The Darkling's Desire (5 page)

“She’s right.” Each word was bitten off, full of rage. “She
can’t be glamoured.”

Anastasia knew then that this was all on her. And despite her
former misgivings about facing off against her mentor, she was ready to kill if
she had to.

Reacting purely on instinct, Anastasia kicked Petra’s ankle
with her solidly booted foot. The slim joint revealed by the ridiculously high
heels snapped and Petra fell to one knee, hissing. She still clutched the knife
tightly in her palm, and swung it wildly while trying to regain her footing, her
face contorted in pain.

With an extra burst of her slightly more than human speed,
Anastasia landed a blow in Petra’s gut, gaining a shallow slice across her
forearm in return. As Petra doubled over, Anastasia caught the silver blade in
her own palm, wresting it away from her mentor and slicing through the flesh of
her palm like butter.

The pain was bright, crimson fireworks showering down in front
of her eyes. Inhaling as she did while practicing her calming yoga, Anastasia
willed her focus to hone into a narrow point. She struck Petra on the back of
the skull with the heavy handle of the knife, hard enough that even her
battle-hardened warrior of a mentor fell, momentarily stunned.

Anastasia backed away rapidly, putting space between herself
and Petra before blanching and clutching at the worse of her wounds. Her blood
dripped to the ground, droplets of her life’s essence, and she hoped that Jasper
could resist their siren call.

“You stupid little bitch.” Petra lay on the ground, clutching
her ankle. In the pale light of the moon she suddenly looked old, haggard.
Anastasia would have felt for her, had she not known what her alleged aunt was
capable of. “Do you not understand? These Darklings are the reason that your
mother is dead. The reason that our people are little more than slaves.”

Beseechingly she looked across the clearing to her niece.
Though the words struck a chord in her heart, Anastasia did not falter.

“A Darkling is the reason that I am alive, though I do not
condone his actions.” As she stood in the evening light, she saw Jasper staring,
seemingly amazed. When his fangs retracted, Anastasia felt a surge of power rock
through her, as if she were drawing it down from the sky.

“There are good Darklings, as there are bad.” Anastasia’s eyes
flicked across the clearing to meet Jasper’s. The connection jolted her to the
core.

She wanted this man—no, she more than wanted him. She wasn’t
sure what that feeling was, but she knew that her mother’s predictions about the
strength of her feelings for this particular Darkling had been true.

“At the opposite end, there are bad Amazons, just as there are
good.” Anastasia forced herself to return her attention to her aunt. She moved
the blade in her uninjured hand, as if measuring its weight.

Petra’s eyes widened in fear.

“
Nastavnyk
, you have always taught
me that death is preferable to dishonor. Kill or be killed.” Anastasia took a
step toward her aunt, then paused, the emotions warring within her.

Tradition dictated that she take the life of her aunt, the
woman who had wronged her.

Despite having been immersed in this tradition since birth,
Anastasia wasn’t sure that it was right.

“Anastasia.” She turned to look at Jasper, her eyes luminous
with a sheen of emotion. “I will do this for you.”

She paused, considering, before shaking her head.

“No. It must be this way.” At her words Petra scrambled to all
fours, crawling desperately away. Anastasia felt pity for the lowly animal that
her aunt had become as she advanced, closing the distance between herself and
her blood kin.

Stalking her. Moving in for the kill.

“No.” Petra whimpered like an animal when Anastasia finally
stood over her. “Please, no.”

Anastasia waited for the blade to fall. It was what she should
have done, what Jasper would do if she let him.

For a long moment she looked down, memorizing features that she
only now saw so closely resembled her own. Tradition said she should kill Petra,
but Petra had been right about one thing, at least to Anastasia’s way of
thinking.

Some things needed to change.

Bending at the waist, Anastasia helped her aunt to her feet,
asking Jasper to call in the Council.

“You will have to live with the dishonor. There is no
punishment greater than that.”

Chapter Four

“I should send you out on the streets. Trying to kill
my employee. Hmpf.” Anastasia felt like a child again as Esme fed the curved
needle into her skin. She winced as the suture was pulled tight.

She wasn’t sure what to say to that. With a sidelong glance at
Jasper she pressed her lips together and focused on the bright pain in her
hand.

She had been skeptical about being healed by the human who
looked like a storybook witch. Jasper had insisted. Esme was something of a
legend amongst the Darklings, a human with a touch of other who understood them
and, more importantly, helped them.

Anastasia decided it would be wisest to keep her mouth shut all
around.

“Hold still.” Anastasia willed her mind to another place as
Esme scolded her and continued to doctor her hand. Jasper stood at full alert,
his stance belying his years spent as a soldier. Every few moments he paced to
the window, stared out for a moment, then returned.

Anastasia tried to tell herself that it was because he was
guarding her that he was being so distant, but deep down she knew better.

What they had shared in the woods had been the result of
stress, of frustration. It had nothing to do with his feelings for her.

Now that Jasper knew what she was, he would leave as soon as
honor told him that he could. He knew that she would no longer try to
assassinate Aubrey Hart, that she understood that they were all pawns in the
Council’s game.

The Council would likely send someone else after Aubrey, but
his priority was Anastasia’s well-being. Darklings, as a rule, did not much care
for those beyond their outer circle.

He was no different. Aubrey was not his concern. Anastasia was.
His presence in her life would only bring more danger to it, and so he would
finish his own mission and return to Lviv.

He would stay far away from her, would never risk awakening her
powers, whatever they might be.

She would never see him again.

“I have a gift for you.” Anastasia winced as Esme
unceremoniously dunked her injured hand into a bowl that smelled of herbs and
vinegar. The tonic worked its way into her open flesh, into the pinpricks where
the needle had passed through her hand, and burned like the fires of hell.

She hissed and, finally letting the stresses of the day take
over her, glared at Esme. The older woman simply raised an ultrathin red eyebrow
and sniffed, and Anastasia knew that she had been chastised thoroughly.

She sulked while listening to the witch’s heels click across
the floor, crossing the room and then returning. Though she could feel Jasper’s
presence by the window, she didn’t look at him.

It hurt too much to do so.

“You have someplace else to be healed?” Esme again sat down
beside Anastasia and pulled her hand from the liquid with a gentleness that
didn’t match her tone. She rubbed a soft towel over the skin, wicking away the
beads of moisture, then held the hand up in the light.

Anastasia saw that the edges of the wound had sealed themselves
together, and while the skin surrounding the cut was still a bright pink and
would probably scar, it no longer looked angry with its crimson blood and
curling skin.

“Thank you.” Experimentally she flexed the hand, finding that
it felt much better. She looked at Esme and smiled, though she knew that the
smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Jasper was going to leave. Any moment now he would leave.

She was healed. He didn’t need to stay.

Esme studied Anastasia’s face but said nothing. Instead she
pushed the book that she had retrieved from the other side of the room across
the table to Anastasia. Faded leather that might have been green once upon a
time covered the pocket-sized pages, and the smell that seeped up from the cow’s
skin was ripe with magic and age.

Esme nodded when Anastasia looked at her questioningly, and so
Anastasia gingerly peeled the cover back from the pages. The title page was
written in a language that she didn’t understand, and she opened her mouth to
tell Esme that, but before she could speak the words rearranged themselves on
the page into English.

Startled, she gasped. Jasper whirled around at the sound, and
she met his eyes, momentarily forgetting about the text in front of her. When he
saw that she was fine, he nodded stiffly, then turned back around.

It was as if they had never been together. Irritated now,
Anastasia returned her attention to the witch.

“The book will make itself readable for those who need to use
it.” Reaching across the table, Esme tapped a purple-nailed finger on the page
to draw Anastasia’s attention. The now recognizable letters had grouped
themselves into one word.

“Halfling.” Anastasia read aloud. She sensed more than saw
Jasper move ever so slightly at the word, but she ignored him and focused on the
treasure in her hand.

“This will tell you what you need to know.” Esme rose and
smoothed the silk of her long skirt huffily. “Vampires, you never pass down your
history properly.” She sniffed looking down her nose at Anastasia, who was
stroking the book with one finger and trying to ignore Jasper at the same
time.

She startled when she realized that Esme had referred to her as
a vampire.

“Things change.” This was all that Esme said before she left
the table where Anastasia sat, still clutching the book, wondering what exactly,
the witch had been referring to. The woman with the brightly hennaed hair moved
across the expanse of floor like a steamroller to where Jasper stood stiffly at
the window. Without any of the fear that a normal human would display if they
knew who he was—
what
he was—she poked him in the
chest, hard.

“Things change.” She repeated the words fiercely to the
Darkling, who raised an eyebrow at the woman who barely reached his armpits. She
returned his stare, and only spoke again when he nodded as if he understood.

Anastasia still didn’t understand, and wished that she did.

“Aubrey Hart and Gavin Thibodeau said that they will meet you
at this motel, if you stop trying to kill them.” Drawing a scrap of paper from
the folds of her dress, Esme tucked it suggestively into Jasper’s front pocket.
Anastasia’s mouth opened a bit with the brazen gesture, and she swallowed a
chuckle at the indescribable look on Jasper’s face.

Esme winked at Anastasia, but it was done so solemnly that
Anastasia thought she might have misunderstood. Then the woman became a flurry
of flapping robes, shooing them to the front door of the magic shop, clucking
like a chicken.

“Go. Go!” The bell over the door jingled as the Halfling and
the Darkling were shoved unceremoniously through it.

“And don’t come back!”

* * *

Anastasia was nervous. After obtaining the key for room
sixty-six at the motel that Dr. Gavin Thibodeau and Aubrey Hart had chosen for
their meeting, Jasper had let her go inside and then disappeared, locking her
in. She had no idea where he had gone, and the sun would be coming up soon.

To fill the time she had read the little book that Esme had
given her, cover to cover. Though there was now a lot of new information in her
head, she couldn’t focus on it.

She wanted Jasper, and at the same time now understood why she
couldn’t have him. The book had told her what she hadn’t understood about
Petra’s plan—why her aunt had been so insistent that Jasper be the one to bite
Anastasia.

As with many things magical, the connections between certain
people were strong. Only one Darkling’s bite could awaken her powers, and that
Darkling had been sired by her father.

That Darkling was Jasper.

So she understood why they could not be together. There was
nothing familial in the bonds between Darklings, so they did not share blood or
a bond in that way—that was not the problem. No, she understood, she did.

Why would a Darkling want to awaken the powers of a creature
that could be used as a weapon against his own people?

She sighed and closed her eyes against the pain. When she
opened them again the light that filtered through the curtains seemed shades
lighter, and she wondered where on earth Jasper could be.

The door was wrenched open right at that moment, and her
Darkling—no, no, not
hers
—stalked into the room,
looking just as grumpy as he had when he’d left. The light brightened again, and
with a sinking heart Anastasia realized that Jasper couldn’t leave the room
again until night.

Well then, she would have to go, because there was no way that
she was staying in this tiny room with this man for the next twelve hours,
’cause that man sure as hell didn’t feel the same way she did.

Tucking the book into her pants pocket, she rose from the bed
where she had been sitting and moved past Jasper, who was still standing in the
same spot and staring at her. Her hand was on the doorknob when she found her
weight suspended in the air, her legs wrapped around Jasper’s waist.

Her mouth was devoured, his tongue tracing her teeth. Jasper’s
hands fisted in her hair, tugging at the loose strands, and her eyes widened in
surprise and then arousal.

He needed her. The message came through loud and clear. She
wouldn’t fool herself into thinking that it was for forever, but she would take
this one last time.

“Jasper.” The word was forced from her lips when he abruptly
lowered her to her feet. Turning her in his arms, he yanked the fastening of her
pants open and bent her over the bed.

“Yes.” She groaned out the word and waited for the feel of his
flesh sliding inside of her. The channel between her legs surged with
moisture.

The sting was bright as, instead of sliding his cock between
her legs, Jasper laid the flat of his palm against her flesh. She gasped, not
sure what to make of it.

He waited, waited for her approval. She could feel the need
vibrating through him…and more than that, the desire flooding through her.

He had spanked her. Whatever had brought it on, she had liked
it.

“More.” She rotated her hips and braced her elbows on the bed.
The cheap fabric pulled at her skin, but she barely noticed.

Her cheeks flushed as she waited for the next touch of his skin
on hers, the next slap of his palm across her ass.

“Aah.” It came, hard and with a resounding clap. Then again,
and again. Her world narrowed to nothing but sensation, and she welcomed the
narrow focus.

Jasper traced a finger roughly down her spine, delving between
the mounds of flesh that were red from his attentions. He continued until his
finger dipped into her waiting heat, but avoided that small area where all of
her most intense sensations lay.

She very nearly screamed.

When she heard the zip of his pants being lowered, the rasp
sounding harshly in the air, Anastasia could have wept with relief. She wanted
him to fill her. He made her wait moments more, while he shed his clothes, while
he pulled her shirt impatiently over her head. He filled his palms roughly with
her breasts, pinched her nipples while she moaned. Then he yanked her roughly
backward, his hands on her hips, and hilted his cock in her waiting heat.

Anastasia cried out loud, the sound echoing off of the barren
walls. The sex was rough, and hard, and fast, Jasper tunnelling in and out with
a nearly brutal force that her warrior’s spirit thrilled to. When he reached
between her legs, pinched the hard nub of flesh that was screaming for her
attention she fell over the edge, her cries mingling with Jasper’s as he fell
with her.

Panting, Anastasia let her weight fall onto the bed. She wasn’t
sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t for Jasper to pick her up, place her
in his lap and nuzzle his face into her neck.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He tried to turn, to look him in the
eyes, but he hid his face from her. Finally she planted her hands on his chest
and shoved. He fell backward onto the bed, and she straddled his hips, pinning
him down so that she could see him.

“What are you sorry about?” She genuinely didn’t know. He
didn’t answer, but she saw the look of torment in his eyes and guessed.

Sitting back on her heels, she huffed out a breath and ran her
fingers through her sex-messed hair, trying to figure out how to say what she
needed to say.

“Jasper, I’m not weak. I didn’t need you to save me from Petra.
I don’t need you to protect me…if that is why you’re staying.” This time she was
the one who looked away.

It had to be said, but she didn’t want to see his eyes as she
spoke those words.

“Anastasia.” Reaching up, Jasper took her chin in his hand and
turned her back to him. “You were hurt because of me, because I lost control.”
It broke her heart to see this big, alpha male so grievous.

“How do you think I’m going to survive once you’re gone?”
Anastasia tried to keep her tone light, joking, but it fell flat. Her own
emotions were too close to the surface, too raw.

“What do you mean, once I’m gone?” Anastasia could all but see
the wheels in Jasper’s brain begin to turn. “I’m not…I mean, I thought…”

“Hold up.” She shifted up his body, placed her hands on either
side of his head, bent down so that they were nose to nose. “Talk.”

Jasper…the only word she could use was
squirmed
. Finally realizing that he wasn’t going to get out of
answering the question he inhaled deeply, though she knew he didn’t have to, and
met her head-on.

“I want to stay. I want to be with you.” He looked concerned,
worried about rejection, and she would have laughed with delight if it hadn’t
been such a serious matter.

“That’s perfect. I want to be with you, too.” Before Anastasia
could even grin she was pinned to the bed, her mouth covered with his.

They kissed for a long time, slow, soft kisses that apologized
for the earlier urgency. When he slipped inside of her again, bit by bit,
Anastasia felt her heart rate increase with arousal. She saw Jasper’s eyes focus
on the pulse visible under the thin skin below her ear, and swallowed hard.