Dark Desire (9 page)

Taer awoke suddenly when she sensed something wasn’t quite right. The base of her neck seemed to tingle in warning. Blinking rapidly, she looked around the endless black hallway she found herself standing in. She realized she was in someone’s dream … but whose?

Looking over her shoulder, she found a door. Letting out a steadying breath, Taer pushed against the pale wood, the barrier giving way easily. Remembering what Korvain had told her, she stepped through the doorway and into the inky blackness on the other side. Taer waited for the pinprick of light in front of her to grow and expand, to reveal where she was.

She was indoors. A king-sized bed upholstered in black leather with blood-red sheets took up most of the room. On either side of it sat bedside tables with black lamps and shades. The lamps were both turned off, but there were some candles in small glass jars scattered on both tables, all flickering with a warm light.

Taer let her eyes drift. The walls were painted dark gray, and almost looked black in the dim light. There was very little furniture in the room, except for a footstool sitting at the end of the giant bed. She walked over to one of the bedside tables and picked up the book lying there.

The copy of Jane Austen
’s
Pride and Prejudice
was well worn, the pages dog-eared, the binding frayed and warped as if it had been read a thousand times before.

“I was wondering how long it would take you,” a male’s voice said behind her. Taer spun around, dropping the book to the floor. It landed with a dull
thud
, matching the hard throb of her heart pounding against her rib cage. Aubrey stood on the other side of the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, his pale skin glistening with droplets of water.

He sauntered towards her, his hips swaying provocatively. “Despite my lack of attire, I must say this is rather a pleasant surprise.”

Taer’s eyes fell from his face to chase a rivulet of water that ran down the smooth expanse of his toned chest and stomach before enticingly disappearing into the towel. Her mouth was suddenly dry as desire coursed thick and fast through her blood. The hammering of her heart in her ears only confirmed what she already knew: she was attracted to this male. She swiped the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip, and Aubrey’s normally luminescent eyes darkened a fraction when they darted down to watch.

He smiled at her lazily, the gleam of lust in his eyes unmistakable.

“Couldn’t wait to see me again?” he asked in his practiced drawl, his lip still hitched up in that grin that seemed to quicken Taer’s breathing. He was trying to throw her off balance, and she wouldn’t let that happen.

Boldly, she let her eyes wander back down his torso. Aubrey laughed, a husky, throaty sound, causing Taer’s blood pressure to spike.

“Like what you see, Little Girl?” he asked, amused.

Taer tilted her chin in defiance at his assumption, even though it was true. He had a warrior’s body, although not like Korvain’s. Korvain was pure muscle and size. Aubrey was much more slender, but his stomach rippled with solid muscle, and his shoulders and arms were highly defined.

“And if I did?” she shot back, enjoying the hint of surprise on his handsome face.

He grinned salaciously. “Then I’d say we’d better do something about that. I’d hate to leave you wanting.”

He let the towel around his waist drop to the ground. It pooled at his bare feet and Taer’s breathing hitched. His semi-erect cock was growing larger, longer and harder under her steady gaze, and the desire she felt for him multiplied a hundredfold.

Taer met his hot gaze once more, her face blank. “Was that
little
stunt supposed to impress me?” she asked.

Aubrey’s smile widened, one hand coming to rest on his heart. “Oh, how you wound me, Little Girl,” he simpered. “But no matter how cool you play this, I know you’re just as attracted to me as I am to you.” He approached her gracefully, his scent swirling around them, drawing her in closer. He was only a few inches away from her now, the flickering candlelight dancing over his bare skin. Taer swallowed hard, her eyes darting back to his face when he spoke again. “I knew you were there, watching me with that woman.”

He reached up to touch the strands of hair that had come loose from her bun, sliding the silken lengths behind her ear. Even though he hadn’t physically touched her skin, she could feel his hands as if they were touching every inch of her body … intimately.

“I said I’d find you when I had the information you needed—so why else would you seek me out, hmm?” he asked, his breath warm on her skin. “Just admit it to yourself. You. Want. Me.”

A shuddered breath left her lungs, her eyes sliding shut. She wanted to surrender to him, but that wasn’t why she had accepted his help. She’d accepted it because he said he could get her close to Darrion.

And just like that; Aubrey’s spell was broken.

Taer woke with a gasp, suddenly, as if she’d had a bucket of ice-water thrown on her, her eyelids fluttering rapidly as she took in her surroundings. Her own bed. Her own room. Eir sleeping in the bed nearby. She had made it back, but how in hell had she ended up in Aubrey’s dream in the first place?

Vanaheim—903 AD

Ten years had passed since the death of Darrion’s parents and little sister, Ara. Ten long years in which thoughts of avenging his family had burrowed into every single cell in his body, festering until as a young Mare he was left hell-bent on taking from Odin what Odin had taken from him.

Njord’s army had grown exponentially in that time. They had followed in the wake of Odin and his Valkyries, combing through the devastation they’d left behind, seeking out the dark elves who had slipped through the cracks and survived. These Mares were the most dangerous. They had nothing left to lose and everything to gain by training to become killers.

Darrion wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes on the blood splashed all over the rough ground. Some of it had been soaked up by the sand thrown on the hard-packed floor. Some was dull and old against the dark dirt.

And none of it was his.

Arthon—his opponent—blinked up at Darrion from the floor, his blood streaming out of the cuts to his head, lip and neck. He cradled one elbow in his hand, holding his broken arm close to his body.

That thought alone brought a sadistic smile to his lips. When Darrion fought, he fought until blood was spilled and his opponent’s body was broken—and even then he didn’t stop.

“I think you broke my arm,” Arthon mumbled, spitting blood out as he spoke. Darrion’s shoulders lifted slightly. He wasn’t about to waste his fucking energy on any more movement than that.

“He could have killed you,” another voice said. Darrion regarded Njord, who had appeared from one of the many tunnels leading around their guild house. The Vanir god looked like a proud father, beaming at the good deeds of his son. “But he didn’t because I won’t allow it.”

Arthon’s eyes lowered in deference. “Yes, master.”

Njord frowned at him. Darrion watched Njord take in Arthon’s injuries, taking stock of them, calculating where and when Darrion had struck. “Get your wounds attended to,” he ordered.

Without making eye contact, Arthon struggled to his feet. One of the other Mares rushed over to help him, holding him up and leading him toward a room off the main tunnel that housed a crude medical station. As Mares, the superficial damage they suffered could be healed, but for broken bones and more serious internal injuries, it took time.

Turning, Njord asked Darrion, “How long did it take you to inflict that much damage?”

Darrion shrugged. “Forty-five seconds.”

“You could have done it in thirty.” Njord’s retort wasn’t meant to rile Darrion, but it had that effect.

“I’ll do better next time.”

The god regarded him for a moment. “I have no doubt.” He walked away, indicating to Darrion he wanted him to follow. “How was he until he started bleeding out?”

“He was good.”

“But not as good as you.”

“Nobody is as good as me,” Darrion replied simply. He knew he was a natural—born to it. He understood that being a farmer, tilling the fields with his father, wouldn’t have satisfied this dark desire Njord had nurtured within him.

Thinking about his father and the life he could have been living brought him up short. He hadn’t thought about that before. All he’d ever considered was finding bloody revenge for his whole family’s death.

“What is it?” Njord asked, taking Darrion by the arm and leading him further away from the other nearby groups of Mares still sparring.

“Why is Odin doing this? Why is he hunting my people down like dogs?”

Njord seemed to think about that for a moment. Eventually he said, “One fears what one fails to understand. Odin is no different … and dark elves are some of the only beings in all the Nine Worlds that don’t bend to his will.”

“But
why
would he want to control us? What use do we have? We have no powers like the gods.”

The Vanir gave him a knowing smile that Darrion couldn’t decipher. “You are probably unaware of this, since you came from a poor family, but with special training, a Mare can be quite dangerous. With the right information and knowledge, they can become something special …” Njord trailed off before adding, “They can become Shadow Walkers.”

“Shadow Walkers?”

“Yes. Those of pure blood, and I mean
pure
blood, were able to wrap shadows around them, to conceal themselves. They could become invisible, making them the most feared creature in all of the Nine Worlds—even feared by the All-Father.”

“What happened to the pure-blooded Mares?”

“There are none left now. Odin wiped them out. He has been persecuting dark elves for over one hundred years, wiping out entire generations without a thought other than to strike first and strike hard.

“So what some families started to do was capture a light elf—usually a male—and force them to bed one of their females. The light elves’ paler features are dominant, so most of the offspring would have their blond hair and light eyes.”

Darrion touched his pale hair absently, staring at Njord with wide blue eyes. The Vanir nodded in silent understanding.

“You inherited the paler traits, but your sister and mother had the darker features.”

Darrion had often wondered why he’d looked so different from his sister and mother—and why his father looked more like a light elf. “My blood is not pure,” he reflected. “I can never be a Shadow Walker.”

“I don’t want you to be a Shadow Walker.” Njord stepped closer and grasped Darrion’s shoulder lightly. “I want you to become the Master of Shadow Walkers.”

Darrion’s brow knitted together. “And how is that possible, when I’m not even worthy of calling myself a real Mare?”

Njord laughed and swept Darrion around by his shoulder. Darrion saw immediately what the Vanir was showing him: every single pair of eyes in the room was locked on him, fear and uncertainty simmering just below the depths.

In his ear, Njord whispered, “You don’t need to be worthy. All you need is the determination to take what you want. All you need is their fear.” He gestured to Darrion’s fellow trainees, still staring at him. “All you need to do is control them with this fear and you will dominate them.”

Darrion grinned. He liked the sound of that. “How?” he asked.

“Who is the best out of the group? Is it Arthon?”

“Yes.”

“Kill him.” He said the words so calmly, as if asking Darrion to fetch him a cup of water.

“Now?” Darrion asked.

Njord studied his face, searching for something. “Make them fear you. Make them uncertain of their position in our army.”

“
Our
army?”

“That’s what we’ve been doing, Darrion. We’ve been building an army against Odin. I’m training
them
to become the most lethal killers so that
you
can get your revenge on the All-Father. But in order to have their respect and their fear, you need do as I ask.”

Could Darrion kill the other Mare? He weighed his master’s words carefully as he considered his reply. He stared into the god’s glowing green eyes as an idea took shape.

“I’ve got a better idea.”

Eir was just finishing getting dressed when there was a small knock on the door. She’d been in a daze since she’d woken up that morning. Last night, she’d dreamed of Mason again. They were still in the park, but it felt different this time, though she didn’t know how to explain it. It was almost as if there were unseeing eyes watching her, which made absolutely no sense at all.

“Eir?” Korvain’s dark voice rumbled through the door. “Are you ready to go?”

With one last look at her reflection, Eir opened up the door. The Mare filled up the space between the jambs, and for a fleeting second, the fear rose up in her. She worked hard to push it back down. She could trust Korvain. He’d proven himself time and time again—it was just the old panic rising up in her. It was like trying to tell a cat not to fear a dog; it was instinct. Pure and simple.

“Morning,” she said, giving him a tentative smile. “I’m ready.”

Korvain led the way from the apartment and down to the lower levels of the club they now all called home.

Getting used to living with the other Valkyries had been surprisingly easy for Eir.

She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed them living alone—and now there were only five of them left, the sisterly bond she felt for her fellow Valkyries was ten times more potent.

Once they were outside the bar, Korvain placed his hand on the small of her back, applying the slightest pressure, to indicate he was ready to go when she was. Eir closed her eyes and thought of the darkest section of the hospital parking lot. An instant later, Eir felt the hum of a fade. Her eyes slid shut as she followed Korvain to the darkest section of the hospital parking lot.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, the sound of her shoes dainty compared to the harsh crunch of Korvain’s boots over the hard concrete.

“What time do you finish?” he asked.

“It’s a twelve-hour shift, so around eight tonight. I’ll let you know if I’m running late.”

“Okay.” Korvain didn’t take his eyes off the people and cars around them, always checking for potential threats. Once they got to the doors of the emergency department, he pushed her gently in the direction of the entrance. Eir walked through, the harsh sting of antiseptic hitting her nose the instant she was over the threshold.

Before she disappeared through the door, she turned and waved at Korvain.

“Wow, Eir, he’s smoking hot,” Stacy said from behind the receptionist’s desk as she passed.

That brought Eir to an abrupt stop. “Excuse me?”

Stacy indicated to the main doors. “That guy!” she exclaimed. “Talk about tall, dark and handsome.”

Eir only smiled and shrugged. “I guess.”

“Is he single?” the receptionist continued.

“Ah, no. He’s dating my sister.”

Stacy’s face fell. “Too bad.” She turned away, but stopped. “Hey, did you hear about that murder in Chicago?” she asked. “It’s all over the news!”

Eir frowned. She hadn’t had time to watch the news that morning. “No, I didn’t.”

Stacy leaned in as if she were divulging a secret. “The cops found this warehouse filled with at least a dozen bodies. Apparently it was some mob boss. It looked like it was personal, too, because there was one body that had been strung up from the rafters.” She glanced conspiratorially over her shoulder. “They haven’t released this information yet, but my brother was one of the first cops on the scene and
he
told
me
that the body had been decapitated. They found his head on the floor below the body, positioned so it looked like he was staring up at his own corpse.”

Eir felt her stomach turn. “Why would someone do something like that?” She already had a pretty good idea of
what
could have caused that kind of damage.

Stacy shrugged unapologetically, a gleam of excitement in her eyes. “I don’t know, but whoever did it, my brother said they’re good. They haven’t been able to find a shred of evidence at the warehouse. It’s as if they don’t even exist.”

She had a dreamy sort of quality to her voice when she spoke, making Eir shiver. “Anyway, I’ll see you later,” she chirped before going back to work, answering phones and filling out paperwork. Eir shook her head. The murders sounded like a Walker hit. Could it have been Darrion in a fit of rage? But why? From what Korvain had told her, Darrion was a cold-hearted killer, so the rage theory didn’t fit. And Chicago seemed like a strange city for him to be working in.

She went into the change room to get into her scrubs, only to be ambushed by one of the oncology nurses in the hallway.

“Eir, I’m glad I found you. I could really use your help right now.”

“Of course, Mark. What can I do?”

Mark looked up and down the hallway surreptitiously, leaning in closely to speak into her ear. “I need your special hands to work their magic.”

Mark—whose real name was Eolas—was a light elf who blended in well with the humans. It was only times like this that he let her see just how much he knew about her.

“Of course,” she replied. Eir knew her secret was safe with Mark. She followed him to the bank of elevators, standing beside him as they waited. “Who is it?” she asked him quietly, as another nurse and two doctors joined their waiting group.

“An elderly gentleman. He’s going to get his diagnosis and treatment options this morning, but he’s already in a lot of pain. I’m not sure how much more he can take. I was hoping …”

“I’ll do what I can,” she said, squeezing his forearm gently. When her palm connected with his skin, she could instantly feel Mark’s distress for his patient. “It’s going to be all right.”

Mark placed his hand over hers and squeezed it briefly before releasing her. The elevator arrived and they all got on. A few minutes later Eir found herself being ushered into a private room on the fifth floor.

The man lying on the bed was incredibly still, with just his chest rising up and down shallowly with every pain-filled breath. Mark walked towards the man and touched him gently on the shoulder.

“Mr. Adamsen?” he asked gently. The man’s paper-thin eyelids opened, his pale, cracked lips contorting into a grimace. The man blinked a few times, and Eir watched as his hands curled into weak fists at his sides. “I’ve brought someone here to help take the pain away,” Mark said.

He beckoned her forward, beseeching her with his eyes to do something for the man. Eir approached the bed, breathing in the scent of sickness through her nose. She knew without putting her hands on the old man that he didn’t have long left.

Mark spoke again. “Mr. Adamsen, this is Eir. She’s just going to touch your chest, and you’ll feel better. I promise.”

The man’s eyes focused on Eir for a moment before the slightest nod of his head said she could continue. Flexing her hands a few times, she lifted them up and placed them gently on top of the thin scrap of material covering Mr. Adamsen’s torso. She could feel the wiry hair of his gaunt chest through the gown, could feel that his body temperature was a lot cooler than it should have been.

Eir’s eyes slid shut when the rush of pain coursed through her body, making her heart pound faster. She stumbled back a little from the force of the cancer invading his frail body, but was able to keep her hands on his chest.

He had no hope.

Mark took hold of her upper arm, supporting her against the tide of pain ripping through her body. A few seconds later, Mr. Adamsen groaned in relief, his body becoming lax under Eir’s healing palms. After a few more seconds, she pulled away and took a few steps back from the bed.

“Is it bad?” Mark asked, pressing her shoulders so she’d sit down on the only chair in the room. Eir brought her hand to her forehead, noticing the shake.

“It’s aggressive. It’s in his lymph nodes and in nearly every organ.” She blinked up at the light elf. “He doesn’t have long.”

Mark’s eyes hardened. “It’s worse than we thought, then. I’m not sure his body can even handle the treatment we have planned for him.”

Eir slumped forward, feeling as useless as she’d felt after taking her sister’s pain from her. She had only deferred it for Kristy, and even then, it hadn’t stopped Loki from killing her twin in any case.

Taking away the pain when it was this severe always took it out of her. She was used to doing small things, like regulating breathing or improving circulation. Her palms began to burn and, seeing her discomfort, Mark took one hand in between both of his and started to rub the pain away.

“Better?” he asked.

She bit her lip, hastily pulling her hand free of his grasp as the doctor walked into the room. Mark stood a little straighter, she noticed, too.

“Mark? Are you ready?” the doctor asked. Eir didn’t know the man personally, so she stood back and tried to blend into the background. A few times, Mark’s eyes flicked over to her, but Eir tried not to notice.

Eir stood off to one side as they explained to Mr. Adamsen what the combination of chemotherapy and radiotherapy would do to his already ravaged body. Hair loss. Anemia. Fatigue. Nausea. He’d have it all, and even then there was no guarantee that he’d beat the cancer, given his age and ailing health. The doctor was so matter-of-fact about the whole thing that she wanted to throw her hands over her ears and stop listening. He was treating Mr. Adamsen like he was already dead.

“Eir?” Mark said gently, taking one of her hands.

Her gaze landed on her hand and saw how well it fit into his. She liked Mark, but she wasn’t interested in having a relationship with him. Mark’s face fell when she pulled away from him, but it only lasted for a moment.

He said, “Thanks for coming in to help. He’s sleeping peacefully now.”

Eir looked over his shoulder and saw Mr. Adamsen was indeed resting, his breathing even. “That’s good.”

“Look, Eir … I know there’s a policy about this and everything, but do you think you’d like to have dinner with me sometime?” Mark asked, his eyes hopeful.

She took a step away. “That’s really nice of you to ask, Mark, and I’m flattered, really, but—”

Mark stopped her with the wave of his hand. “It’s okay, Eir. I just thought I’d ask.” He sighed. “Have a great rest of the day,” he added, a little too brightly.

And with that, he turned and left the room. Giving him a few minutes’ head start, Eir left the room, too, making her way down to the elevators to get back to the ER. She just needed to get lost in her work for a little while.