Darklove (12 page)

My thoughts drift to Athios's words. I have Black Fallen traits now, too? That he left them inside me is . . . freakishly weird. Stronger mind control and power over the elements? Core energy? I'm like one of the fucking X-Men. What the hell?

Technically, Athios isn't a Black Fallen. He's not evil. And he sacrificed his soul to save mankind. But he's one powerful angel. I can't even begin to imagine grazing that kind of power. I don't want such intense mind power. What if it takes over me and I become some power-hungry half human hell-bent on revenge, throwing hurricanes and tornadoes at people? There're enough of those in the world. I'm not going to become one of them.

Hell no.

The hot water envelopes me, and I feel myself drifting. I don't really want to—we've got work to do. But drowsiness overcomes me, and I slip into a quiet peace that I haven't had in some time.

At first, I'm conscious of lying in the tub, hot water soothing my aching muscles and bare skin. Then it grows dark behind my eyelids, and I see nothing, I feel nothing. I lose the sensation of being submerged in hot water, and it's replaced by cold, blackness. My arms are weightless, probing into the murky surroundings like a mindless, rambling zombie with its arms held out before it.

Then, as if my thoughts have lit some sort of inner fire, adrenaline surges through me, and I feel energy gathering from my core. At first, it swirls there, like a satellite hurricane photo. Then it fires, explodes, sending lethal doses of that energy through my limbs. I jerk awake, almost leaping from my confinement. I land on my feet, crouching. Slowly, I stand. I'm no longer naked. But not dressed. Not like I normally am. It's almost like a bolt of the softest, gauziest material is clinging to my body, hovering close but unrestrained by straps or zippers or buttons. None of this do I see. I only feel it.

The power that soars through me doesn't escape; it's here, inside me, like a low-humming frequency. If a bug flew at me and hit my body it would zap and fry, bursting into flames, just like a bug lamp. Darkness still surrounds me. I'm totally lost, and I don't feel anyone else's presence here but mine. Like I'm in some weird time warp, floating around. Like Dr. Who. Except he's way more cool.

I lift my hand to push my hair from my face, and that same surge of power burns in the pit of my stomach, then shoots in a rush through my arm. I feel it clear to my fingertips. What the freak?

I lift my arms up simultaneously; the power surge that rips from both of my hands nearly knocks me off my feet.

Is this what Athios was talking about?

I feel like Patrick Swayze in the movie
Ghost
, trying to move the penny after he's dead. Pulling the energy from my core and rocking it out of my body.

Do I really have that in me? Or am I just dreaming?

It's then I feel the atmosphere around me shift, and I'm weightless once more. Darkness still surrounds me, and yet something incredibly familiar overcomes me; I can't tell if it's a sensation, or a memory, or what. But it's something I know very, very well. I'm actually starting to get pissed off. Am I in the goddamn bathtub or a dream? Loss of control now replaces that surge of power I felt moments before. I have control over nothing. I feel as though I'm crammed in a recessed hole in the wall: cold, dank, spaceless. I can't turn my head; I can't move my limbs. I don't think I have any clothes on now, no gauze, nothing.

The brush of a caress grazes my waist, my hips, and the familiarity of the touch knocks the breath out of me. I crave it now, and although I can't see it, I want it.

Invisible hands move over me, and heat trails the caresses, almost uncomfortably. I can't move, although I want to; I can only stand here and receive. A grip moves through my hair, pulls it back enough to tilt my head. The touch is erotic, exciting, and my heart pounds, slowly but hard. Lips brush over mine, moist, full, seductive all at once. The sensation moves to my throat, across my collarbone, while hands cover my breasts. Arousal soars through every nerve ending in my body, and a silent moan is swallowed by the deepening of this strange, weightless kiss. Hands leave my breasts and move over my ribs, and strong fingers dig into my flesh as the kiss consumes me. I know it, this mouth. I can't place it. I only know I have to have it.

Those strong fingers ease from my hips and move down, over my thighs, and then, without warning, slide between my legs. I'm caressed there,
right
there
, a seductive touch by an invisible hand, directed by someone who knows me, knows my needs and exactly how much pressure it takes to bring me to my knees. It makes my head spin, that sexual touch, and I gasp for air as the first wave of orgasm ripples through me. Then a heated breath replaces gentle, strong fingers, and that surge of power, that orgasm, crashes over me in tumultuous waves, and I feel myself slipping.

At once, I'm knocked backward, almost painfully, and my eyes jerk open. The water in the bathtub is cold; my body temperature has lowered. I'm in the guesthouse. Inverness.

My gaze lifts, and from the corner, a figure emerges from the walls. He stares back at me.

Eli.

For a moment, our gazes are locked. Wordless.

His pupils dilate, fixing on mine. He knows me. I can sense it.

“Do it, Eli. Do it now,” a female voice commands. Carrine.

He hesitates; then his features harden. His face shakes, blurs, morphs.

And he lunges for me.

I scream, not a girly, terrified scream, but one of anger, of hurt. Of self-preservation. He's above me, though, so fast I don't even see him move until he's right at me. His hands go around my throat and he squeezes, thrusts my head under the water. I hold my breath and my eyes are open as I struggle. I see his face, all morphed and horrible, hovering just above the surface. My arms and legs flail. Jesus, he's going to drown me. Where's Carrine?

Then something grips me. Inside. Athios's words. I focus, forcing all of my anger and desperation to one location in my body, at the very core. It bursts free, and I surge out of the water at him. He's back against the wall now, and he lunges at me. I've never seen him so . . . horrifying. Just as we meet, he's gone. I hit the wall. He has totally vanished.

“Riley!”

Noah's here now, and he's grabbed a towel and draped it over me. I'm lying on the floor, crumpled. “What happened?” he asks. He lifts me, towel mostly wrapped around my naked body, and carries me to my bed. Laying me down, he follows me, his head bent over close enough that his dreads drop against my chest. “What are you doing?” Noah's voice is angry, raspy, and his eyes flash fear.

I shake my head. “It was Eli,” I say. A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow past it. “He was there. Then . . . Carrine commanded him to kill me. He hesitated, Noah. He knew me. I could see it in his eyes.” At least, I think he did. And I think he was there.

Was he? Really?

“Riley, Eli's not a ghost,” Noah says. He grabs my chin and looks me over, brushing a fingertip over my cheek. “You're scraped,” he says. “I walked in just as you leaped from the tub. No one else was in here but me.” His eyebrows pull together. “What else happened?”

I stare at the ceiling and exhale. “I had . . . an experience.”

Noah waits.

So, I semi-explain, leaving out the mind-numbing orgasm part.

I tell him everything else. Including my convo with Athios.

Noah's eyes harden. “So you're dreaming of Eli killing you? And you have fallen angel traits cooking inside you, along with all the other venom that's making you crazy?” He shakes his head. “This is fucked-up.”

“I'm not so sure that was a dream, Noah,” I say, and clutching the blanket to my chest, I sit up. “I was wide awake when I came out of that . . . bizarre state of existence. I looked around, knew I was in a bath of cold water, knew I was here, in this guesthouse, in Inverness.” I grab his hand, and it's clenched into a fist. “It's like . . . Eli was part of the wall, part of the wainscoting. He”—I shake my head, dredging up the picture of it—“emerged from the wood. Almost like, I don't know. He was camouflaged or something.”

Noah's disturbing eyes study me with severe intensity. “Was your sex dream with him?” he asks.

I really have to think about it, and I hate that. “I thought it was him,” I answer. “I couldn't see a thing. Total pitch-black darkness. But in my heart, I felt it was him.” I glance toward the en suite bathroom, and I envision the corner from which Eli emerged. “Now I'm not so sure.”

“Why?”

I climb from the bed, my arms holding the towel against my body, and I walk to the window and pull the drapes back. Something has propelled me to do this, and I have no clue what. But I do it. It's midday, but the sun has disappeared, leaving the sandstone buildings and gray stone in a murky, dreamlike frame. Pedestrians are walking along the sidewalk in front of the guesthouse. My eyes drift across the street, where a single figure stands out and catches my eye. Female. Wearing a hooded jacket. Dressed in all black. I can't see her face.

I don't need to.

The building she's leaning against blurs, and the figure blends into it. Or disappears. One second, there. The next, gone.

Whatever.

Noah's now at my side, looking out of the window, too. But I know he doesn't see what I just saw.

“What did you see?” Noah asks.

Tell him what you see, Riley.

I close my eyes, and the motion makes my chest rise, fall, and it hurts. I feel pain inside my chest.

Go on. Tell him. He wants an answer. Give it.

The words are cold, and I can't help shivering. I continue to stare out the window.

And just in case you're completely blind, he wants to fuck you, too. Always has. He thinks about it constantly. I'm surprised at his control.

I shake off his words and just breathe. “Carrine is stalking me.”

Noah grabs me by the shoulders and turns me around. His face is hard as he stares down at me. “What do you mean?”

I stare up at him, unable to answer at first. Inside, my stomach is flipping around like I'm on a fast-as-hell roller coaster, unable to stop.

You didn't think that fucking angel was the only soul who could get inside your head, did you, Riley? You think because you fucked him, you have his powers, too? I'm here now. We'll see just how strong you really are. Imagine someone cutting open your skull and stuffing a live beetle inside, then sewing you back up. Imagine those tiny little feet scratching back and forth, back and forth, over your brain and bones until you begin clawing at your scalp, ripping open those stitches just to pull that beetle out. To make the insanity go away. It's going nowhere. That sensation is me, Riley. And I can't wait to show you a few things.

Only the violent shaking of my shoulders brings my vision into focus, and I stare blankly into Noah's eyes.

“What the hell is going on, Riley?” he yells. His fingers are digging into my biceps now. Painfully so.

It's been a long time since I've felt fear. I feel it now.

“Riley!” Noah yells again.

She's laughing inside my head now, and she won't stop. I drop my hands from my towel and clutch the sides of my head. I push—hard. My eyes squeeze tightly shut.

“It's Carrine,” I say without looking at Noah. “She's inside my head now. She won't . . . get out. Laughing, egging me on. I can't take it, Noah—”

Then, at once, she's gone. Just like that. My vision, my mind, is completely clear now. Free of the torture. Free of the bugs.

Noah's hand lifts, and I only now notice he's grabbed my towel off the floor and is lifting it back to cover me up. With one hand he holds the towel in place, and with his free hand he uses his thumb to wipe at my cheeks. Only then do I notice the tears that have started streaming from my eyes.

He sighs and pulls me against him, and I let him. His lips press against my temple. “What's she doing to you, girl?” he says against my skin. “What the hell is she doing to you?”

I'm thinking clearly now. I hate it, but I am. Part of me wishes I could just stay suspended in some kind of weird dreamlike state—a fantasy world where everything was right, going my way, and I was the winner.

That's not my reality anymore.

I look at Noah, and the care in his eyes almost pains me.

Almost as much what I have to say out loud. Just thinking the words rips into my heart.

“I'm going to have to kill them, Noah,” I say.

Noah just stares at me. Speechless.

My voice almost doesn't sound like it belongs to me. Sounds like someone else speaking. It quivers, breaks. More tears spill. “I'm going to have to kill Carrine and Eli.”

THE NESS BOYS

But there's many a slip twixt the cup and the lip.

—William H. Bonney,
Young Guns,
1988