King of Darkness (33 page)

Thad’s shoulders slumped. He wasn’t sure he had any clue of what was expected of him. Not really. He could spend the next century scared out of his mind and unable to tell anybody. He wanted to believe that he could have told Isabel, but that didn’t exactly matter now. Did it?

His hand was suddenly a little unsteady on the brass door handle. Indecision held him suspended for a moment, while that Viking drum in his chest pounded away. Finally, he spun with a squeak in the marble-tiled foyer and hurried down the hall.

He needed to see Isabel one last time.

Anton Smith, or just plain Anton—whatever he wanted to call himself didn’t matter. The
only
thing that mattered was explaining himself here and now. That… and whether Tyra believed him or decided to kick him in the balls as he so rightly deserved. Hell, there was a good chance that his balls would be the least of his worries in about two minutes.

Something about that moment when she’d left him standing in the hall, holding that godforsaken ring, had brought the whole thing back. Well… most of it. There were some blank spaces around the part where his father had tried to beat him to death in front of the cadre, and frankly he was good with not remembering the finer details of that particular experience.

He was a selfish jerk for doing this now. Tyra was clearly weak and vulnerable. But the timing had sort of made sense when he’d first entered the room. She couldn’t immediately try to take him out without hearing his side of things, and God willing, she would see that he wasn’t the monster that the rest of the wizards were. There he went with the God stuff. Maybe he was becoming a believer.

Another headache was coming on, and he rubbed carefully at a sore spot above his eyebrow. For both their sakes, he needed to get this out quickly. He’d be hard pressed to think clearly with a migraine, so it was now or never on the whole coming clean business.

Not to mention that she was staring at him with such a look of stricken disbelief that he might as well have just confessed to killing her mother. For all he knew, someone in his clan had. He exhaled slowly.

God, he hated scaring her like this.

“For… whatever it might be worth,” he said carefully, “I have no intention of hurting you. I have never… I have
never
had any intention of hurting you.” He made a point of maintaining eye contact with her and enunciating clearly. He didn’t want to look like a pansy, and he didn’t want anything to be misunderstood. “I won’t do you any harm for any reason. I hope you can believe that.”

He paused for a moment. Her chocolate-brown eyes were wide, her face otherwise devoid of expression. No response. “I—you know, you pretty much literally flew out of here earlier. After you left me there in the hall, I went to find you in the cafeteria. The doors…” He took a chance and scooted a little closer. There was absolutely no way to get this out that felt right because the whole thing had been so wrong to begin with.

“The doors to the other side of the room were still chained shut. So. See. There should have been no way for you to leave except to come back the way you had gone in, but you weren’t there. All of a sudden, it hit me out of nowhere that I knew where you had gone… well, not where,” he corrected, “but how.”

Tyra’s slack mouth closed slightly. A small groove appeared on her forehead, just above her nose. She was trying to figure it all out; he could see the wheels turning. Even in her weakened state, she was still so strong. Anton ached to make this right for her, but that wasn’t even remotely possible. The burn of tears behind his eyes was still a shock. It wasn’t as if telling her the truth was going make him lose anything he’d ever actually had.

He kept going. If he forged ahead, if he shoved the rest of it out of his mouth hard enough and fast enough, in a moment it would have too much momentum to stop. He rubbed the back of his neck a little.

“My father was… is… the leader of the wizard clan.” There. He’d said it. “He commanded me to find you. I was supposed to bring you to him. He knows about your unique ability, that you can acquire multiple powers without…”
The
killing.
He swallowed. “I refused, so he killed me. Or at least, he tried to.”

Tyra’s eyes widened, and almost imperceptibly her fingers tightened around the arm of the chair. Silence stretched out between them, filled with the rush of Anton’s blood in his own ears.
Say
something. Please.

Afraid that even the smallest movement might spook her, Anton struggled to hold himself perfectly still. But that became more difficult with each passing second, what with the flock of birds in his chest trying to escape and the fact that he was struggling to breathe in short, painful gasps, as if someone had punched a hole in his lung. If only he could have cut his own heart out and presented it to her, right then. That would have been less painful, less horrific, than divulging his most terrible truth to this woman he loved against all odds—and having her do nothing but stare at him in silence.

The movement of Tyra’s desk chair filled the room with a deafening squeak as she shifted to the side, resting her chin on her hand. Still silent, she was studying him as one would a difficult math problem: intensely, with a mix of challenge and frustration… and fatigue. She looked so worn out.

He really was a bastard.

Finally, she opened her mouth to respond. Her inhale seemed to take a lot of effort. Shit, she was weaker than he’d realized. “Your father… your father is…”

“The leader of the wizards. The ‘Dark Master,’ as he likes to be called. Look, we don’t have to do this now. I don’t know what happened to you out there tonight but I can see you’re not—”

She held up a shaky hand to silence him. “We’ll do it now.”

Ho-kay. Wow. Even on the verge of collapse she was feisty. He loved that, too.

“Look, Tyra. I swear I was never like him. I never wanted to be. I went along with the charade because it was either that or get myself killed. I don’t care what kind of horrifying situation you find yourself living in, your basic drive is still for survival.” He paused for a breath. His body trembled just a bit, and he had to press his lips together tightly to keep his teeth from starting to chatter.

“When I saw you, Tyra, I knew I couldn’t go through with it. I don’t know exactly what he would have done to you, but it would have been death or something far worse. You may never believe me, but I was willing to die to protect you.”

Her gaze had drifted to the floor. He moved to crouch in front of her. He needed Tyra to see his eyes for what he was about to say next. Needed her to know he was dead serious.

“I still am, you know. In a heartbeat, I would die to protect you.”

Her head listed to the side, slipping off the hand it had been perched upon. Maybe that last bit had been too much. When her body started to crumple, he lunged forward to steady her, pulling her close.

As he breathed in the scent of her skin, his body’s subsequent response confirmed that he was the worst kind of asshole. She was ill and exhausted, and had just received the shock of her life. Yet he was aroused—invigorated, even—that finally, after all the wanting and wishing, he was actually holding her.

The cool satin of her cheek against his was better than anything he could have imagined for himself.

“Why?” The question was quiet and breathy, the mumble of her lips so close to his that he could almost taste them.

“I fell in love with you,” he said quietly. “You probably don’t believe me, but it’s really true.”

Tyra’s eyes squeezed shut and opened again. Her pupils were dilated. Unfocused. Her mouth moved as if she was about to speak, but nothing came out aside from a small quiver of breath. Anton didn’t know a lot about these kinds of things, but it looked maybe like shock. It almost seemed as if her body was shutting down.

He thought for only a moment about his healing power before he decided that it should be his last resort. He didn’t know how to wield it yet, and he wasn’t sure it would work on her. If he tried and failed, he would lose precious moments. Also, quite selfishly, he wasn’t ready to show so obviously that he had indeed participated in the ritual. Of course, there was something else he could do for her…

“Tyra,” Anton whispered. “You need blood, right? You can feed from me. I won’t hurt you, I swear.” He didn’t know if she was listening or even cared about his reassurances, but he would say it as many times as he needed to.

Anton leaned his head back to expose his throat. Time slowed and then came to a standstill, and he was acutely aware of their hearts beating against each other and the heat of her breath against his skin. He tightened his embrace ever so slightly, feeling the soft, springy curls of her hair with his fingertips as he attempted to guide her head forward. Her skin was cool and smelled delicious. Wintery.

“Please Tyra,” he rasped. “Please feed from me.”

***

Fuck, fuck, and triple fuck.

Lee stopped outside the door to his room. The faint smell of gardenias lingered in the hallway, and suddenly it didn’t matter how badly he needed a shower. The sweet smell that he had once found pleasant now assaulted his nostrils in an almost nauseating fashion.

Agnessa.

The urge to turn tail and run was considerable, but it wasn’t his style to shy away from confrontation. But Jesus, Agnessa? If Lee never saw her again, that would be too soon. The fact that she lived on the other side of the estate ensured that he saw her a little more frequently, unfortunately.

Steeling himself, he pushed open the door and entered the room slowly. The heavy beat of his heart irritated the hell out of him. He should be well beyond having this kind of… cowardly…
base
reaction to her.

The back of his desk chair was turned toward the door, and a cascade of platinum hair fell over it in waves. Lithe arms were draped over the armrests of the chair, tapering gracefully with delicate-looking hands and ruby-red fingernails at the tips. Said fingernails were tapping softly on the armrest. To Lee, it sounded like a marching band drumming through his head. His lip twitched and curled into a sneer.

Quadruple
fuck.

Lee cleared his throat for effect. Not that he needed to get her attention. She’d known he was coming. “Agnessa. Leave. Now.” No movement, no response. “Please.” He didn’t know why he’d bothered to say that. He wasn’t trying to be polite, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to make her budge faster.

One bejeweled Louboutin stiletto tapped the floor and pushed the chair around in a slow twist to face him. Not that Lee knew jack about shoes, but she had made sure he knew her favorite brands of everything. Like not buying her the right shit had been their biggest problem.

A pair of shapely legs led up to an elegant white skirt, a white barely there tank top, and a diamond-encrusted choker adorning the narrow column of her neck. Then there were the finely chiseled line of her chin and the reddest lips in the known universe. He didn’t want to look at her lips, but it was either there or her crimson eyes.

Once upon a time, he had thought she was so beautiful. Being seen with her had been a privilege. But after having been played for a fool a thousand times, all that glitter and flash did nothing for Lee. It was window dressing on an overpriced whore.

Those eyes had been alluring to him. Sexy. Mesmerizing. Now they made his skin crawl. He forced himself to stare dead into those demonic-looking irises without so much as blinking. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing how much being near her nauseated him, and he didn’t have the time or the patience for dealing with her mind games. Not tonight. Not any night.

Those shiny red lips curled up into a catlike smile as the middle three fingers on her right hand splayed provocatively under her chin to prop it up. “Goodness, Leeland. Is that any way to greet a friend?”

Lee’s molars clamped down so hard that he could have pressed diamonds between them. “We aren’t friends, Agnessa. Now get the fuck out of here before I throw you out.”

“Well, now,” she murmured. “Look who went and grew a pair.”

For fuck’s sake, she knew just how to push his buttons.

He dropped his bloody jacket on the bed and proceeded to remove his gun holster, knives, and other weapons, and drop them on the bed as if he couldn’t care less that she was in the room. Being ignored would piss her off. The pile of weapons also rendered the bed ineffective for any recreational activities she might possibly have in mind.

He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest, meeting her ruby-colored eyes again. “I’m being serious here, Agnessa. You’re not welcome in my room. I thought I made that clear a long time ago.” His voice was low and quiet, but no way could she miss the current of rage flowing through it.

Agnessa stood and started toward him. He barely blinked when the form slinking toward him suddenly morphed into a large albino lioness. The diamond choker remained around her neck. God only knew how she managed that. Or the devil.

He held his ground, even as her now-furry head bumped against his outer thigh, rubbing affectionately. “Come on, Lee,” she purred. “Didn’t you miss me?”
Christ.