When Darkness Falls - Six Paranormal Novels in One Boxed Set

by Shalini Boland

The case was, he was sexy as hell.

  And I hated him for it.

  When his gaze captured mine, he offered the briefest of smiles. A curious swooping pulled at my stomach, and I quickly glanced away. When I dared to peek again, he’d seated himself at a nearby table beneath the golden glow of one of the wall sconces. I dreaded the idea he might catch me staring, but I couldn’t stop myself. His toasted-almond hair fell forward to shroud his eyes, and flickers of blue—or was it green?—peeked through the disheveled strands.

  The whole thing felt strange, as though I’d seen him before, seen him from this same distance.

  It was then, with his body turned away from the table and one foot resting on the opposite knee, that I realized how I knew him. His shoes—dull, black shoes with a red outsole—gave him away. He was the mystery man who’d been outside my window the night of my positive energy ritual.

  I should’ve marched over to him and told him off, but what was I supposed to say—‘How dare you walk down a public street and look at a woman throwing flower petals out her window?’

  His eyes flickered to mine as though my staring had drawn his attention. There was an intensity in his expression, something dark as his gaze slid over my body, assessing me, and I started surveying the room in hopes he’d think our eye contact had been accidental.

  No one looked at me like that, let alone someone so absurdly handsome.

  I peered at him from under my eyelashes, but I couldn’t tell if he was still looking at me until too late. Until I’d already been caught checking him out.

  He turned away, but it wasn’t shyness that averted his gaze. The strong lines of his jaw were softened by his uplifted cheeks and the curl of lips. He smirked, shaking his head.

  Realization set in: He was laughing at me.

  Heat rushed to my face, leaving me thankful for the club’s dim lighting, dark enough to hide the blush that surely reddened my cheeks.

  Staring at my drink would be a safe bet. Drinks don’t stare back. I plucked nervously at the hem of my dress, wondering what the hell had come over me. I didn’t have time for this. I needed to find Adrian.

  “Dance with me,” came a husky but gentle voice.

  I looked up, and my heartbeat stuttered. It was him. How hadn’t I noticed him take the seat across from me?

  The way he stared—his crisp, teal eyes pinning me—sent a current of warmth through my body, pulling the fear under and away. Even in the low lighting of the club, the stark contrast of blue and green in his eyes was evident, like the oceans off the coast of Greece.

  Determined to appear unruffled, I tipped my drink against my lips and drew in a sip of my Bordeaux. The earthy wine provided a momentary relief to my rattled nerves.

  “Do I know you?” I asked.

  A half-smile rumpled the perfect symmetry of his face. He was even more gorgeous up close—fiercely beautiful, from chiseled cheekbones to strong, shaded jaw and attractive Roman nose. “Clearly you recognized me, no?”

  “That doesn’t mean we’ve met,” I countered.

  He knew he looked good, he knew I thought so, and now he was mocking me. Great.

  “You’re funny when you’re angry,” he said.

  “Glad you’re amused. Keep it up, and I should be able to keep you laughing all night.”

  “All night?” The tumble of his hair obscured the sudden arch of his eyebrow.

  I wanted to stay mad, but it was a lost cause. Annoyance had always been my defense against attraction, but his looks and candor were crippling. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  He tilted his head to one side and scratched the nape of his neck. A grayish-pink scar lined the inside of his forearm, and I dropped my gaze, as though I’d somehow intruded into his life, though it was more like the other way around.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “I thought you wanted something. You were staring.”

  “No I wasn’t,” I replied too quickly.

  He crossed his arms, slouching back, and challenged me with a grin. “No?”

  My pulse quickened and my breathing went shallow and I wished I would just disappear. This time, I wasn’t going to respond. He kept his gaze steady against mine, his dark, tangled lashes framing his eyes. Lauren would’ve recommended some special eyelash comb. Thinking of Lauren might help distract me from this gorgeous specimen sitting before me.

  The roof of my mouth felt like the shell of a walnut. I wanted to swallow and lick my lips to relieve the dryness, but his staring made me hyper-conscious. His gaze dipped, and I felt a rush in my chest.

  Was he checking me out? Was he aware of my erratic breathing or the rapidly beating pulse in my neck?

  His gaze continued down.

  To his watch.

  Not checking me out.

  When he lifted his eyes to mine again, my insides filled with a chaotic energy. Attraction or warning, I didn’t know, but I couldn’t break away. The men in Belle Meadow had no interest in me, but this guy—he didn’t know me. He hadn’t heard the rumors, hadn’t heard about my mastery of the dark arts or how I sometimes painted demonic symbols on abandoned grain elevators.

  The longer I went without speaking, the more uncertain I became that I’d find my voice again.

  I crossed my arms. “So you’re stalking me, or what?”

  He chuckled. “Pretty full of yourself, are you? Do all pretty girls think every man in a public place must be stalking them?”

  What? “I’m not—” Grrr. I refused to defend myself to his moronic accusations. Even if he had called me pretty. “It’s one thing you saw me through my bedroom window, but are you telling me you just so happened to show up here, too?”

  “I must be pretty special to have followed you here but arrived first.” He reached into his pocket and slid a wrist bracelet across the table. The fine marker-script on the side of the band displayed today’s date beneath the club’s logo. “Happy hour discount—starts at eight here. You’d have gotten one if you’d arrived before nine. Now, then, perhaps I might inquire if you are stalking me?”

  “Well—”

  “Well what?” he asked smugly. “Believe me, darlin’, I’d prefer you weren’t here. It doesn’t bode well of your sensibilities.”

  “My sensibilities?”

  He smirked. “Tell me why you were watching me, and I will help you get out of whatever you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Now he scowled. “Don’t test my patience. I’m offering you an out.”

  What was his problem? “I have no idea—”

  “Fine,” he said. The angry lines in his expression relaxed, but his posture remained slightly stiffer than it’d been minutes ago. “We’ll go with that for now.”

  “If you would tell me what you’re talking about—”

  “If you’ve truly only come here for the drinks, I recommend you find another place next time.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I don’t go out much.”

  “I can tell.”

  Okay, so maybe I was being a little edgy. Ivory shouldn’t have let the hermit out to play. “Point taken.”

  He rested his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “Was that a yes or a no to dancing?”

  I shook my head, but my smile said ‘yes’. Not to mention Marcus was still staring—and in the least intriguing way. He gave me the creeps. If I was dancing with someone else, that might get the weirdo’s attention off me. I spotted Ivory dancing with another girl, perhaps a friend she’d met here before, and figured one dance without her wouldn’t hurt.

  The man across from me stood and offered his hand. My palm warmed as I accepted, but when I rose to join him, my balance shifted. I wobbled, nearly falling right back into my seat.

  He hooked his arm around my waist, supporting me against his body, his breath soft on my ear. “Careful there.”

  At his sudden embrace, a small shock flashed through my body. After a moment, my vision steadied. W
ith his biceps behind my back and his forearm against my side, I felt somehow smaller and safer at the same time. I tilted my face up, catching his gaze. The candlelight from the table danced inside his irises. He cocked one eyebrow slightly, his amused expression also somehow gentle.

  The moment rapidly becoming too intimate, I tensed. I needed to put some distance between us, to ignore the unwanted fluttering in my stomach. I stepped back. The air in the room lacked the warmth and comfort of his body.

  “I’m okay,” I said, which could’ve been true, depending on what one’s definition of ‘okay’ was.

  We wedged into a small opening in the crowd near the speakers. The burning scent of hot electrical wires replaced the fruity aroma of liquored drinks. He tilted his head down toward me as he stepped tentatively closer, then he rested his hands firmly on my hips, his arms bent at the elbow, relaxed.

  I was decidedly not so relaxed.

  I peered up at him, unsure what he expected. I’d never danced with a guy before.

  Awkwardly, I placed my hands on the front of his shoulders, steadying myself as I swayed with him. A shiver flashed down my spine at the firmness of his body. How could he be so solid and still so graceful? His hands easily covered my hipbones, his fingertips pressing just behind my sides, into the muscles of my back. In that moment, I felt another kind of vulnerability.

  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my ear. “You all right?”

  I nodded, stepping closer and sliding my hands around to the back of his shoulders. I buried my face against his chest, safe from his imploring gaze. He smelled like vanilla and musk and sandalwood, and I tried to commit the intoxicating scent to memory.

  What the hell was I doing? I hesitated backward, away from him, but he easily guided me right back, and I had to stifle a gasp as an unexpected shudder ran through my body. The heat radiating from his flesh burned through my dress, the warmth igniting in my stomach and snaking outward in an involuntary arousal.

  “My friend is probably looking for me,” I said unconvincingly.

  “Ivory?” he asked.

  “You know her?”

  “Well enough to know she’ll wait.”

  There went my iron-clad excuse for getting away from the moment without revealing what an idiot I was.

  The seduction of the music wound around us, sinking into my skin and pressing us closer. Each bass note reverberated along my spine, playing over every nerve in my body, and every time his hand grazed a new place on my skin, my want for control melted away, replaced by a desire to return his touch. He trailed his finger across my collarbone, over my shoulder, down my arm.

  Soon, the music muffled beneath a cottony sensation in my head. His hands slid up my waist, over my ribs, his thumbs barely grazing the sides of my breasts. My breath caught in my throat, and I smiled nervously.

  His jeans rubbed against the bottom of my dress and my bare legs, and the heat there spread over my thighs. This was more than I could handle.

  “My name’s Sophia,” I said. It was a little late for introductions, but I wanted to shift the conversation and move as far away from the arousal as possible. “Yours?”

  “Charles,” he whispered. His voice sounded clear, as though the music in the room had faded to make room for him to speak. He cleared his throat and dipped his gaze to mine. “I saw you in the woods the other night.”

  I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “And through my bedroom window.”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “So you were stalking me.”

  “I was unaware the woods belonged to you alone,” he said against my ear, his hands moving to the small of my back. “Is there anywhere else I shouldn’t already be when you get there, in the event you might continue with your accusations?”

  “Jack’s Diner,” I said, fighting to hold onto the conversation instead of the arousal. “I work there, so you might want to stay away unless I invite you.”

  “Then invite me.”

  I bit my lip. Of course I wouldn’t have shared that gem of information with him if I didn’t want to see him again, but I hated that he realized this.

  “Sure,” I said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t hear me over the music as easily as I could hear him.

  “That night in the window . . . you looked so . . . strange.”

  Was that supposed to be a compliment?

  I started to pull back, but it only brought our faces closer together—so close our lips nearly touched.

  “And in the woods?” I asked carefully. “Did I look strange there, too?”

  “No,” he said, his voice cold now. “I hadn’t expected to see anyone else out there. I stayed only long enough to make sure you were all right.”

  “Why?” I asked, like it was a bad thing.

  “Why not?” He closed his eyes, tensing his jaw. “Do you always assume the worst of people? Or is it yourself you think so poorly of? Perhaps you might consider life is complicated enough without you helping things along.”

  Damn him. Yes, I could be immature and even a little insecure sometimes. Okay, a lot of times.

  His eyes flashed on mine, and he stepped away, his expression shifting to something apologetic and regretful. “You should go, Sophia.”

  {five}

  “GO?” I ASKED.

  “That’s what I said,” Charles replied.

  His sudden mood swing left me bewildered. I searched his eyes for answers, but there were none.

  “If you don’t want to dance anymore—”

  “I didn’t say that,” he snapped. “I just said you should go. Now, please, get out of here.”

  “I don’t under—”

  His eyes flashed with the anger of a storm. “Leave!” he shouted. “Go. Home. Forget about this place. Back out of any agreements you have before it’s too late.”

  He started off, but then backed up two steps, turned around, and grabbed my arm.

  The cursed whispers invaded my thoughts all at once, scattering like marbles down a staircase, making it impossible to think . . . impossible to make out what they were saying. Just the shhhing and the fragments again—a word here and there . . . dangerous . . . too late. The rest of the words overlapped and tripped up my own thoughts. I couldn’t push the voices away—only press them into the background.

  A pulsing sensation tapped against my mind, followed by a compelling voice: Come here, little mouse.

  I stepped back, but Charles slipped his hand to my elbow and shouldered his way through the crowd, ushering me past my table. He snatched my purse and thrust it toward my chest. The room spun as I staggered beside him.

  “What’s going on?”

  He didn’t answer, and I didn’t get a chance to tug my arm free until after we were already outside, standing beside the forest with the club’s storm doors clanging shut behind us.

  I glared at him. “What the hell are you doing? I’m not leaving without my friend. You can’t just tell me when to leave.”

  He spun toward me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Sophia, listen. Whatever brought you here, I won’t judge you, but now—”

  The club doors flew open again, and his grip tightened. A couple rushed out, stumbling for the parking lot in a cloud of drunken laughter. Lipstick smeared the woman’s flashing white teeth.

  “Sophia,” Charles said, his voice gentle now.

  “What?”

  His eyes steadied on mine. “You’ve associated yourself with the wrong people.”

  “Obviously,” I said, thinking mostly of him.

  “We should get you out of here. Ivory will catch up.”

  “Get out of here why?” I asked, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

  His hold loosened. “You don’t know what you are involved in. I will pay you double just to leave.”

  A fog settled over my mind. I blinked rapidly, bringing his face back into focus. My thoughts were muddy. “Huh?”

  “Do you understand me?” he asked. His voice was far away, ominous.


  “I’m drunk, not stupid.” I didn’t feel drunk though. I felt . . . confused.

  His jaw tensed. “Why did you come here?”

  “Me?” I raised my eyebrows. “You’re asking why I’m here?”

  The doors opened again, and this time one of the guys from the lady-collector’s table stepped outside. He smoothed his dark, thick, shoulder-length hair away from his face and grinned with pale lips.

  “Charles. Good and well to see you,” he said, but he was looking at me, not Charles. The man clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forward with a slight nod. “Marcus would love her company.”

  Charles clenched his jaw, and a quiet growl reverberated in his throat. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Cody.”

  “Marcus won’t be very happy if she declines,” Cody said in a playfully warning voice. He turned to me, smiled, and hooked his arm out. “Care to join us?”

  It didn’t sound like a request.

  “No thank you,” I said, inching closer to Charles. “I’m only here to spend time with my friends.”

  “Marcus is your friend.” His smile twitched on one side. “But if you are certain?”

  The more he pushed the issue, the more certain I became.

  Charles pulled me back a step. “We’ll be in shortly. Tell Marcus to order us a few drinks.”

  Like hell.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but Charles gave me a measured glare. He offered the man a tight-lipped smile. “He’d want you to deliver that message, wouldn’t he?”

  Cody studied Charles for a long moment before disappearing inside.

  “We need to go.” Charles’ voice sounded more demanding now. “You’re putting us both in danger.”

  “We were just dancing,” I said. “And Ivory—”

  “She’ll meet us.”

  “No.” I shifted away. I’d read things like this in the paper; it never ended well.

  “You’re in no place to argue. Unless you want to visit Marcus’ table,” he said, as though it were an accusation. His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you do not understand the extent of what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  Another seductive whisper prodded at my mind: Come back inside.

  Was that the same voice I’d heard earlier? It was more demanding now.