Dark Pleasures: A Novel of the Dark Ones (Pure/ Dark Ones Book 4)

by Aja James

  Well, Devlin was certainly not a contender for that title. Maybe after another two-hundred and thirty years—make that double—he might have enough sense to love more wisely.

  As in, never to fall in love again.

  He entered his own chamber and tugged off his soiled clothes, moving by rote with little conscious thought. After a long hot shower, during which he was assaulted by memories of the last time he’d been here, who he’d been with, and what they’d done under the hot sprays, he determinedly dammed the flood of emotions before they could render him a bawling, demented mess on his mosaic tiled floor.

  Nude, he absently rubbed a towel haphazardly through his hair and went to the carrier lift by his door to order something to eat.

  Every convenience was delivered at the touch of a button or voice command within the Cove. It was so convenient, in fact, that Devlin decided to remain a rent-free tenant here rather than secure lodgings of his own elsewhere, despite his need for privacy.

  Dirty laundry could be sent down the lift; clean, ironed and precisely folded clothes came back. Anything he wanted to watch on any channel on the planet or live stream through the Internet, he could throw up on the wall-sized screen that lowered in front of his bed.

  And if he wanted to hone his cooking skills, there were three five-hundred-square-feet modern chef’s kitchens on different levels within the Cove. Olympic-sized pools, massive martial arts training centers, a weapons hall large enough to outfit an entire army and countless private suites for “entertainment” were only a few of the perks that came with living at the Cove.

  After all, vampires liked to live large.

  Not Devlin though. Not tonight.

  Or any night in the foreseeable future.

  Whatever he ordered might taste like saw dust for all the appetite he had, but he wasn’t going to lie down and die like he wanted to. He’d survived heartbreak and betrayal before. This was…

  This was a lot worse. But he’d survive this too.

  Before he entered his order in the touchscreen system, which gave him a complete menu of all the restaurants nearby, and farther away for that matter with a simple lookup display, the sliding door of the lift opened smoothly.

  Inside was a large rectangular package wrapped in thick brown paper, tied with a string. Tucked within the confines of the string was a small sealed envelope.

  Devlin regularly received deliveries through the mail, all sent up to him through the lift.

  He was an avid online shopper, especially for men’s fashion and tech gadgets. Once in a while he ordered a one-of-a-kind antique dagger or a specced out stiletto, his weapons of choice, but he was nowhere as prolific in the acquisition of those sorts of things as Anastasia.

  Books, one of his guilty pleasures, he liked to pick up in person. He hadn’t ordered anything in the past few weeks.

  As he carefully unwrapped the package, he discovered that it was indeed a book that lay inside.

  Could it be?

  Devlin gingerly took the volume out and examined the outside from cover to spine to cover.

  The First Folio of William Shakespeare’s plays, compiled originally by John Heminges and Henry Condell, Shakespeare's fellow actors in the King's Men.

  There were only a few copies left, most of which were held by various museums. Three were privately owned, and though Devlin had tried in the past to acquire one, their owners adamantly refused to sell. At a minimum, the book in his hands was worth several million dollars.

  Setting the book gingerly on his built-in desk, he turned to the sealed envelope next. With much less care, he tore open the envelope and unfolded a small piece of quality stationery.

  It was a letter. Written in a familiar ant-like regimented font.

  Dear Devlin,

  This is my first letter. I hope I’m doing it right. I hope you are healed.

  I tried to see Dr. Weisman for an impromptu appointment. He was unavailable. But I did receive an email from him after I got home. He said that I am ready to graduate from writing to myself to writing to others. So here I am, writing to you.

  Enclosed is my gift to you. Happy birthday.

  I used almost all of my savings to procure it. (And I had to throw some other inducements in the bargain, not all of which are legal, so I won’t be telling you about them. Suffice it to say my hacking skills came in handy). I hope it makes a good addition to your library, the upstairs one in the alcove.

  Maybe one day you can read it out loud to me. I like listening to your voice. You could probably read an instruction manual and I’d still think it was sex wrapped in sin dipped in chocolate.

  Look at that. I’m getting very proficient with my adjectives and descriptions.

  Which reminds me—you can read it after we practice at least twelve chapters of the Kamasutra.

  Sincerely,

  Grace Darling

  P.S. Don’t come looking for me. I’m not ready yet.

  What?!

  Devlin rushed to his door and slammed it open, uncaring that he was still naked and wet from the shower, madly expecting to find Grace outside in the corridor, perhaps hiding against the wall, playing a prank on him.

  No Grace to be found.

  But Ramses and Maximus came into view as they strode around the corner. Both males paused mid-stride, their expressions equally blank, lips similarly twitching.

  “Anything amiss, Devlin?” Maximus inquired solicitously.

  Devlin slammed his door shut again and leaned against it, breathing rapidly.

  What did this mean? Did she change her mind? Was she going to give them a chance after all? Why couldn’t he go to her?

  But she intended to see him again, surely. Her note implied as much. Was he supposed to wait idly until she was ready? How long would it take?

  He was going insane with the endless questions buzzing like hornets in his head.

  One thing was certain, however. Her words had reignited his appetite.

  For food. For life. For just about anything.

  With a whole lot of zest, he punched in the order for a medium-rare ribeye, a couple of lobster tails, roasted vegetables and chocolate lava cake for dessert.

  It seemed that when he had hope to be reunited with the ultimate love of his life, his love of good food benefited as well.

  *** *** *** ***

  The next night, just as Devlin almost won the debate he had within himself to go after Grace, the lift door quietly opened again without ceremony.

  Holding his breath with anticipation, Devlin approached the mechanical box like it was Aladdin’s treasure trove.

  Inside, another small envelope sat serenely, as if it weren’t screaming the message “Open me! Open me!” to Devlin’s certifiably giddy mind.

  With none-too-steady fingers, he carefully tore the envelope open and retrieved the folded paper inside.

  An Ode to Devlin Sinclair:

  I tried to write a sonnet first,

  But realized I lacked the skills,

  So I tried instead to construct a verse,

  That required a lot less frills.

  It’s actually not that difficult,

  If you write a program with rhymes,

  But making the words meaningful,

  Was what stumped me many times.

  What I feel is hard to say,

  When I haven’t the words to say them,

  I think and dream about you everyday,

  You’d blush at my thoughts to see them.

  I don’t know how to describe the feelings

  That you stir within me with a look,

  A touch, a whisper that sets me reeling

  Emotions too infinite to confine in a book.

  What I want to say, at last, is this:

  My one, my only, my beating heart,

  I may not know what love is,

  But I know I never want to be apart—

  For in your arms I taste true freedom,

  My spirit, mind and heart unite,

&n
bsp; Soaring through the heavens of our own private kingdom

  Always with you, my love, my brightest light.

  By Grace Darling

  P.S. This is my first and likely only attempt at poetry, so don’t laugh.

  P.P.S. I’m still not ready. I’ll come find you when I am.

  Oh, Devlin was definitely laughing.

  And then he was crying.

  And then he was some strange combination of both, clutching the paper tight to his chest as he slid down against the door to his polished floors.

  Oh God, she loved him! She truly loved him!

  Maybe one day she’d actually say the words, but no male could possibly be as happy as he was right this moment, right now.

  He took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, leaning bonelessly against his chamber door. His heart beat so fast and so vigorously, he was surprised it hadn’t pounded out of his chest by now.

  So she wanted him to wait for her. Until she was ready to see him.

  He’d wait as long as she required. But he wished and hoped and prayed she’d come to him soon.

  He needed her so much. Loved her endlessly. And his patience was wearing threadbare thin. His body practically screamed to be inside of hers, his fangs quivering to penetrate her vein.

  A loopy, drunken grin curled his lips from end to end.

  She was wooing him.

  Gifts. Letters. Love poems.

  For a woman who claimed she didn’t understand love, she was certainly doing a bang up job being meltingly romantic, as Devlin could attest from his sprawled position on the floor, too heady with joy to move.

  Finally, he stood up and climbed the ladder to his alcove, letter in hand. There, settled comfortably in the plush pillows and thick sheepskin fleece, he read and reread the poem to his heart’s content.

  *** *** *** ***

  Two nights later, Estelle Martin made her way slowly back from the Little Flower Orphanage.

  She was weary to her bones and felt every bit as old as the false human body she wore.

  She needed blood.

  There had been several opportunities to take it over the past few weeks. Her shop, Dark Dreams, received all sorts of random visitors, including ones who stayed well into the night. Who perhaps felt a bit lonely, a bit lost.

  They were perfect prey for a thirsty vampire under the guise of a non-threatening, comforting old lady. Each and every one of these vulnerable, needy humans would have Consented to give their blood. She could have taken her fill while enveloping them in warm, motherly hugs.

  But the blood of humans, weak and diluted, would never satisfy her.

  Not now, when she’d been reawakened by him.

  Estelle stumbled in her stride, staggering from the sudden blast of raw lust and hunger that enflamed her. She leaned her shoulder against the wall of an office building to her right, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

  Dark Goddess above, how she craved him again. Needed him. Wanted him.

  And hated him anew for so effortlessly setting ablaze the serene, deadened pool of her psyche, the frozen tundra of her soul.

  It had been thousands of years since she’d felt this way, overwhelmed and helpless, a slave to his every gesture and word, every look and touch.

  He’d extended his hand to her that day. She would have lost all sense and control of herself if she had grasped it.

  She squared her shoulders and continued walking, putting one foot in front of the other, willing her old lady’s body to carry on.

  He should be grateful that she’d controlled herself that day.

  When she had been young, innocent and ignorant, she would have thrown herself at him, professed her undying love and passion and meant every word she said to the depth of her unblemished heart and soul.

  Had she caught his hand this time, she would have dragged him into her lair no matter the onlookers and torn him apart.

  She would have taken her fill of him—his blood, his body, his sex—until there was not a drop of him left. So thoroughly used, a wrung-out rag would have had more substance.

  And then she would have discarded him without a care. Because he meant absolutely nothing to her. Just meat to devour, bones to spit out.

  She told herself this great whale of a lie as she entered Dark Dreams from the back door, which led directly to her windowless private quarters.

  And froze.

  She scented it immediately, that familiar heady musk of sandalwood, sunlight, morning dew and warm, male skin.

  Her old woman’s knees almost buckled with the dizzying, immediate shot of lust that electrified her whole body.

  No, she couldn’t blame her human disguise for her reaction, for involuntarily, she’d already shifted into her true form, fangs extended and dripping with saliva.

  “You should not have come here,” she hissed into the darkness of the unlit room.

  He did not reply, simply breathing evenly, seemingly unaffected by the sexual hunger that was all but eating her alive.

  Just like the old days.

  A fearsome dark rage surged through her blood, mingling with and polluting her lust. Dark Goddess help her, but she wanted to hurt him. Savage him. Drive him to his knees.

  Make him feel even an ounce of the pain she’d carried inside of her for millennia.

  Her vampire eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness and homed in on the motionless form sitting on her full-size bed tucked into a notch in the wall, encapsulated on three sides by brick.

  His blind eyes were open and turned in her direction.

  Even though she’d realized that day that he’d visited her shop that he couldn’t see, right now it felt like he saw everything.

  How badly she was shaking all over, like a leaf desperately clinging to its branch under the assault of gusty winter winds. How her body burned from the inside out, her blood clamoring for his, her fangs aching to penetrate him.

  Anywhere. Everywhere. She would take everything.

  “Last and final warning,” she heard herself growl in an unrecognizable voice, deep and guttural.

  “There will be no mercy.”

  His opaque turquoise eyes glistened with something bright and fragile. A sadness and pain so deep and consuming she felt her heart breaking all over again.

  No, no, no, she berated herself. She would not fall into that old trap. She was far from innocent now, far wiser to the world. She would not be affected by him, not ever again.

  As if he heard her unmitigated resolve, felt her steeling herself with icy indifference and vengeful intent, a shuddering breath left his chest in a long exhale.

  “Then come and take me, ana Ishtar.”

  Oh Dark Goddess! His voice! His words!

  My Star, he said.

  Once upon a time she’d been his. Unreservedly and wholly his. She’d given him everything of herself; she’d wanted him for eternity.

  But he had never been hers.

  No, never hers.

  She curled her lips back from her fangs and growled deep and low, the savagery of the sound resounding through the room.

  And then she was upon him.

  *** *** *** ***

  That same night, Devlin pulled up a chair and sat in front of the magical, frustrating little lift, which hadn’t produced any new notes for two whole days.

  It might be childish to sit there staring at it as if doing so would make it pop out a letter or something from Grace, like a hen laid an egg, but Devlin couldn’t concentrate on anything else anyway.

  If she planned for him to wait years before she made an appearance, he feared he wasn’t going to be a contributing member of society during that time.

  The polite beep almost shot him to the ceiling he was so startled. He did manage to overturn his chair in his haste to leap to his feet. He dove for the lift and almost flung the door out of its rotating track to see what lay inside.

  Nothing.

  Disheartened and confused, Devlin shoved his fingers into his hair and pulled.
He knew he didn’t imagine that beep. Something definitely made a sound. What—

  Beep.

  There it was again. And he realized that it was the sound of his door bell.

  His expectations effectively lowered by the disappointment of the lift, he pushed the button to unlock his door and put on a neutral demeanor, one he hoped projected equanimity and a full grasp of sanity.

  “Hello, Devlin.”

  The slightly opened door revealed Inanna, known by her human alias as Nana Chastain, his old comrade in arms.

  He tried to look glad to see her. And he was, really. He just wanted to see someone else more.

  “How have you been, Inanna?” he asked with a smile, a little rusty on the charm, but it did curve his lips.

  “I’ve been busy,” she returned with a grin of her own, wide and blindingly bright.

  “Shall we catch up over a nice bottle of wine?” Devlin suggested, getting ready to step out of his room. He never invited anyone into his chamber. Only Grace had ever been inside.

  “Some other time,” she said, her eyes twinkling at him, as if she was just bursting with a secret that wasn’t hers to tell. “I have a more important engagement just now.”

  “Well,” Devlin said, thinking it odd for her to suddenly appear and just as fast go, but he honestly didn’t care enough to ponder the whys, “thanks for stopping by.”

  “I have a Blood Mate ritual to oversee,” Inanna confided while continuing to eye him with a glint of conspiracy.

  Devlin nodded. “Wouldn’t want to keep you then.”

  “Your Blood Mate ritual, Devlin,” she finally said, showing her exasperation.

  “Pardon?”

  And that was when his chamber door swung wider to reveal Grace Darling on the other side of it.

  “Hello, Devlin.”

  Although, when she said it, it came out something like “Hewwo, Dewwin.”

  “Guh…” was all he could think to say as his eyes took in Grace’s petite, typically disheveled form, her bushy eyebrows, curling eyelashes, wide mouth and clear, dark eyes.

  “Will you marry—I mean—mate with me?”

  She looked to Inanna to check if she’d said it right. Inanna merely smiled with encouragement.