by Lily Harlem
Which further confirmed my suspicions. There was only one reason for that, only one explanation, which could possibly be considered.
Darius wasn’t altogether human.
“I really have to go.” He rubbed his temples, though his attention stayed on me. “I’ve got an early flight.”
“You have? Where?” I didn’t like the thought of him leaving when I’d only just found him. Not that I had any intention of letting him go far from sight, he was too precious. He was also in danger—grave danger.
“London.”
“Is that where you live?”
“Yeah.”
I smiled. “Me too.”
He raised his eyebrows a little. “You do? Are you in Paris on business or pleasure, Lloyd?”
Oh, I liked the way he’d said pleasure. His mouth was soft and sensual and his voice low, his vowels well rounded within his sexy English accent.
I smiled. “Pleasure…well, if you call visiting family pleasure.”
“I’m sure it’s very pleasurable.” His smile dropped. “And if you have a big family you’re lucky.”
“There’s a few of us. What about you?”
“There’s only my mother. She brought me up alone.”
Of course she did.
“And you’re close?” I asked.
“Yeah, very. I’ll see her tomorrow, she likes to know how my shoots have gone, and I always pick her up a small gift when I’ve been out of the country.”
I was enjoying talking to him and wanted the conversation to extend. “What have you bought her from Paris?”
“There’s these colorful macaroons she loves. Ridiculously expensive for what they are, but still…”
“She’s worth it, right.” I could barely remember my mother. It had been centuries since I’d seen her. “And you can afford it, what with modelling, it must pay well?”
He smiled. “Yeah, it sees me okay. In fact, I should get her something else, some perfume perhaps. She likes to smell nice.”
“So are you like famous? Really famous?”
He shrugged. “In the industry, probably.” He nodded at the path by the river. “I need to get going.”
“Me too.”
He stepped away and I followed. I had no option. “Where are you staying?”
“Four Seasons.”
“Very nice.”
“It is.” He turned to me as I stepped into line with him. “Er…goodbye, Lloyd.”
“Actually I’m heading your way, staying near The Four Seasons myself.”
“You are?” he asked.
“Yes, and then going back to London. Important work to do.”
“What business are you in?”
I shoved my hands into my pockets, trying to look casual and that his apparent agreement to allow me to walk with him was no big deal, even though it was. “I’m involved in looking for missing persons.” I wasn’t entirely sure how to explain that searching for the cambion of fables had been my job for as long as I could remember.
“Private investigation?”
“Something like that.” I nodded ahead. The Eiffel Tower was lit with the colors of the French flag. There would be time to explain everything to Darius at a later stage. Right now, I needed to understand his lifestyle and movements around the globe, and most importantly let the others know he existed. “It’s a nice view, huh.”
“I never tire of Paris, it’s charming, and dare I say it, romantic.”
“I agree on both accounts.” I paused as a woman with three huge white poodles walked past us, the dogs straining on their leads. “And you grew up in London, with your mother?”
“Yeah, same house she’s always lived in. She inherited it from her parents a few years before I was born.”
“There’s something nice about being so settled.”
“I guess. She’ll never move. She’s retired now and has everything she wants nearby. Her friends, the church, and she volunteers at a local homeless center.”
“Sounds like a great woman.”
“The best.” He turned to me. “She has incredible faith in people. Almost to a fault.”
“Go on.”
He paused and tugged off his rucksack. As he rummaged in it he said, “She always sees the good in people, whatever their background, their past, their sins. She believes everyone’s soul can be saved, every life can be turned around.” He tugged out a navy blue sweater and started to put it on.
“Here, let me.” I held out my hand and he passed me his rucksack.
I watched him drag on the sweater, pulling it over his neat shoulders, defined chest and down to the waistband of his jeans. His body was in perfect proportion, not skinny, not overly pumped up, and he was skimming six feet one.
“Thanks.” He took his rucksack and slipped it onto his back, adjusting the straps and bouncing a little as if to make it comfortable.
“So she’s a Christian?” I asked.
“Yeah, and it’s how she raised me.” He glanced downward and kicked a stone. It skittered along the path then plopped into a drain. “So what were you doing?” he asked as we came to a halt at a curbside.
“What do you mean?”
“Back there, in the shadows. You just appeared, I thought the courtyard was empty.”
A bus zoomed past, its bright headlights flashing on the road, and its length buying me thinking time. I didn’t want to bring up the sparks flying from his fingers again. I sensed that was a delicate subject. “I’d been for a smoke,” I said, “Along the river. I had some things to mull over, about a case, you know.” I could hardly tell him that some force, some unknown instinct had made me secret myself away in that random courtyard. “It was quiet, no distractions.” I laughed. “It wasn’t getting dark when I arrived. I guess I leaned against the back wall, my mind started whirring, trying to put pieces together like a jigsaw, and before I knew it darkness had crept over the place.”
He glanced left and right, then stepped into the road.
I followed.
It wasn’t until we reached the other side he spoke. “I get like that sometimes. Thoughts spinning around in my head. It’s like they’re storms, loud and bright.” He huffed. “They won’t go away.”
“I have the same problem.” I tapped the side of my head. “It’s annoying, right?”
“Sure is.”
We walked in silence for a few minutes, as if our stormy thoughts had taken over our minds.
“So when’s your next shoot, Darius?” I asked. The more I knew, the better, and besides, the others would ask me.
“Day after tomorrow.”
“In London?”
“Yeah. It’s for Rolex.” He pulled back his sleeve, revealing his watch again. “I’ve done a few for them, which is kinda cool. They give me gifts.”
“It’s a nice watch. If time is your thing.”
“Isn’t it everyone’s?”
“No, I don’t think it is.” I smiled. “And is it just you, or will there be naked women draped all over you at this shoot?”
He tipped his head back and laughed, a lovely deep belly laugh that bounced off the wall of the building next to us.
A warm feeling filled my usually cold, empty chest and a fizz of longing curled up my back; a longing to hear him laugh again and again.
“Naked women draped over me,” he repeated. “Yeah, most likely. That’s how today has been.”
“And you get paid for that, you lucky sod.”
His laughter faded. “I guess lots of guys are envious of that side of my job.”
“And is it worthy of their envy?”
“Not really. It’s not as if I feel anything for them or have relationships with them. No matter what love-filled, passionate image the camera picks up, as soon as the money shot is in the bag, that’s it, home time.”
“But you must date them?” The Four Seasons Hotel came into view. “Drinks, dinners, glamorous rock and roll parties?”
“No.”
“Reall
y? With your looks, you must be able to take your pick of the girls and have invitations raining down on you.”
“I had some fun to start with, parties and that, but nothing particularly wild and exciting, certainly nothing for the gossip columns.”
“Why no wild and exciting?”
We’d nearly reached the hotel and he stopped beside a darkened doorway and turned to me.
“I guess…” he said. “None of it really turned me on.”
For the love of Benedict. Give me strength. This man turns me the Hell on.
I swallowed, my mouth a little dry. “What didn’t turn you on? The parties or the women?”
He ran his hand over his hair, brushing it back from his forehead. His palm slid downward over his crown, to his nape, then around his neck.
I followed his fingertips, watching them flutter over his carotid artery, stroking the tanned skin there as if inviting me to think of the blood beneath.
A wave of need rolled inside of me. Now my mouth was watering.
“Neither,” he said, quietly. “Neither the parties nor the women turned me on.”
I wanted to ask if he was gay. The words were on the tip of my tongue. Did his sexual persuasion match mine?
Ours?
“Are you…?” I started.
What if I scare him? What if that’s a trigger question?
“Am I what?” he asked quietly, his concentration firmly on my face.
“Are you free later this week? In London? Perhaps we could meet for a drink.”
“Why?”
I chuckled, hoping to lighten the situation. “Why not? We could be mates, Darius. Nothing wrong with having friends to hang out with, is there?”
He continued to study me. Shadows sliced over his features, catching on his angular cheekbones and the dip below his lower lip. “No, I guess there isn’t anything wrong with that.”
“Cool.” I pulled out my phone. “Let’s swap numbers so we can hook up.”
“Sure.” He dug into his front pocket and produced an iPhone.
After a quick switch of contact details, he shoved it away. “I hope you find your missing person.”
“You know what.” I rammed my hands into the pockets of my hoody and took a deep breath. “I think my musing in the courtyard has been of great benefit to the case.”
“It has? You know where to look? A lead?” His perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up.
“Yeah, the pieces of the puzzle have come together. It’s taken a while, but finally I’m there.”
“That’s great.” He rested his warm hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’m pleased for you. And I’m sure the person’s family will be very grateful.”
Forty minutes later I was back at Montmartre. I raced up the stairs of the apartment we’d rented for the last month and burst through the door.
“I’ve found him!”
“What?” Rhys stood and took a step forward.
I panted for breath. I’d run faster than I should have through the city, risking drawing attention to myself. I was out of breath not from exertion but from excitement. “I’ve found him, the cambion.”
“You have not.” George looked up from the laptop resting on his knees. He was on the sofa and as usual he wore his peaked cap and tweed waistcoat.
“Why would I lie?” I shut the door. “He’s here, in Paris. Why else did we all have that strange feeling, that longing to be here? I’m not the only one who’s been out walking, searching, day after day, night after night.” I glanced around. “Where’s Oscar?”
“He went out on his bike,” Rhys said. “Said something about a hunch. He wanted to go to the Louvre.” Rhys stepped closer with his hands held out, palms upward. “So tell me, us, more.”
“It was a good hunch.” I paused. That hadn’t been far from where I’d found Darius. “But we should wait for Oscar.”
“No.” George set his laptop aside but left it open. “Give us what you’ve got. We’ll fill him in later.”
The door opened. Oscar walked in. He was dressed as usual in black biker leathers and the scent of the evening air clung to him. He stopped, his dark eyebrows pulled low, and stared between the three of us. “What’s going on, boss?” he directed gruffly at George.
“Lloyd reckons he’s found him.” George nodded at me.
“Him?” Oscar repeated, slamming the door with a flick of his wrist.
“Yeah.” Rhys grinned. “Come on, mate, dish what you know.”
I dragged off my hoody and tossed it onto the empty dividing counter between the living area and kitchen. I then reached for a cigarette and lit it. “I was down at the river, walking, you know.” I blew out a stream of smoke and tapped my chest. “That craving we’ve all had, inside, to just search, check out every nook and cranny, every street and alley, leave no stone unturned. That’s what I was doing.”
Rhys sat down again but stayed perched on the edge of the seat as if ready to spring into action. Oscar leaned his butt on the back of a chair. George folded his arms and his eyes narrowed.
I had their undivided attention. Good.
“Twice I walked past this building, made of stone, some gothic features, you know. I wondered if it was just ancient and that’s why it was calling to me.”
“Get to it.” George frowned.
“I am.” I rocked back on my heels and drew on the cigarette again. “My head was buzzing, my chest a little tight, and I spotted this courtyard within the walls of this building. It was deserted, a bit unkempt, and had a few dark doorways. So I took to one, set myself back in the shadows, clear of the sun, and waited.”
“You’ve been out all day.”
“Yeah, I waited nearly all day. But it was worth it.”
“So tell us,” George’s voice was a low growl. He was usually a very patient man, like me, but waiting for information was clearly pushing him.
“And then this guy emerges from what must have been a fire exit. He’s tall, ripped, and so fucking beautiful you wouldn’t believe it and—”
“He’s beautiful?” Rhys asked.
“Yeah, no kidding. He’s a model. You know for adverts, magazines and television.”
“Fuck.” Oscar rubbed his forehead. “Really? I thought we were…”
“Looking for a monster, yeah me too,” I said. “But no, Darius Linnet is not a monster, he’s the perfect specimen of a man. His features could have been chiselled from marble, his eyes are the color of the bluest sea, and I…I could stare at him all day and all night for all eternity.”
“Darius Linnet,” Rhys repeated.
I swallowed. Emotion bubbled up inside of me now I’d said the words out loud. He was the one.
“Stands to reason,” George said with a shrug, “if you think about it.”
“I agree now I’ve thought about it,” I said, clearing my throat. “A human mother, and a demon father who can distort his own looks and gender to appeal to the person he’s seducing. It’s not surprising his son is designed to seduce the entire human race, male and female alike.”
“Why had we never thought of that?” Oscar said.
“I had.” George tutted. “Now go on, where is he now, Lloyd?”
“At The Four Seasons.”
“One of us needs to be there.” Oscar straightened. “I’ll volunteer.”
“I agree he needs constant surveillance.” George stared at me. “If he really is the cambion we’ve been searching for.”
“He is.” I held up my hands and wiggled my fingers, remembering the sparks flying from Darius’s fingertips. “He has lightning in him, I saw it with my own eyes. That proves it, right?”
“You did?” Rhys stood again. “How? I mean…what happened?”
“When he appeared, he was frustrated, angry. It was evident in his body language. I was only half watching him at this point, you know, admiring a hot bod and a cute face. But then he started shooting sparks from his fingertips at this pile of litter. It went up in flames. Like whoosh, on
fire.”
George stood and placed his hands on his hips. “Are you telling the truth?”
“Why the fuck would I lie?” I folded my arms. George’s attitude was beginning to annoy me, as it sometimes did. Being the eldest out of the four of us—at three and a half centuries—he could get tiresome with his bossiness, lording-it-over-us was what I’d once accused him of. “It’s him. I tell you. Darius Linnet is the demon’s son we’ve been searching for all this time.”
“In that case,” George said, “he holds the key to everything.” He nodded at Oscar. “Get your butt down to The Four Seasons. And keep your phone on. We’ll be in touch.”
Chapter Three
Darius
The hotel room at The Four Seasons was lavish. The pile carpet so deep my toes nearly got lost in it, and the bed so huge it would easily have fit four or maybe five people. It had a grand canopy over it too, reminding me of a historical set I’d been on the year before.
After showering, and pulling on sweats, I flicked on the TV, hoping to find an English channel. As I did so my stomach rumbled and I reached for the room service menu. Briefly it crossed my mind that I should call Amy and let her know I wouldn’t be joining her, but I pushed that idea aside. I was sure she wouldn’t be giving me another thought. Or if she was, she was moaning about me to one of her super-model mates.
Now dinner with Lloyd, if he’d suggested that, maybe I would have.
You only just met him.
He’d freaked me out a bit at first, emerging from the shadows with his hood pulled up. But I’d enjoyed his company. He was witty, sharp, and had something about him that made me want to get to know him better. He was intriguing, not like the people I met on the modelling circuit. I got the feeling he didn’t have a vain bone in his body, and phew…from what I’d seen, he had a seriously nice body. As tall as me, a fraction broader perhaps, and with big hands. I liked big hands, hands that looked as if they worked, did something useful. Not like mine.
