Chapter Four
Sunlight kisses her lips and caresses her cheeks, before warming her eyelids. I watch with rapt attention as the brilliant heat flushes her translucent skin before slowly parting. She blinks rapidly, then rubs her weary eyes with the back of her hand. Then, as lithe and graceful as a cat, she stretches her arms above her head and yawns, a raspy, sultry sound rumbling her throat.
“Well, good morning, love,” I smirk, my voice as smooth as silk.
Shock pries open her tired eyes and she tries to scream, but fear has stolen her breath. It wouldn’t matter. No one would hear her cries. Nor would they care.
“Whe … where am I?” she stammers.
I look on either side of us. “Well … this is what you’d call a bed. You know, some people like to sleep on them. Even f*ck on them. I prefer the latter.”
Amelie narrows her eyes and purses her full lips. “I know that. How did I get here? And what did you do to me?” Pulling the comforter up to her chin, she shifts to the edge of the bed.
“I obviously put you in bed - my bed. And I haven’t done anything to you. Not yet, at least.” I move closer to her, and watch as her eyes widen, taking in the sight of my bare chest. “And if I wanted to see what was under that nightie, believe me, you’d be naked and spread eagle right now. And if you’re lucky, my tongue would be buried deep inside you.” I tug at the covers just to rattle her further, and she doesn’t disappoint. A slow smile spreads across my face.
“You’re sick.”
“I’ve been called worse,” I shrug.
“You’re a disgusting, perverted piece of shit.”
“Worse than that, too.”
Her bottom lip trembles and she quickly tucks it away between her teeth. “What do you want from me?”
I finger the delicate fabric of her satin nightgown. The image of me ripping it off her flashes in my head, and warmth sinks into my abdomen.
“For now…I want you to tell me who sent you.”
Amelie turns to me and frowns as if I’ve just slapped her. “Who sent me?”
I smile. Not my usual panty wetting grin that makes chicks weak in the knees. No, I give her the one that lets her know how f*cking crazy I can be. The one that tells her that I will rip her limb from limb just for the f*ck of it. The one that shows her just how evil I truly am. How Dark I am. If she was unsure of what I am capable of before, there’s no mistaking it now.
Amelie swallows, the annoyance in her expression wiped clean and replaced with inimitable fear. She sees me for what I am: a monster. Vile, disgusting, ruthless. The stuff nightmares are made of. And here she is, sharing a bed with the epitome of sin. Not even her innocence can save her.
“No one sent me,” she states with unwavering conviction.
I move in closer, so close that I’m surrounded by her scent. So close that I can feel the heat of her body wash over me and count every one of her precious heartbeats.
“Oh?” I smirk with a raised brow. “No one sent you yet you just happen to know who I am? As if it’s public knowledge?”
Desperation lights her eyes, the unusual color growing brighter, hotter. “I swear no one sent me.”
Before she can take her next breath, I am on top of her, pinning her body underneath mine. She can’t move. She can’t speak. She can hardly think. All she feels is me, dominating the very air she rapidly breathes.
“Now, sweet girl, I’m going to ask you one more time before I rip that pretty little head off your shoulders. Who sent you?”
She shudders, her mouth agape in horror. I know what she sees when she looks at me. Eyes so cold that they’re almost opaque. White, gleaming teeth that now appear as razor sharp fangs. Pale, ashen skin that speaks of old Voodoo legends told around the fire, warning children of the dangerous, evil creatures that thirst for their souls.
She sees me, and I allow her. Maybe for shock value, or maybe because I know she’ll never survive long enough to confirm the legends of her people. But I let her take it all in … the nightmare that is me. The Dark One that needs to kill her … yet wants to own her.
“Please … I swear,” she rasps through trembling lips. “No one. No one sent me.”
I release a hiss between clenched teeth. “See, I don’t believe you. Now you can either tell me the truth, or I will be forced to resort to more … carnal … forms of persuasion.” I bring my face closer to hers, so close that we share the same breath. “And I really don’t want to do that. Such a pity for that pretty face to go to waste.”
Tears sprout at the corners of her eyes and slide down the sides of her face. I don’t even try to resist; I can’t. I lean forward and lick the salty moisture, tasting the mixture of her sweet skin and tears. When shudders rack her frame, I look down at her through my euphoric haze and smile. “You want me to torture it out of you, huh? You want me to pop that sweet little cherry and f*ck you until the point of agony. Don’t you? Because you are a little whore. You are all lying, scheming whores. Maybe I’ve been too lenient. Maybe you only respond to pain.”
Her frightened eyes widen as my hand wraps around her slender neck, applying just enough pressure to let her know that I’m serious. She won’t win this. There’s no escape. I can and will kill her, no matter how badly I want her.
I close my eyes and suck in a breath. F*ck … the feeling of her body beneath mine sheathed only in thin satin, her scent so potent it’s damn near palpable, the taste of her tears…
How can I resist her? How can I not want to rip her flimsy nightgown off her and sink into her for hours?
I shake the thoughts from my head and tighten my grip. “Tell me,” I growl. I’m angry - with her for being so f*cking enticing and with myself for being so weak. I can’t let my father be right about me. I am a Skotos, goddammit. Mercy isn’t even in my vocabulary.
“No one! I swear it! On my life!” she cries hoarsely, the pressure on her vocal cords restricting her screams.
“Then how? How do you know me? How the f*ck do you know who I am?”
Her tears flow freely, wetting my hand and her hair. I squeeze harder. “F*cking tell me now or so help me-…”
“I dreamt of you!” she screeches brokenly. Even through the garble of tears, I hear her clearly. Dreamt of me. It’s a trick - I know it is. But still, I release her neck and roll off her, huffing out frustration and … shame? No. Of course not.
“You dreamt of me?” I’m panting but not winded.
“Yes,” she whispers, refusing to meet my gaze. Her hand flies up to her neck, and she winces.
“When?”
Look at me. Please. I need to see the truth.
Finally, Amelie turns her heated amber glare on me, fear and loathing still clouding the unusual irises. She hates me, and she should. But I can’t help but feel … I don’t know … conflicted about it. She swallows and fresh tears fill her eyes. Right about now, I hate myself too.
“Since I was young. Since I was just a little girl, I have dreamt of you every night.”
“Bullshit,” is all I can say in disbelief. But I see it - the truth in those mysterious eyes.
She shakes her head in disgust and looks away, focusing on some random spot on the wall. “I wish it were. Every day of my life, I have wished that I could close my eyes and not see your face. Not hear your voice. Not have you haunting me for 10 f*cking years!”
Suddenly, she turns her head and I almost wince at the look of pure hatred and repugnance on her face. “Do you know what that’s like? To have to see evil every single day? To have your nightmares replayed on a continuous loop? To be forced to know someone that makes you wish you had never been born? Because I do. I know you because I have to. Because I was cursed to in order to live. And you know what? I wish I would’ve died. How does that make you feel, your majesty? How do you feel knowing that I would rather be dead than have to see your face for one more day?”
Her words sting like a slap to the face, but I press for more. “Why do you have to?”
She turns away with a grimace as if tasting something foul. “When I was young, I fell ill. Doctors couldn’t find the root of the infection. My parents were told that I only had days, maybe weeks, to live.”
I move closer, hanging onto every word, every breath. She exhales and continues, although I can see the painful memory is a struggle to conjure. “My mother’s family had certain beliefs that led them to believe I had been cursed. See, my mom denied their way of life. She didn’t want that for me. Her name was Genevieve. Genevieve Laveau.”
Laveau.
“Your mother is a witch,” I hiss, my eyes lighting with blue fire. If there’s one thing the Dark despise, it’s unnatural magic. Magic that calls upon the dead and worships false deities, disrupting the balance of nature. Amelie and her mother are direct descendants of Marie Laveau, also known as the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. We had exterminated most of the Voodoo garbage in the city over a century ago, but Laveau and her family had ways of evading us. And I’ve had one lying beside me this entire time. I should have known. I should have f*cking known.
“No,” Amelie whispers, shaking her head. “She wasn’t. Maybe Voodoo was in her blood, but she never practiced. At least, not when I was around. Doesn’t matter anyway - she’s dead.”
“She sacrificed her life to save yours,” I say, trying to piece together the story.
“If only it were that easy.” Amelie’s voice is thick and strained with emotion. “One night, a woman came to me at my bedside in the middle of the night. I don’t remember much, just that she was beautiful and kind. And that I felt oddly at peace with her presence. She was … like a dream or a ghost, but I wasn’t afraid.
“She said that I would not die yet - that it was my destiny to do a great and remarkable thing. Something necessary that would aide in the safety of our world. I didn’t understand then, and honestly, I still don’t. I didn’t stop her when she cupped my face and smiled down at me. Then…something crazy happened. I know it sounds insane, but she started, like, glowing in the dark. She was as bright as the sun - so bright that I thought it may blind me. And then, she was gone.”
Amelie turns to me, her face blank and devoid of emotion. “That was the first night I saw your face in my dreams. The first time I ever saw pure evil.”
I know that this is my chance. This is the time to cradle her delicate neck and squeeze it so hard that it shatters like glass underneath my fingertips. This girl is dangerous - more dangerous than I ever could imagine. If I don’t kill her soon, she is sure to destroy me.
“And the woman?” I hear myself ask, ignoring the niggling voice in my head, telling me to put an end to this conversation, along with her life. “Do you know what she was?”
The rims of Amelie’s irises spark with golden flames for a mere nanosecond, both taunting and answering me. “She was goodness. Warmth. Mercy. She was the complete opposite of everything that is you.”
“Light,” we both whisper in unison.
Words go unspoken, the strained silence so blaringly shrill and thick that it’s hard to breathe or think. I know what I should do. What I should have done already. This girl has been spelled by our mortal enemy and that makes her my enemy. It’s in my nature to hate her, to want to slaughter her. To crave the magic inside her so badly that it aches.
It aches, alright. F*ck, it aches.
“We’re taught that magic has a price, and to save a life, you must take a life,” she says, kicking down the walls we’ve built between us to shield our true selves. There’s no hiding now. Truth has ripped us both wide open, exposing the scary, grotesque parts of our pasts that no one else wants to see.
“That’s true,” I manage to croak. Why am I telling her this? Why am I even entertaining this conversation?
“I know. Because my mother died a week later.”
My eyes focus on the anguish etched underneath her perfectly guarded mask. “What?”
“Her family knew what had happened to me. They didn’t approve of an … outsider meddling in our affairs. I believe they murdered her. I know what your kind thinks of us. I know that you see Voodoo as unnatural and a crime against nature.”
“That’s because it is. True magic comes only from the one real power, the Divine. Your gods are nothing more than false prophets. Frauds. That is why your mother died. A life for a life. The balance had to be restored.”
She nods, those topaz eyes shining with crystalline tears. “So now you know how I know you. Why I hate you. My mother traded her life just so I could live long enough to meet my own death at the hands of pure, unrelenting evil. How’s that for a trade off?” she laughs sardonically. “Growing up piss poor with a drunk for a father that never got over his wife’s death. He looked at me with accusation everyday, knowing that it should have been me. All so I could one day be captured and forced into prostitution.”
I don’t correct her. I don’t tell her that I won’t force her into anything, and that her virtue is safe with me. I don’t say that her hatred is misplaced, that I am just as confused about the meaning of her dreams and by her significance in my life. And I don’t tell her that I won’t kill her. That maybe the legends of the Dark being the first true evil are false, and that maybe I am more than just a soulless monster.
No. I don’t say any of those things. I don’t want to lie.