing her bewilderment. “And I’m yours. And the animal inside me is yours. No matter what happens from now on, Ember, that will never change—I want you to remember that.” His eyes grew soft, and he almost looked haunted. “Come what may.”

  For a blind, breathless second, she was consumed by panic. “Why does that sound like a good-bye?” she whispered, searching his face.

  He smiled, a charming, lopsided quirk of his lips. “I just told you I’m bonded to you, and you take it as a goodbye?”

  His smile loosened the knot in her chest and she breathed a little easier. She lifted her hand to stroke his cheek. “Bonded?”

  Still buried inside her, his weight heavy and wonderful on top of her, he cradled her face in his hands and said, “It’s the way of my kind. Like swallows and swans, we mate for life. For us, love creates a mark. A fingerprint, if you will, except on the soul. Something is changed inside of us. The bond between two mates is sacred; even attempting to interfere with it is a crime punishable by death. There’s no divorce, no affairs, nothing at all that can separate a bonded Ikati from his mate. Not even death.”

  The knot in her chest reappeared. Another one formed in her stomach. Her eyes filled with tears and she whispered his name.

  His voice both soft and firm, he said, “I’m going to take care of you for the rest of your life, I want you to be very clear about that. You are the most precious thing I’ve ever known. And you’ve given me the most amazing gift, one I’ll always treasure.”

  She stared at him, her heart clenched inside her chest, the hand on his face trembling.

  Eyes shining, he murmured, “You make me feel free.”

  This time she couldn’t even whisper his name, the emotion was so intense. So overwhelming.

  “My entire life I’ve been constrained, restricted, forced to follow rules I didn’t create and never wanted to obey. But I did. I had no choice. Until I met you, and you made me realize I do have a choice. There was always a choice. I just never had anything valuable enough to risk my neck for. And because you’ve given me all that you have, I’m going to ensure that you never again have to worry about money, or the future, or anything at all.”

  When he saw the look on her face, his voice hardened. “This is not a discussion. I’m informing you of the facts. You’re going to sign that agreement for the bookstore, and you’re going to let your wicked stepmother have her share so she’ll leave you alone, and then you can go right back to working there if you want. But you’re going to sign it.”

  Dizzy with his declaration and still glowing from pleasure, she decided to argue about the store later. “Wicked stepmother?”

  A wry smile crossed his face. “Señor Alvarez had a few choice things to say about our friend Marguerite. A few very unflattering things.” He leaned down and kissed her shoulder. “You’re trembling,” he noted, running his hand up her arm.

  “Your fault, Mr. Sex God. I probably won’t be able to walk for days.”

  He tensed. “Did I hurt you?” he whispered, his fingers caressing her upper arm.

  With her heart aching and tears burning her eyes, Ember wrapped her arms around him, and buried her face in his neck. “Never,” she whispered. “I’m just trembling from happiness. You make me so happy, Christian. Thank you.”

  He exhaled a relieved breath and chuckled, brushing the hair off her face. “I like this side of you, little firecracker. I certainly hope you’re going to be this defenseless and tender every time we make love.”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  He chuckled again. Then he swiftly sat up, gathered her in his arms and stood. “Yes, let’s go find out right now. Only I think I’d like to be in a bed this time; rug burn isn’t really my thing.”

  He walked swiftly through the dark house and up the stairs, and carried her to his bedroom. They made love again in his huge, soft bed, and this time it was tender and slow and even more beautiful. Afterward, Christian fell asleep wrapped around her, one heavy leg thrown over both of hers, his breathing deep and steady at her ear.

  But Ember couldn’t sleep. Even when dawn showed faintly pink and gold over the horizon, she was still staring up at the ceiling, trying to put her finger on the sense of dread that had overtaken her at Christian’s words, his promises she would be taken care of.

  I’m going to ensure that you never again have to worry about money, or the future, or anything at all.

  She couldn’t shake the feeling that three words were missing from that sentence. Three words that would have been equally at home at the beginning or the end.

  After. I’m. Gone.

  Dante had a very bad feeling about the man who’d knocked on his door, rousing him from sleep in the middle of the night.

  It wasn’t the look in the man’s dark, dark eyes—a look so wild it was nearly unhinged—or his size, which was substantial, or the charcoal drawing he held in one crooked, bandaged hand, or the way he’d demanded to know where the girl in the drawing now lived.

  It was the gun he pointed in Dante’s face.

  Slowly, with his hands held up in submission, the night air swirling around his bare shins beneath his robe, Dante repeated in a shaking voice what he’d just said, a lie he was hoping wouldn’t get him killed.

  “She moved out. I-I don’t know where she went.”

  He said it in English this time, because the man with the gun clearly didn’t speak Spanish. Dante had a fleeting, deranged thought that maybe the man spoke Martian. He had an unnervingly alien look about him, all eye
s, teeth, and appetite.

  Keeping his wild black gaze trained on his, the man silently stepped over the threshold into Dante’s apartment. He kicked the door shut behind him, and Dante retreated, terrified but saying a silent prayer of thanks that Clare was in the hospital, and not in her bed in the second bedroom.

  The man lowered the gun to the general level of Dante’s crotch. “I’ll give you three seconds. And then I’m going to start shooting things. Things that won’t kill you right away, but will hurt. A lot.” He paused as Dante gaped at him in horror, then said, “One.”

  “I told you! She moved out! I don’t keep records of where the tenants go when they leave. She didn’t tell me where she was moving—”

  “Two.” The man grew an ugly smile, a malicious specimen that bared his teeth in a truly horrific, animalistic display.

  Dante was sweating. His heart raced, his hands trembled, his bowels threatened to spill their contents onto the tile floor. “I swear!” he shouted, backing away. “I don’t know!”

  “Three.”

  The man’s finger moved to the trigger and every thought except surviving blew out of Dante’s head. “The docks! The docks at El Raval! The building is called La Brisa Marina!” He screamed it at the top of his lungs, then sucked back in a breath of dismay, instantly realizing what he’d done.

  Ember would be getting a visit from this crazy man next.

  Before he had time to contemplate that, the man smiled another of his feral smiles, darted forward in two short steps, and smashed the butt of his gun directly into Dante’s temple.

  Fireworks exploded behind his eyes. He staggered, and the ground came up hard to catch him.

  Then there was only blackness, and the sound of satisfied laughter, quickly fading to silence as Dante was swallowed by the dark.

  The sound of a ringing phone dragged Ember from the restless sleep she’d finally fallen into just after sunrise.