by Aja James
There was not a day that went by that he didn’t think of her. Not a moment without regretting how he’d hurt her, and how he destroyed himself in the process. It took sustained concentration to keep these thoughts at bay, pushed into the back of his mind.
But now they came flooding forth, and he was helpless to stem them.
Where did that wooden carving come from? How did it come to be in this store in this time?
Who—
“Is your friend all right?”
A new voice hovered behind him.
It sounded like an older woman’s voice, with a lilting accent, somewhere between Eastern European and American South. It was a voice he’d never heard before, but it raised the fine hairs all over Tal’s body.
“Nana, dear,” the woman continued to speak in soothing tones, “perhaps we should help him to the tea table to have a seat. A good strong cup of tea and some sugary treats might be just what he needs.”
Inanna said something in return that Tal did not catch. All of his attention, all of his senses focused on the source of that voice.
As if time had frozen and everything and everyone around him had disappeared, he slowly turned to face the owner of that voice.
A soft gasp.
So soft, he wouldn’t have caught it had he not been ultra attuned to every sound from that direction.
He stared with all his strength in the direction the gasp came from. The figure was short, he knew, so he aimed his gaze lower. It was no use of course. He saw only blackness. Unending blackness.
But a figure took shape in his mind’s eye nevertheless. And a face, lovingly rendered by memories and dreams, blossomed in the dark. He reached out a hand toward the haunting vision.
Please. His heart pleaded.
A shuddering draw of breath.
Everything I have endured, every pain and humiliation. It would all be worth it if I could hold you again. Please come back to me.
But no one took hold of his hand. And all he heard was the sound of retreating footsteps, forever leaving him.
Alone in darkness and pain.
Chapter Six
He arrived five minutes after six at her door.
Grace worked through the series of locks and deadbolts to admit him into her studio apartment for their second night.
Or at least, she hoped it would be their “second night.”
She hoped he understood what his acceptance of her invitation meant, so that she wouldn’t have to devote precious time to convincing him to share his body again. Such things had never been in doubt before, but Grace learned quickly never to assume with Devlin Sinclair.
She was starting to glean aspects of his personality and attitude, something she hadn’t really bothered to assess in other people she’d encountered in her life. They simply hadn’t mattered enough for her to make the attempt.
But Devlin was different somehow. He mattered.
He mattered to Grace.
So she began a mental list of facts and observations about him.
One, he didn’t take sex lightly. He needed to feel friendship and affection for his partner.
Note to self, Grace needed to up her friendly game. Whatever that meant. Perhaps she could smile more at him. She’d read the book How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie on her Kindle earlier in the day. Smiling seemed to be important for starting friendships.
Two, he was what one might call an old-school gentleman. Open doors. Pull out chairs. Ladies First.
He’d demonstrated impeccable manners all last night, especially the last—in every way—including making sure she preceded him in orgasms every single time.
True, she was at the peak of her hormone surge and it was no difficult task to make her come. And also true, it was all but impossible for men to have multiple orgasms the way women could, so it wasn’t like he could ever compete with her on that count, though he’d certainly impressed her with his ability to maintain an erection for hours on end.
Twelve hours. Hard as steel.
Grace’s mind hiccupped in remembrance. The logical, curious side of her brain wondered how it was biologically possible for a man to accomplish such a monumental feat, Viagra notwithstanding, while the usually submerged, primitive side of her brain wondered whether he could repeat the minor miracle for a second night in a row and when she could start taking advantage of it.
Devlin cleared his throat.
“I have groceries, where would you like me to put them?”
Grace blinked dazedly at him. How long had he been standing there by the door? He’d greeted her upon entry, hadn’t he? But she’d been distracted by her thoughts and hadn’t responded.
Right. She needed to pay more attention. The book mentioned that bit.
“Kitchen counter,” she finally said. “But you should know that I don’t cook.”
He moved past her to place two brown paper bags, full of goodies, on the counter.
A corner of his sensuous lips tilted as he said, “Yes, I had a feeling that might be the case. Fortunately, I do cook, and I’m quite proficient at it. But you can judge for yourself.”
She sat on one of the barstools and watched him while he unloaded the items, almost getting distracted again by the graceful way he moved, the poetry of his long-fingered hands opening and closing bags, arranging the ingredients he needed in front of him.
“You’ll have to show me where everything is,” he said. And after she did so, she went back to her stool to watch him work.
“Shrimp and scallops?”
He didn’t look up from chopping some vegetables and spices as he said, “Seafood is your favorite, right?”
She tilted her head and considered him.
“I don’t recall everything I told you in the chat room, but I do recall that you didn’t tell me much about yourself. Only that you like to tinker with programming and that you’re an avid gamer in your free time.”
He glanced quickly at her through his lashes but continued cutting ingredients.
“What would you like to know?”
What would she like to know about him? It was such a big question. There were endless things she wanted to know, and she surprised herself with the realization.
She started with the basics, because they hadn’t really covered that ground yet.
“Do you have family?”
“None that I keep in contact with,” he answered readily. “You could say I have some very distant relatives in various parts of the world. But it’s just me here in the City.”
Though Grace couldn’t really empathize, and even if she could, she didn’t know how to express it, she did understand what it was like to be mostly alone in the world.
“I don’t have anyone either, except my aunt Maria. My parents passed away a long time ago.”
He looked at her and she thought that his sapphire eyes shimmered. At the very least they conveyed a warmth that she felt all over her body, as if he’d wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m sorry you lost them so young,” he said in that low, husky voice of his. “How did they die?”
“Hurricane. They were driving on a highway that collapsed. I was at home obliviously designing computer games in the basement. It was the next day before I even realized they hadn’t come home, I get so wrapped up in my own world. The police came later to tell me what happened.”
As she recited the events, Grace’s chest started to ache a little, even though she wasn’t entirely certain why. Was it possible that she missed her parents? She barely recalled what they looked like.
“Why don’t you keep in touch with your family?” she asked him. He seemed like a “normal” guy if extraordinarily beautiful.
Well, and there were the fangs and the bloodsucking. But nobody was perfect.
Didn’t normal people want to be close to their families?
“My immediate family members are dead,” he answered without inflection, keeping his gaze on his chopping. “But even before that,
we weren’t exactly a close-knit family.”
That sounded…lonely, even to Grace.
“Who are you close to then?”
A brief smile, not particularly happy, just a stretch of his lips, flashed and disappeared.
“I have a few friends. Colleagues from work.”
“Do you work for the government?” she immediately asked.
He seemed amused by the question.
“No.”
“It took some effort to hack into your network this morning. What is it you do for a living?”
Devlin paused to consider, then resumed his dinner preparations.
“I’m like a bounty hunter you could say. Except I don’t hunt for money; I do it because it’s necessary, I’m very good at it, and I enjoy it.”
He found a brand new baking tray that Grace didn’t even realize she had, drizzled some olive oil on the bottom and laid in large, unshelled, deveined tiger shrimp, heaped sauces and Japanese Panko on top and put it in the oven at 400F.
“Why are you an enterprise architect, Grace?” he asked in return. “Why do you work for Zenn?”
“It’s necessary, I’m very good at it, and it affords me the lifestyle I want.”
He moved on to a large skillet and prepared to sear the jumbo sea scallops on her never-before-used induction range, which was built into the kitchen island so that those seated at the counter could watch the cook in action.
So that Grace could ogle this particular cook.
“Why is it necessary?” he asked.
He was wearing a white collared shirt today with sleeves rolled up to the elbows and the top two buttons undone to reveal the notch between his collarbones and a tantalizing hint of his well-defined pectorals.
That mysterious notch…the suprasternal notch. So mesmerizing in a male—this male.
Grace’s gaze zeroed in on it and stuck there. She bet if she put the tip of her tongue there, she could feel his heartbeat. And he would feel it quicken his pulse, start a wildfire in his bloodstream, right down to his—
“Grace?”
She struggled to tear her eyes away from that fascinating little crater, but finally met his gaze.
“What did you say?” Her voice had lowered an octave of its own volition. The primitive part of her brain was starting to take over.
He heard the change in her tone and darted a glance at her, immediately picking up the steaming lust that fogged up her eyes.
Grace saw him visibly swallow before turning back to flipping the scallops over in the pan.
“Why is it necessary that you work for Zenn?”
She shifted her gaze from his chest to something safer like the plump, succulent scallops browning on the skillet.
“They keep me out of trouble,” she replied. “I don’t have a good relationship with the government.”
“Because you hacked into their systems at the age of twelve and stole ten million dollars in federal funds?”
She shrugged, not surprised that he knew. He had formidable hacking abilities of his own. Perhaps he knew all about her personal history too. She wondered why he bothered to ask her. But strangely, she was glad to have related it to him.
“They were too slow to release the money to the families that had been devastated by Hurricane Rachel. Thousands were without food, water, never mind shelter. I saw it on the news. I just sped up the process of transferring the funds to the families and the rescue teams on the ground. It seemed like a better use of my time than playing video games in my basement while I waited for things to happen. It’s not like I kept any of it.”
“Zenn cut a deal with the government to keep you out of prison?”
Grace shrugged again.
“I don’t know who did what. I just know that one minute I was locked up in a cell, though I don’t think it was in a prison, and the next minute aunt Maria was there to take me away. All I had to do to stay free was to write some programs for this company and get paid well doing it.”
She risked looking into the deep pools of his sapphire eyes.
“Why are you so interested in Zenn?”
*** *** *** ***
Devlin bided his time answering by removing the perfectly seared scallops from the skillet to two awaiting plates. He put three on each, drizzled freshly-made lemon butter sauce on top, added some garnish and a few forkfuls of walnut arugula salad. He had about two minutes before the shrimp would be ready.
All the while, he debated internally whether to trust her with the truth. And if so, how much to reveal.
He decided to go with his gut and tell her directly. He didn’t think Grace Darling had the capacity for intrigue and subterfuge. Perhaps literally.
“Zenn is connected to a dangerous and powerful network with an entity called Medusa at its helm. I believe she’s female, but I have nothing concrete or firsthand to confirm this.”
He stared intently into her eyes and said, “I mean to destroy her empire and capture her for questioning. But if all else fails, I’ll be satisfied with ending her.”
She didn’t even blink at the implication of potential murder. As if they were discussing the removal of rotted wood from a termite infestation and then exterminating the critters.
Had to be done. Nothing to it.
“How do you know it’s dangerous? What proof do you have?”
He took the shrimp out and used tongs to put four on each of their plates before he answered.
“I can show you my investigation thus far and you can connect your own dots if you don’t believe me. But there’s no concrete evidence documented anywhere, and it’s going to stay that way. We don’t want official agencies involved in this.”
“Why not?”
He set out their silverware and napkins and sat on a stool across the waterfall quartz counter from her.
“Bon appétit,” he said as the oven clock flashed seven o’clock sharp, exactly when Grace always had her dinner.
She looked down at her gorgeously arranged plate, worthy of any five star restaurant, and didn’t look particularly impressed. She didn’t compliment his effort, didn’t voice any thanks.
But when she cut a juicy scallop and put it into her mouth, her eyes closed with near-orgasmic bliss.
Devlin smiled. He’d take that as an indication that his cooking met with her approval.
This was the first time he’d ever made a meal for a woman. If the woman in question weren’t Grace, he would have described the ambiance and activity as extremely romantic.
Domestic.
He cringed a bit at the very thought, but another part of him felt a sense of rightness and pure joy, taking care of a female, feeding her. It awakened a primitive, animal part of his vampire nature that he’d only ever called upon during the hunt.
It made him want to mark this female, possess her body and soul, bind her to him for eternity.
And that scared the hell out of him.
Besides, this was Grace Darling. It would be like binding himself to a glitchy computer. But then, computers didn’t betray, so perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.
And they did have incredible, marathon orgies the likes of which Devlin hadn’t even dreamed were possible.
They ate in silence for many minutes, lost in mutual enjoyment of the food.
Devlin thought she might have forgotten her question until she suddenly looked up from her plate and repeated, “Why don’t you want the police or the FBI to get involved if this Medusa is as dangerous as you say?”
He put down his utensils for a moment to answer her fully.
“First, would you say these government agencies are particularly efficient in your experience?”
“Not particularly.”
“Right. Second, do you think they are incorruptible?”
“No. I’ve seen some of their top secret files. They don’t always do the right thing.”
Devlin nodded. “I have evidence that Medusa’s network is bankrolling some branches of the government, not just here in t
he U.S., but internationally. Nothing overt enough to call for an investigation, and even if one were to be flagged, Medusa no doubt has ways to suppress it.”
Grace focused a couple of minutes to demolishing her meal, and then asked, “There’s something else, isn’t there? There’s another reason.”
Devlin inhaled deeply and released a long breath. He might as well go all-in. If his instincts didn’t flash giant neon alarm signs when he contemplated eternity with her, he could probably trust her with the full truth, which he’d already begun to reveal last night.
“Yes,” he confirmed her suspicion. “There is another reason we can’t have official involvement.”
He waited until she had finished her food and wiped her mouth, giving him her full attention.
“Medusa isn’t human. You might have noticed that neither am I.”
She tilted her head to regard him.
“I don’t think having fangs and drinking blood makes you inhuman. I looked up some conditions where this happens. It’s amazing the types of rare genetic disorders that are out there.”
“I don’t have a genetic disorder,” Devlin said firmly. “This is what I am.”
She stacked her hands beneath her chin and set her elbows on the counter, looking intently into his eyes.
“What are you?”
He smiled humorlessly.
“Surely you know of Bram Stoker’s Dracula? Our kind is often romanticized in books and TV.”
She nodded. “Vampires, you mean.”
“You seem to take that in stride,” he noted, amused.
She shrugged. “There are many things we have no real proof for, that people believe in or swear exist. God. Different kinds of gods. Ghosts. Aliens. Angels. Why not vampires and werewolves and witches too? I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation, even if it seems far-fetched. Maybe you’re more human than you think. Maybe you just have a genetic mutation. But I get it. Most people might not embrace these anomalies as easily as I do.”
“Grace,” he couldn’t help but admire her, “you are one in a million.”
“Actually,” she clarified, “one in sixty-eight children are identified with Autism Spectrum Disorder, and of those, one in ten thousand or so have similar symptoms that I exhibit, but not exactly the same. So you might say I am unique.”
