Dark Pleasures

by Aja James

  He didn’t even flinch at the searing pain.

  Lavinia lowered her smoking pistol and regarded her handy work. She’d always been a crack shot. It was one of her less feminine pursuits that made her all the rage with the young bucks.

  “Hmm,” she mused, unperturbed by the sight of blood welling from his wound through his clothes, seeping down his arm, and dripping into the expensive carpet.

  “I missed. A couple of inches lower and it would have gone straight into your heart. I guess you really aren’t a ghost. What are you?”

  Devlin didn’t answer. Words deserted him.

  This was the woman he’d thought he loved? This was the woman he’d made love to for the first time?

  Heartless. Capricious. Deceitful. Egotistical and selfish.

  Cold-blooded. Ruthless.

  Yet loved by half of the men in England. The fame of her beauty, wit and passion even made it across the Channel.

  Devlin was numb with grief. For the lonely, pitiable, stupid boy he used to be. How could he have been so blind?

  “Are you planning to bleed to death—again—on my bedroom floor?” she asked emotionlessly. “What do you want, Dev? It’s too late to retake the Dukedom. You have no power here.”

  Footsteps could be heard rushing up the grand staircase. Heavy and many.

  “It’s probably the footmen,” she said nonchalantly, “alerted by the shot. So what do you intend to do? You can’t win, Devlin. I will never give up what is mine.”

  “Then enjoy it, Lavinia,” he rasped, taking a step back toward the French doors. “You and William deserve each other.”

  When the footmen could be heard outside her bedroom door and Lavinia rushed over to open it, Devlin deftly slipped out onto the balcony, leapt off it to the manicured grounds two stories below and disappeared into the darkness.

  He never saw Lavinia and his brother again. He left England that very night, on a ship bound for the Colonies.

  When he finally holed himself up in one of the tight quarters below deck, he dug out the bullet from his flesh with a knife. But before the ruptured skin could start knitting together again, he rubbed sea salt into the wound, clenching his jaw at the blazing agony. The skin puckered angrily as the salt rendered the damaged tissues extremely hypertonic, curling the edges instead of mending across the gap.

  But his body did eventually heal, leaving behind an ugly scar that he would carry with him for the rest of his existence as a reminder of his folly: he trusted too easily, loved too readily. Even a family that had always spurned him.

  He would never make the same mistake again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Grace woke up in the middle of the afternoon with dried tears on her cheeks, caking her eyelashes.

  She remembered every bit of the dream she had—no, Devlin’s memories that she saw, as if she’d lived through them herself in his place.

  All of it.

  How did he bear it? So much betrayal and hurt. How could he still be so good? So noble? Grace didn’t think she could survive as he had. He even had the strength to open his heart again.

  He’d told her he loved her.

  Grace didn’t know what love was, but she was certain about one thing: she wasn’t worthy of this beautiful, gentle, courageous male. After everything he’d been through, he deserved a woman who could love him back wholeheartedly and faithfully.

  Eternally.

  Grace could manage faithful—what woman in their right mind would stray when she had Devlin in her bed? But wholeheartedly and eternally Grace had no way of promising.

  She was human. She had at most seventy or so years left of her life, maybe forty or fifty of them physically productive if her health held up.

  She had a computer processor for a brain and a blood-pumping muscle for a heart. Sentiment was something she found extremely elusive, bothersome and confounding.

  How could she possibly give him what he deserved?

  She knew her limitations well. She could barely recall loving her own parents, though she knew she had good memories. But for the most part they were blurry and fragmented, as if her feelings for them were encased in ice.

  It didn’t logically compute, Devlin being with her. If she ran the algorithm in her head a billion times, a billion to the exponential of ten, there was no logical scenario that would ever match someone like her with someone like him.

  Devlin slept soundly, breathed deeply, his body wrapped around hers, his half-hard erection still thickly filling the covetous notch inside of her.

  She noticed this about him during the day. He slept like the dead, oblivious to sounds and motion. She gently disengaged from him and went to the bathroom to wash her face. She stared at her reflection in the mirror over the sink, water dripping down her chin.

  You don’t deserve him, her reflection told her. He needs much more than you could ever give.

  But I don’t want to let him go, she told her reflection. I want him more than anything in the world. And I don’t recall ever wanting anything before.

  Her reflection glared disapprovingly back at her, silently condemning.

  Grace sighed heavily and went back into the common area, got out her journal from her small carryon duffle and began to write.

  *** *** *** ***

  It took Grace and Devlin three hours to scope out the crystal-like tower that encapsulated Zenn’s headquarters, sprouting like an alien obelisk in the middle of London’s booming financial district.

  While he’d slept, she prepared their digital employee badges and inserted them surreptitiously into Zenn’s security system. Ever resourceful, truly Bond-like, Devlin then procured real badges for them to wear when they visited the building just after sunset.

  The identities she created for them were those of IT security workers with the highest-level clearance, the sort who resolved difficult hardware and server issues, who had the access codes to all of Zenn’s mainframes.

  Still, they realized when they reached the central enclave at the top of the fifty-story skyscraper, the level where all the mainframes were stored, that they needed more than their badges and codes to access the tubular vault.

  There were only two guards stationed with un-holstered semi-automatic rifles by the air-tight, steel-reinforced, bomb and fire-proof concrete doors.

  They didn’t blink an eye as Grace and Devlin appeared from the fiberglass capsule lift that opened to the vault entrance. Didn’t so much as twitch as they made some half-baked excuses on why they were there and clumsily snooped around.

  But Devlin had a feeling they’d react with instant, deadly force if he tried to break into the chamber.

  They weren’t human, that much he could tell. But he didn’t know whether they were Pure or Dark. Their eyes were blank, and they never blinked, as if whatever consciousness that inhabited their bodies was remotely controlled.

  It only took a few moments, but he saw immediately that the vault security clearance required retinal scans, five-fingered palm prints, as well as an access code that reset every five seconds.

  He and Grace had a lot more homework to do before coming back here again.

  The good news was, they had help. Jade Cicada would never send them off on such a critical mission (though they hadn’t asked for her permission) without reinforcements.

  Maximus was waiting for them in the formal sitting room of Devonshire House with Simca crouched comfortably at his feet, her long, whip-like tail swinging to and fro, when Devlin and Grace returned to their temporary base of operations.

  “I hope this didn’t take you out of your way?” Devlin said as he clasped forearms with the Chosen’s Commander.

  Maximus gave one brief shake of his head. “I was already in the vicinity, trying to track down a potential recruit.”

  “How do you manage to tote her around wherever you go?” Devlin inquired as he nodded a greeting to Maximus’ feline companion, who merely eyed him with a bored look and a toothsome yawn.

  “I have
ways,” was all the Commander said.

  Devlin briskly introduced Grace, then wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her tightly into his side, as if to declare: mine.

  Maximus’ mouth quirked in a rare half-smile of amusement.

  “So this is the female who depleted your strength and made you boneless,” he murmured and watched in fascination as Devlin’s fair-skinned face and neck immediately went up in flames.

  Grace, however, felt no embarrassment whatsoever.

  “Oh, did Devlin tell you about the night we met? He performed exceptionally well. Would have kept going but I needed my rest,” she said in his defense, lest his comrade was impugning her lover’s virility.

  As Devlin turned a brilliant, yet-undocumented shade of crimson, a low rumble of laughter rolled forth from Maximus’ deep, broad chest.

  “An honor to meet you, Grace Darling,” the Commander said meaningfully.

  Grace solemnly pumped the hand he extended.

  “Did you manage to make contact with the recruit?” Devlin abruptly and desperately changed the focus of the conversation back to business.

  “I did,” Maximus replied, as they all headed up to the estate manager’s quarters.

  “He goes by the name Alend Ramses these days. Extremely ancient, older than me.”

  “That is ancient,” Devlin quipped, “positively decrepit.”

  “Yet very much alive,” Maximus noted. “The ancient power all but radiates from him. He is one of the few remaining True Bloods in existence.”

  “What are True Bloods?” Grace chimed in.

  “Dark Ones born,” Devlin answered. “Not made.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “And his answer?” Devlin asked of Maximus.

  “He did not give one,” the leader of the Chosen replied, thoughtful. “He merely thanked me for the invitation. I don’t blame him if he refuses. He has been ruler of his own domain for thousands of years—literally. Why subjugate himself now to a vampire Queen who isn’t even a True Blood? On a different continent?”

  “I hope that wasn’t your recruitment speech,” Devlin winced.

  “I gave him the gist of what we’re fighting against,” Maximus said. “He did not seem eager to participate in yet another war of the races, having gone through countless wars in his lifetime.”

  “Next time, let me do the recruiting,” Devlin muttered. “Your charm needs polishing, Max.”

  Maximus slid the Hunter a look of pure annoyance. He hated being called Max and Devlin was the only member of the Chosen who had the gall to do it.

  “Well, it’s good timing that you’re here,” Devlin continued, unperturbed. “I’ve been going through the scenarios in my head on how best to break into Zenn’s vault, and the most expedient, if most risky, one I can come up with is to just blow the doors clean off.”

  “We don’t have weeks to waste on getting all the security protocols in place. And by then, A, Medusa might be alerted to our presence, or B, we might have to blow the doors off anyway as a contingency plan. Might as well cut to the chase.”

  “I can round up the ammunition,” Maximus agreed. He was the Yoda of explosives.

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” Devlin gestured for the Commander to sit before a laptop displaying the 3D blueprints of Zenn’s secure vault where the mainframes were kept.

  For the next couple of hours while the two males plotted, Grace slept fitfully in the back of the room.

  Fitfully, because she was afraid of having to live through Devlin’s memories again, and because she was haunted by her own misgivings about their future together.

  It was all happening so fast. By this time tomorrow night, she might learn the truth about her parents’ deaths, and Devlin would hopefully obtain critical information to help win the war against Medusa.

  And then?

  Logically, Grace knew that the best way to break an addiction was to remove oneself from temptation.

  The pain of quitting cold turkey might be brutal, but it was healthier in the long run.

  *** *** *** ***

  Back in New York City, Sophia had an unexpected visitor in her little nook at the MET.

  Not the mysterious Mr. Enlil, but someone she knew and was quite thrilled to see again.

  “Ere,” she breathed as she stood from her desk and rushed to him, stopping just shy of wrapping him in a bear hug.

  No matter how happy she was to see him, they did not have that kind of a relationship.

  Or any relationship at all, for that matter, except perhaps in some of her girlish fantasies when she was too frustrated with Dalair.

  For the most part, she considered him a close acquaintance, perhaps a friend. And though she’d grown accustomed to his striking beauty and poise, she was still just a little in awe of him.

  “I was in town for a couple of days and looked up my old friend Mr. Sims,” Ere said as he smiled down at Sophia from his superior height, a simmering warmth in his eyes.

  “He mentioned that he’s taken on a sort of an apprentice to help put the Persian exhibition together.”

  Ere swept Sophia from head to toe admiringly. “And here you are, Sophia Victoria St. James. As lovely as ever.”

  Sophia practically glowed at her ex-teaching assistant’s compliment. But she was two years older and wiser now, and did not become nonplussed at his easy flirtation.

  “You look as hot as ever yourself,” she shot back, not trying to be coy but simply stating the truth. “What have you been up to?”

  “Oh, this and that,” he replied, which wasn’t really much by way of an answer, but it was his usual style. Not revealing much about himself, even though he’d invited her into his home and entertained her there for hours when she’d helped him with his research.

  “Mostly up to no good,” he said this with a disarming grin, flashing brilliant white teeth bracketed by deep dimples on each side of his generous lips.

  “I doubt that,” Sophia said, shaking her head. “You might pretend to be a baddie, Ere, but I can tell you’re really one of the good guys.”

  Abruptly, his smile collapsed and his eyes darkened. It was only a moment, but Sophia saw the bleak, almost frightening expression on his face, and something cold and sinister in his black, black eyes.

  But just as quickly, he smiled again, this time more reservedly, as if the smile was a fragile thing that his lips had trouble propping up.

  “How can you tell, little Sophia?” he murmured, and Sophia had the bizarre impression that Red Riding Hood might have heard the same silky voice when confronted with the Big Bad Wolf.

  “Can you see into the hearts of monsters?”

  Perplexed by his question, Sophia just answered the first thing that came to mind, “I don’t see monsters, Ere. Just…souls.”

  She shrugged at the nonsense she was spouting, for nonsense it must be for a “normal” person like Ere.

  But then again, she’d always sensed that there was something different about Ere.

  “Some are pure, some are troubled. Some are lost, some are confused. Some are whole and deeply fulfilled. Those are the most beautiful souls—the ones who found their place in life and the partners to share it with.”

  She huffed a small laugh. “You must think I’m the strangest girl you’ve ever met,” she admitted.

  He regarded her intensely for one long moment, and then the easy-going demeanor was back.

  Like a mask he conveniently slipped in place.

  “I think you’re charming, lovely Sophia,” he murmured.

  “But I must be going.” He took a breath and briskly surveyed her work room. “I just came by to say hello. It’s been ages since we’ve seen each other, has it not?”

  She nodded. “We never did get to have that dance.”

  The last time they were supposed to meet up had been over a year ago at an exclusive night club Ere had recommended.

  It was also one of the rare occasions she’d seen Dalair.

  “Perhap
s next time we can visit a dessert shop instead,” he proposed. “I know a particular place in Brooklyn that’s quite the treasure trove for all kinds of treats.”

  “You aren’t talking of Dark Dreams, by any chance?” she inquired, amazed at the coincidence.

  “That’s the one,” he concurred.

  He hesitated briefly, but then said, “Perhaps we can bring that little man sitting in the alcove just outside, the blonde one with the curly hair that I passed. He looks like he favors desserts and treasure hunts.”

  As an afterthought, Ere added, “He says he’s protecting you. Probably from the likes of me. What a fierce warrior heart he has.”

  Did Ere like children? It seemed rather sudden to invite a boy he didn’t know on an outing with her, Sophia thought. But then, maybe he was trying to downplay the outing so she wouldn’t confuse it with a date.

  He always flirted with her, and there was a time in the beginning that he could make her blush with just a look, but he also seemed quite diligent in the avoidance of any real attachment.

  “You mean Benji?”

  Inanna was on Sophia’s guard duty today and brought Benjamin with her to the MET to pass the time. The boy could spend days in a museum this size without getting bored. He was fascinated by all things of antiquity.

  “I’ll have to check with his parents, but sure, I think he’d like that,” Sophia replied. “He loves history, by the way, so I’m sure he’ll love you. How many PhDs do you have on ancient civilizations again?”

  But Ere seemed to have frozen at something she’d said. There was that darkness and bleakness in his eyes again.

  “More than I need,” he managed to rasp in response.

  At the sound of approaching footsteps, most likely Inanna’s, Ere turned abruptly and walked away.

  “I’ll contact you,” he called out over his shoulder before disappearing down the dimly lit corridor.

  Sophia didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye.

  Shortly, Inanna appeared at the door to Sophia’s makeshift office, Benji at her side.

  “Did you have a visitor?” the ex-Chosen inquired. “I did not want to intrude, but I wasn’t sure whether you were safe.”