“HEY CARMEN, I’LL be back in the office doing some paperwork. Think you can hold it down out here?”
“Sure, Gabs. I’ve got it!” she beams proudly.
It’s been two months since I’ve started my new job as manager at Cashmere. Two months of rooming with Morgan in our plush new apartment at Paralia. And two months since Tammy, Jared’s mom, was petrified by an evil, sadistic Warlock who lusts for my blood.
Luckily, running a high end boutique is a lot more time consuming and distracting than I initially thought, but I enjoy the challenge. Anything to stifle the immense guilt I feel for what happened to Tammy. And to get my mind off of Dorian, who has thrust himself into hunting the vicious predator, and as a result, has been keeping a little distance between us. I can’t stand it, but I know it’s for my own good. Being so close, breathing me, is dangerous for the both of us. Not to mention the insatiable sexual need we have for each other. It’s nearly impossible to think of anything else, or resist drinking in too much.
Though we talk daily, our conjugal visits have been limited to only a few times a week. I can’t help but feel somewhat disjointed from him. I know he loves me but my body craves him just as much as my heart does. Maybe even more.
I open my email and skim through the countless messages from designers, vendors and other business-related matters. Surprisingly, I’ve been doing well with staying on top of it all, especially since I hired Carmen, Miguel’s style savvy sister, as my personal assistant and right hand. She’s been a huge asset and without her, I think I would have been as lost as a whore in church with all the fashion terminology.
My face instantly brightens when I come across an email from Dorian. I open it with haste, wondering if it’s one of the more risqué notes we’ve been exchanging during our days apart. They’ve been hot enough to torture me into the late hours of the night yet the promise of reenacting each scenario upon our next encounter has been more than worth it.
----------
SUBJECT: Tonight
Gabriella,
My love, an urgent matter has arisen and I won’t be able to see you tonight. I will call you as soon as I can, but I cannot say when that will be.
Be especially careful and diligent until I see you. Understand what I am saying, Gabriella. I will contact you when I can.
I love you,
D
----------
Damn it! What the hell is going on? I know Dorian needs me to read between the lines. Something is going down and he wants me to be careful. I have to trust him in this. I read the cryptic email again just to be certain that I’m not missing something. Should I reply? Should I call him? No. He said he’d contact me. Before I can worry myself into an early grave, my cell phone chimes to life. I nearly break my neck trying to answer it, praying that it’s Dorian, yet discover that it’s Morgan. I try to swallow the feelings of disappointment before answering.
“Hey Morg, what’s up?” I say, trying to muster a few ounces of enthusiasm.
“Just working, girl. I wanted to hit you up real quick to see what’s up for tonight. I was thinking… we should have a little housewarming dinner at the apartment, just our close circle, as a way to maybe get Jared and James out for a little while. They’ve been so stressed; I think a Friday night of fun would be good for them.”
“Good idea!” It really is; the guys have both visibly lost weight from eating so much hospital food when they do eat at all. With their mom still in her fixed state, their entire lives have been turned upside down.
“What’d you have in mind?” I ask, genuinely excited to hang with my friends.
“Let’s make it a fiesta! Tacos, nachos, and, of course, Senor Tequila! I can make a mean margarita.”
“Cool, let’s do it.” I could use a good distraction and tequila has proven be a great coping mechanism in the past.
“So I’ll call Miguel, the guys, and I’m guessing Dorian and Aurora will be there?”
Just the mere mention of his name makes my heart sink, causing a twinge of grief to attack my chest. “Ummm, not Dorian. He has a business matter to tend to this evening.”
“Oh. Ok, I guess. Well, then I’ll see you later. I’ll stop by the store after I get off at 7 so I can get everything together. I’ll even have Miguel come over to help so he can make sure I don’t muck it up. What time will you get home tonight?”
“Eh, around 9:30. Save me a margarita?” Lord knows I need it and then some.
We say our goodbyes and I continue to sift through my inbox. I receive one from an email address I don’t recognize and the subject field is blank. Probably just junk mail but my curiosity gets the best of me.
----------
SUBJECT: (none)
Dark Light,
8 months
Align with the Dark or Die
----------
Ugh! Seriously? So now messages at my job? I get the freakin’ point. A bunch of threatening messages is not going to sway my decision. And can they be any more predictable? First, Dorian cancels our plans for some unknown reason and now I get some asinine cyber threat? Just not my day.
Out of sheer annoyance I hit the ‘Reply’ button and begin to fashion my own email.
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SUBJECT: Real original
Dear Dark Assholes,
I get the point. Showing me that you know how to log onto a computer and utilize Google must’ve taken some pretty keen strategizing on your part.
Really, really cool trick. Now leave me the hell alone.
-The DL
----------
I hesitate before pressing ‘Send,’ knowing that I am just provoking them and asking for trouble. But hell, I don’t care. If they want to harass me for simply living, then they can get a taste of their own medicine. Soon after I have sent the message, I receive an ‘Undeliverable’ notice in response. Oh great. Seconds later, I get another email from Dorian.
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SUBJECT: STOP
Gabriella,
Don’t ever do that shit again. I’m serious.
-D
----------
The fuck? How did he know? It doesn’t even surprise me. Something obviously has crawled up his ass and his attempt at reprimanding me just makes me even more annoyed. I power down my computer without responding and rejoin Carmen on the sales floor for the remainder of the evening, desperately trying to forget all forces of Dark, Light or other.
As I am counting the register after closing, I receive a text message from Morgan, asking me to swing by the grocery store and pick up another package of taco shells. I lock up the store for the night and jump in my trusty Honda and head for the nearby market, which lucky for me, stays open late. The aisle housing the Mexican cuisine features an array of products and brands. I choose one at random, and when I turn to head for the register, I nearly collide with a broad chest clothed in navy blue pinstripes.
“Uh, um, excuse me,” I stammer, taking a step back to gather myself.
“No, excuse me,” a deep baritone croons.
I look up to give the gentlemen an apologetic smile and am struck senseless by the mere sight of him. Smooth tan skin with not even a shadow of stubble, dark slicked hair, and striking blue eyes. He’s tall with broad shoulders, draped in what I can only imagine is an expensive designer tailored suit. I can tell he’s a good bit older than I am, maybe mid 30s at the most, but as handsome and dashing as he is, no man 10 years his junior could compete. Now I know what the term ‘debonair’ means; he is the living embodiment of it.
From what I can see in the few seconds our eyes lock, the man emanates class and elegance, causing an unwelcomed pulsing below to break me from my musings. I quickly flash him a nervous grin and all but run to the checkout to mask my flushed cheeks. Wow, I must really be craving Dorian. Other than him, I’ve never been so sexually affected just by a simple glance.
I race home, trying to escape my embarrassingly erotic reaction to the painfully handsome stranger and the image of his enticing smirk as he watched me exit. Shit! Something was off about that man. Something I’ve seen before. Felt before. I can’t be certain but a deep-seated instinct is telling me that whoever- whatever- he is, he’s dangerous. And I was dangerously drawn to him. I shake my head, trying to dispel my guilt-mixed desire, and make my way inside to my friends and many needed shots of tequila.
“Gabs! You’re home!” Jared slurs, enrapturing me in one of his famous bear hugs. Looks like he’s already beat me to it.
“Hey, Jared! I missed you, buddy!” I greet him, equally enthusiastic. I make it a point not to bring up Tammy’s condition. This night is about fun, and anguish mixed with hard liquor is not a good combination. “Where’s Aurora?”
“She couldn’t make it but this really isn’t her thing anyway,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “Definitely our thing though.” He gives me a little nudge of his elbow and returns his attention back to loading his plate.
Platters of tacos, nachos, salsa, guacamole, and condiments crowd our dining room table along with a pitcher of margaritas. I toss my purse and head to the kitchen to stow the taco shells. When I return to the fiesta, I see that Morgan has on a giant sombrero, a margarita in one hand and is about to belt out a tune on the karaoke machine. Wow. Even Dolce, her pretentious Chihuahua, has on a brightly colored outfit and mini sombrero. Jared, James and Miguel are all lounging on the couches, munching, laughing and talking.
As I grab a plate and a family-sized margarita, I smile at the sight of my friends. It’s just like old times- the five of us hanging out, acting like rowdy college kids. We were carefree, only worrying about the prospect of getting lucky that night or not being too hungover at work or class the next day. This is how it should be. We should get the chance to be young and dumb instead of being bogged down by supernatural crises.
My mind wanders to the photo that is now housed in the drawer of my nightstand. Chris, Donna, Natalia, Alexander and Dorian. They were not unlike us, just five friends that wanted to enjoy every minute together. They only wanted love, acceptance and understanding. They only wanted to live. And they deserved to, no matter what world they were birthed into. They didn’t get the choice that I was given. All of the trivial worries that plagued me months ago seem so ridiculous now. The five of them fought to live. To love. Privileges we take for granted. I want to honor their memory. I want to prove to my parents, both human and otherworldly, that I can do this. I can and will live up to my destiny.
“Hey Gabs, get over here! You’ll miss the show!” Jared calls to me, breaking me from my reverie.
I smile at him brightly. “Well, line ‘em up, because I’ve got some catching up to do.”
After Morgan belts out her tipsy rendition of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin,” we all take turns wearing the giant sombrero and singing our favorite songs. We even do a few duets, complete with ridiculously dramatic dance moves. I laugh until my stomach hurts and tears sprout in the corners of my eyes. I’ve missed this. As much as I love being with Dorian, there’s nothing like an outrageously fun night with your best friends.
I’m not sure when we all pass out for the night but somehow I make it to my own bed. Sleep comes easy with the help of one too many libations and I quickly fall into a vivid, colorful dream.
I’m on a white-sand beach, the bright sun bathing my body with warmth. There isn’t a cloud in the sky and the ocean waters are so clear you can see straight to the bottom. An array of vibrant multicolored fish and coral inhabit the crystal blue waters, and I gasp in awe.
In the distance I see lush green hills. Atop of them sit hundreds of little houses, all sandstone white with rust colored roofs. Very European. I look to the other side of me and find magnificent stone structures. Nature’s statues. Everything is perfect, and I am content, even alone.
I look down at myself and am amazed at the beautiful white bikini I’m wearing. It makes me feel so sexy, so uninhibited. I lay down right onto the bare ground and the warm sands welcome me. There’s a nice breeze, just enough to cool me from the sun’s rays. I spread my arms and soak it all up, completely relaxed and contented. This must be heaven.
Suddenly a dark figure stands before me, gazing down at me, blocking the sunlight from reaching me. My eyes adjust to the unexpected shade. I look to see who my mystery visitor could be and gasp at the discovery.
It’s him.
The strikingly handsome man from the market dressed in the navy blue suit. He looks down at me, giving me the same seductive smirk from earlier, admiring my body in the scanty bikini. His eyes dance with delight at the sight of me, and it makes me feel…sexy, desirable.
I don’t try to cover myself. I let him marvel at my curves. I even make a show of it, slowly letting my hands caress my thighs, my bare stomach, the tops of my breasts. I lick my lips for him and my eyes narrow as I look up at his approving grin. I continue to gently fondle myself, hoping that he will find pleasure in my erotic display. I want to impress him. I want to show him that even though I may be young, I can please him. I want him to touch my body. I want to feel his skin on mine. But he makes no move to appease me. His restraint is maddening and only intensifies my hunger for him.
Letting my fingers slip beneath the bikini bottoms, I find my scorching hot sex. I stroke it once and brace for his reaction.
Nothing.
I do it again, hoping to rouse him, yet he remains still, quietly observing. I continue to touch and tease myself in an attempt to show him how confident and alluring I can be. My eyes stay on his as I imagine that it is his hand that pleases me. I want him. And I want him to want me.
“I can make you feel this sexy, this free every single day,” he says suddenly, his voice seductively smooth. Just the sound of it causes me to quiver uncontrollably until I can’t hold it anymore. I want to give him every ounce of my pleasure. I want him to feel the overwhelming throb that consumes me. And I explode, dripping sweet sap around my own fingers.
I jerk awake and sit up in my bed, breathing heavily, the heat between my legs pulsing wildly. I feel the dampness on my panties. Holy shit! What the hell was that? Did I just…? No, I couldn’t have. But the proof is right here, saturated into white lace. Suddenly, the brightness of my bedside lamps flicker on and I nearly scream with fright, shielding my eyes from the intensity.
“Have a nice dream?” a deep voice murmurs solemnly.
Dorian.
He’s across the room, sitting on the chaise lounge. He has on a dark charcoal grey suit, crisp white shirt, no tie with the top few buttons undone.
“Dorian,” I breathe. I want to tell him to come to me but I need to get to the bathroom. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” I race to my private restroom and discard my panties in the hamper. I also take the liberty to gargle to get the icky remnants of tequila out of my mouth. After I have freshened up, I walk back out, sans panties.
Dorian is sitting on my bed, still looking somber. “Is that all you wore to bed?” he asks after I’ve settled back under the covers.
I look down at my short cotton nightgown. “Pajamas?”
Dorian sighs, obviously annoyed. “Pretty inappropriate considering there are three other men sleeping only feet away from you.”
I shrug. “Well, they’re all out in the living room, right?” It’s really no big deal. I’d much rather them crash here than drink and drive. And it’s not like we’ve never passed out after a night of partying before.
“The brothers are,” he replies. Oh. Miguel must’ve found his way to Morgan’s room.
“Well, they are out cold. They had a lot to drink; we all did. It was good for them to get out of that hospital and let loose a bit.”
“Yes. Their mother,” he nods, looking towards my window, out into the night. “She will be fine. They should be able to see her later this morning.”
Huh? “What are you talking about, Dorian.” I let my hand reach out and pull his chin towards me. His eyes are bright and dazzling yet he looks so…distraught.
“She will be…fixed. The petrification will be reversed.”
My eyes grow wide with glee. “Oh my God, Dorian!” I exclaim, wrapping my arms around him and squeezing tightly. “You did it? You found a way?”
Dorian shakes his head sadly. This is the best news we’ve had in weeks and he’s upset? “Aurora? Did she find something?” I ask. Again Dorian shakes his head, breaking away from my embrace. I frown. “Then how, Dorian? Why don’t you seem happy? Who could have reversed it?”
Dorian remains silent for several seconds before turning his head to look at me with cold, desolate eyes. Something about his gaze is disturbing, as if he is dead inside. Every bit of life and love appears to have been drained right out of him.
“My father.”
My eyes widen in horror and a scream catches in my throat, causing me to choke on a gasp of air. “Your father? What?” I rasp in disbelief. I must still be drunk. There’s no way I could have heard him correctly.
“You never answered my question,” Dorian murmurs.
I huff with frustration. “What? What question, Dorian?”
“Did you have a nice dream?”
Sheer horror washes over my face at the remembrance of our link. He can feel what I feel. Shit. So he knows I was aroused. Hell, I was more than aroused. I freaking came in my sleep.
“Yeah…um. It’s just been a few days since we were together. And I wanted you so bad. That hasn’t happened to me in a while, I swear.”
“I don’t care about you having a wet dream, Gabriella,” he says exasperated. “That shit means nothing to me. I’m more concerned about who you were dreaming about.”
I am utterly shocked. He knows I was dreaming about somebody else? No! Crap. How do I explain this one?
“I’m sorry, Dorian. I can’t choose who I dream about. It’s not like I did that purposely. I don’t even know who that was!”
Dorian nods and chews his bottom lip as if he’s concentrating. “I do.”
“What? Hold up, what’s going on? What do you mean?”
Dorian turns his head and lets his ice blue eyes meld into mine. “My father, Gabriella.” With a tentative hand, he brushes my cheek and his face cringes in pain. “That was my father.”
Suddenly the air becomes so thick I can’t breathe. My head is swimming, my insides sloshing around like a whirlpool. “Oh my God, Dorian. Oh my…I’m so sorry. Oh shit,” I stammer.
He strokes my hair, caressing me lovingly. “It’s ok, little girl. It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong.”
My eyes dart around wildly and I am breathless. I feel flush, clammy. I struggle to swallow down the bile rising in my throat. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Oh shit, I think I’m going to be sick.”
I turn to try to make it to the toilet but Dorian stops me before I make it off the bed, placing his hand over my stomach. His hands ignite fiery blue momentarily then the intense wave of nausea ceases, and I strangely feel completely coherent.
Holy shit! Could this night get any more bizarre? Hell, am I still freakin’ dreaming?
But I can’t dwell on Dorian’s amazing ability to cure me of the consequences of excessive amounts of tequila. His father is here. And he knows who I am.
“How? Why did he come here? How did he know about Tammy?” I am just so confused, the questions just keep pouring out.
Dorian’s expression darkens to one of violent contempt. “Fucking Aurora. I told her not to involve him. I told her I would find a way. Her affections for that boy…” He shakes his head angrily. “She deceived me. She will pay for her misdeeds.”
“But Dorian, she did it for Jared. Maybe she really does care for him and got scared? He came to fix Tammy. He came to help. Why?”
It would make more sense if I already didn’t know that he was a murderous tyrant. And to think I was dreaming about him? Desiring him? Even in the market earlier, I was drawn to him. I don’t get it. Why? How could I be so...attracted to someone like him?
“I don’t know. Get under my skin. Insult me. Provoke me. See you. Take your pick,” he shrugs. He assesses the confusion and fear etched in my face and eases me back down onto the bed, laying next to me. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I won’t let him hurt you. You are safe, little girl.”
I nuzzle into Dorian’s arms, letting my head rest on his firm chest. “How did he know who I was?”
“He knew when I knew, baby,” he coos. Right. His curse, his inability to lie.
“But he looks so…young. Too young to be your father at least.” Yeah, he’s got a few extra years on me, but he and Dorian look more like brothers than father and son.
“One of the benefits of killing for your own personal gain,” he remarks.
“Is he going to kill me?” I whisper meekly.
“No. He won’t get his hands dirty. Not with something so…high profile. No one wants to be known as the one who slaughters the Dark Light, the savior of the Light Enchanters,” he says sardonically.
I lift my head to look at him with question in my eyes. “Huh? Is that what I’m known as?”
Dorian shrugs. “It was just always assumed that that’s the way you would go.”
“So you thought I’d align with the Light?” Again, Dorian shrugs, looking impassive. “Dorian, if you thought that, then you knew you’d have to kill me.”
Dorian shakes his head sternly. “No. I would not have done it. I can’t.”
“But if you didn’t, then they’d kill you! All this time, you were prepared for them to murder you? Were you even going to tell me?” I can’t believe it. Dorian felt he was playing a losing game yet he continued to act as if everything would be fine. He made me believe that we could potentially survive this together.
Dorian looks at me, refusing to answer my questions, and I know my suspicions are true. He was willing to die for me. I knew that we would face adversity, and with the annoying messages from the Dark, I figured I could fool them somehow, make them believe I’d side with them. I never imagined that Dorian’s death was already in the works.
I bring my head back down to his chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat soothe my troubled mind. “What did he do to me? Why did he make me…feel that way?” I whisper after a few silent minutes.
“He got inside your head. He planted the seed; played to your desires, your aspirations. Your insecurities. Made you want him.”
“But I don’t!” I state fervently. At least I think I don’t. Even before the dream, in the supermarket, I was intrigued by him. God, I’m so confused!
“It’s okay. Seriously. He is very charming. Women are instantly beguiled by him. He is the epitome of sophistication and class,” he says thoughtfully. Dorian’s face then transforms into something terrifyingly vile and imperiling. “I fucking hate him.”
“You don’t mean that, Dorian. He’s your dad. And to be honest, you are not unlike him.” I instantly feel Dorian stiffen and I know I’ve struck a nerve. “Other than the evil, coldhearted dictator part, of course. You are extremely charming and gorgeous and fascinating, Dorian. I wanted you the moment I saw you. And you still take my breath away every single time I’m with you.”
Sheesh. I am definitely still drunk. I am way too loose with the lips.
I feel Dorian shift as if he’s shaking his head. “But his power…he has abilities that I don’t possess. He likes it that way. He keeps us all beneath him so there is never a chance that anyone would ever challenge him. And those who have been stupid enough to try have never lived to tell about it. He gets whatever he wants, no matter the cost, no matter who he destroys in the process. Women love him; men fear him.”
“But I don’t love him, Dorian. I don’t even like him.”
Dorian lets his hands dance in my hair, massaging my scalp gently. “But you want him,” he states somberly.
“What? Hell no! Absolutely not!” How can he even say that? I only want Dorian, and I always will. For me to desire his dad is just downright…gross.
“You do,” he states simply. “He couldn’t have planted the dream if you didn’t. Even if you opened yourself to him for just a second, that is all he needs. Then he has access to the deepest depths of your subconscious.”
If there was ever a time where I wanted to press rewind, it’s now. I would have never stopped at the market. I would have gone straight home and told Morgan that they were out of damn taco shells. How can Dorian be so calm about this? Doesn’t this wound him? Knowing that even for a fraction of a millisecond that I allegedly lusted for his dad?
“I’m so sorry, Dorian. I have missed you so much. I swear I have no interest in your father.”
I stretch my neck to look up at my lover, only to find him smiling down at me adoringly. “I know, little girl.” Again he strokes my hair and I go back to listening to his heartbeat. “Did he speak to you?” he asks after a while.
“Huh?” I reply sleepily. Anytime Dorian plays with my hair, I am instantly relaxed to the point of unconsciousness.
“In the dream. Did he speak to you?”
Oh. “Um, yeah. But only like one sentence.” And it was one helluva sentence.
“What did he say?”
I take a deep breath and try to recall what Dorian’s father, the Dark King, said to me verbatim. “He said ‘I can make you feel this sexy, this free every single day.’ What the hell does that even mean?” I say with a nervous, strained chuckle.
Dorian doesn’t return my humor. “I see,” he responds flatly. “It means that he knows that you feel trapped, confined and uncomfortable with yourself. And he can…he can make you feel free and sexy. It means he’ll give you what you want.”
“But all I want is you!” I exclaim whipping my head around so he can see the conviction in my eyes.
Dorian gives me a wistful half-smile. “I know you think you do, little girl.”
He eases my head back down onto his chest and commences to play in my hair. I snuggle into him, letting my own hand stroke his abdomen. Even through his dress shirt, I can feel the hard, taut ripples.
Dorian nuzzles in closer to me and I feel his lips in my hair. “But the king always gets what he wants. And what he wants is you.”