Darkness Becomes Her (6 page)

She stared at him, his long hair dripping water down his bare chest, towel snug around his hips.

She pulled her gaze to his face, pausing at the bruises along his shoulder and arm. “Sorry, didn’t mean to barge in. I called your name.”

“Didn’t hear you.” His eyes were taking in her towel, all the way down to her bare legs. “You need something to sleep in, don’t you?”

“Just something to put on tomorrow would be great, yeah.”

He walked into a closet and came back with a bundle of clothes in his hand. “You obviously won’t fit into any of my pants, but you could tie the string at the waistband of these sweats tight. The T-shirt’s ancient. Haven’t been shopping in a while and don’t have much reason to.” He tossed them to her.

She grabbed for them as they split apart in midair, and her towel came undone. It slid down her body as she held the shirt up against her. Which barely covered anything.

He turned around, hands out to his sides. “Sorry. Go ahead and put it on.”

She could see the faint reflection of his face in the glass of the doors. “You’re peeking.”

He tilted his head back and slapped his hand over his eyes. “Happy now?”

She slid the shirt over her, the worn material soft as silk. “Delirious.” Except she was looking at the indent of his back, the way his waist narrowed down to his hips, the way the terry cloth tightened over his ass. Doubly embarrassed, the words, “You threw this shirt at me on purpose. After a cheap thrill?” blurted out of her mouth.

He turned, his expression bland. “I have no use for cheap thrills. Or any kind of thrill, for that matter.”

“Except when you’re fighting a woman.”

What was wrong with her mouth? Too tired, too much crammed into her fried brain?

His eyebrow arched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I felt . . . you were aroused when you were manhandling me at my apartment.”

She figured he would deny it, but a puzzled expression painted his face. “I don’t know what the hell that was about. I have no intention of putting my thoughts, or my hands, on you. Two reasons you don’t have to worry about me.” He held up two fingers.

He wasn’t gay, or at least he sure didn’t come off as gay, especially with the, uh, evidence.

“One, despite my errant cock, I’ve shut off those desires. And two, I would never put the moves on my brother’s girl.”

She flinched at
cock,
spoken so bluntly. “All righty then, good to know.” The words about her being someone’s girl, though, curled through her tummy. Should she correct Lachlan’s assumption? No, better to leave it be, because him thinking that would keep a wall between them. Which was good because all this talk of cocks and desire tingled through her in a very strange way, and
that
was bad because she was looking at Lachlan as it happened. She would also leave the bigger question, of why he’d shut them off, alone. “Good night.” She started to turn but paused. “I have nightmares sometimes, and it might sound like someone’s killing me.”

“I’ll check on you anyway, just to make sure someone
isn’t
killing you.”

She nodded. “Hopefully I won’t disturb you. Good night.”

Unfortunately,
he
disturbed her. The awareness of him prickled through her body.

She paused at the sound of dogs barking in the distance. He stepped out of the room and cocked his ear.

“Not a wolf howl,” she said.

“No, but I’ve never heard dogs barking out there before. It’s odd, and I don’t like odd right now.” He flicked the switch in the hallway, dousing them in darkness. Only the dim lights from their rooms spilled into the hallway. He ducked into his room, killed that light, and returned seconds later wearing dark sweatpants. He carried the sword at his side, fingers gripping the handle. “Stay here.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you have a weapon? You don’t even have pants on. Stay here.”

He opened the window that led outside and climbed out deftly, considering he carried a sword. She closed the window behind him before he could open his mouth to tell her to do so. He gave her an approving nod and disappeared into the night.

She prowled the hallway, going from window to window. Russell would blend right into the night if he Became. He’d tear Lachlan up before Lachlan even glimpsed his enemy. Her chest bloomed with fear.

Like hell I’m sitting here while you fight my uncle.

Jessie pulled on the pants and tied them as tight as she could, though they hung low on her hips. She climbed out the window, but before her foot had touched ground, a hand grabbed her arm from inside the house.

Inside!

“Where are you going?”

She yelped, falling the rest of the way out the window into a probably ungainly heap on the ground. Lachlan’s voice. She lurched to her feet. “Going after you.” She brushed leaves off her shirt. “How’d you get back in the house so quietly?”

“I have my ways. Here.” He held out his hand, and gripped hers hard enough to pull her back in. She had a little more poise coming in, at least. Then again, his hands were on her hips to steady her, his fingers brushing against her bare skin. His gaze went down to his hands and he pulled away, a bit too fast, she thought.

He looked beyond her for a second, checking outside once more before he closed the window and pulled a leaf from her hair. “Get some sleep.”

“No sign of any dogs?”

He shook his head. “Maybe some sod’s hunting, thinking this is unoccupied land, and those were his dogs.”

The words
Or maybe not
hung in the air.

He escorted her to her room, remaining by the doorway like a father watching his child. She couldn’t see his face once he’d cut the light.

“Good night,” she whispered, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

“’Night.” He closed the door.

She lay there, listening for any unusual sounds. Lachlan would be sleeping on the other side of this wall. It was comforting in a way. In other ways, not comforting at all.

R
ussell watched through his minions’ eyes as the dogs roamed. He smiled, knowing that they would be the key to achieving his goal. He didn’t use them in the fight with Jessie because he was injured, and thrown off. But now they would work for him.

They moved fast, too fast at times for him to see the surroundings. Images bombarded him, because he saw through all of their eyes at once. He could tell, though, that they were going south of Annapolis, over a bridge, and then into a rural area.

“Good doggies,” he murmured.

They entered a large forest, hot on her trail. He couldn’t see much here, only shadows and the trunks of the trees they passed. Suddenly, they stopped. He could feel their confusion. They’d lost the signal. They went in one direction, then turned and went in a completely different one.

Was she using Darkness as some kind of magnetic field? So far she didn’t seem to know how to wield it as a weapon. She fought physically, and only Became when incited, having no definite form or weapon. She had managed to keep him at bay long enough to escape, but time was running out. Maybe he could ask for help. It would take a flight on a private chartered jet and some sweet talking. Begging even, if it came to that. Julian was the one person who could help him, and the one person who would least be willing to. But he would take that chance. If he didn’t get Jessie soon, he would lose the most important thing in his life. And for him, that would be true darkness.

Chapter 6

T
here would be no nightmares tonight. That was the good news. The bad? Jessie couldn’t sleep, at least not the deep kind. The bright moonlight wasn’t helping, spilling in through the French doors and washing over her bed. She got up, and her gaze went to the courtyard. In the silvery, two-dimensional light, trees and statues seemed surreal. It looked cold, too, as though she’d woken in another world—another dimension. Like walking through the closet in the Narnia books.

Could she really believe that something in Lachlan, in her, came from a parallel dimension?

Which means you’re not harboring a demon inside you.

So yes, she could believe. She would believe anything to put that horrible notion in its grave. But even Pope didn’t know what Darkness was.

She unlocked the door and opened it. Cold air washed in, slapping her cheeks and frosting her nostrils. They were fortunate that the weather was on a warming trend, but it was probably around forty degrees out now. She’d been watching the temps all week because of the carnival. The hazards of having one in March, but that’s when the vendors could afford to do it for charity.

She pulled on her pants and shoes but couldn’t find where she’d tossed her shirt. Turning on the light would be too bright and harsh. Her coat was somewhere in the house. She went to the closet and found the coat she’d seen earlier, one of Magnus’s, no doubt. The plaid, fleece-lined coat absolutely buried her, but in a comforting way. She stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

Someone had put little signs amidst the foliage, though she couldn’t read the words. The moonlight felt good on her face, and she lifted her chin and soaked in the sun’s distant reflection.

She continued walking along the flagstone path. In the corner, a large angel statue reached skyward. She wanted to believe in angels, in things that protected you, loved you. All she’d seen was death, Darkness. Maybe angels didn’t protect and love aberrations like her. She turned away, but knew she could never turn away from what she was.

A few steps later another statue made her heart jump into her throat. A man, sitting in a meditative position on the flagstones, palms up, on his bare thighs. He couldn’t be real, because no human would be sitting out in the cold wearing only shorts. Why was her heart still thrumming, then?

She tiptoed closer, saw that his eyes were closed. His long hair poured over his naked shoulders. Shoulders that trembled.

Lachlan.

He didn’t open his eyes but said, “Go back inside. It’s cold out here.”

“Uh . . .
yeah
. Which begs the question, why are
you
sitting out here half naked on the cold flagstones?”

“It’s just something I do. I have a routine. Now, go. Leave me alone.”

Those last words dug into her, like the beak of a raven digging into the pulpy flesh of an orange. She turned and took several steps away. Her feet slowed with each step, as though there was a rubber band around her, him, and she could not walk any farther. He was watching her. She saw the effort it took him to turn and close his eyes.

Something about him sitting there pulled at her, tearing her own heart.
You see his loneliness, and it’s a mirror of your own. The way he shuts you out, a mirror of the way you shut out others.

Because I have to,
she told the voice inside her that loved to point out what she held, and hid, deep inside. Her conscience, she guessed, always poking at her wounds.

She could figure herself out pretty well, at least the parts she knew. Magnus, she pegged as a flirt, daring, comfortable in his good looks and charm, living for the moment.

Lachlan wasn’t easy to peg. Fierce, determined, but driven not by rage. She thought of his bare room, the refrigerator lacking anything of real substance or pleasure. He’d shut off those desires. The realization struck her in the chest. He was punishing himself.

She walked back to him. He kept his eyes closed, though she could see them twitching beneath his lids, fighting to open. She sat down in front of him and mirrored his posture.

That got him to open his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I want to know how it feels to sit out here.”

“It’s cold and uncomfortable.”

Yeah, she got that, even with the coat on. “How long have you been out here?”

“Since four.”

Almost an hour. He shivered from time to time, but his voice gave away no hint of how cold he was. Magnus had told her, back at the carnival grounds, that his brother was unbalanced. Breaking into her apartment proved he was on the edge of crazy. It also showed his devotion to his brother. In the end, Lachlan hadn’t been so crazy after all. He’d seen a vision of the future, one that had come true.

He was beautiful in the moonlight, shifting beyond humanity to a silvered demigod. That stirred her in a place she’d never felt before, drawing her to him, to the dangerous edge of him.

An alarm beeped. He got stiffly to his feet and regarded her for a moment before holding out his hand to her. “Come on, go back to sleep.”

As though he were beckoning her to his bed. A different kind of stirring now, lower, deeper.

She let him pull her to her feet. “Are you going back to bed?”

“No.”

He walked in the other direction, to the back portion of the house. She remained there, watching him go into a door. Lights came on, revealing a long room with wooden floors and a mirrored wall at the rear, like a ballet studio. He walked into another room and out of sight. She took a few steps closer to the wall of windows, tucking herself behind a tree. A few minutes later he returned to the main room, wearing jersey pants but nothing else. He took a sword down from a wall that she could now see was covered with different types of weapons, mostly swords.

He’d tied his hair back and shaved his beard. He didn’t look so rough or primitive with his face clean-shaven. His expression, though, was still fierce.

He moved with deliberate grace, like tai chi with a sword, stretching his body at angles that pushed his ribs against his skin. His movements quickened as he warmed up, lunging, slashing, moving as one with the sword. She saw none of that weird electricity she’d seen during his fight with Russell. He was quite skilled without it.

Oh, yes, he was beautiful in a fierce sort of way, and suddenly the coat seemed too heavy and warm. She started to pull it off but remembered she wore no shirt beneath it. She opened it down to the dip between her breasts, chilling the drops of perspiration gathered there.

“You might as well come in out of the cold.”

She looked up to find Lachlan in the doorway. “How did you know I was out here?”

“I could feel you.”

Whoa.
She walked inside. “I can’t sleep. You don’t mind if I watch you . . . do whatever it is you’re doing?”

“Practice, every day from five to six. Stay clear.” He pointed with his sword to the far corner. “Over there.”

“Don’t worry about me. Pretend I’m not here.”

He made a sound suspiciously like a grunt. “Then you’d better close your coat.”

She jammed the edges together, her cheeks warming, and quickly changed the subject. “The bruises. Did I do those?” She walked up to him, taking a closer look at the ugly purple bruises on his shoulder.

He looked at them. “You fight like a hellcat.”

She couldn’t help herself, reaching out and gently touching the skin next to the bruised area.

He flinched but didn’t move away. “Don’t touch me.”

She met his gaze at the soft order. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

Her fingers had barely grazed skin that had no bruising. She let her hand drop and walked to the place he’d indicated before.

He faced an imaginary opponent, bringing his sword around. He pretended to meet his enemy’s sword, his blade pointing downward. Then, rotating the sword above his head, he delivered a fatal, slashing blow.

The sword was black metal, with what looked like a playing card’s spade at the base of the handle, and then a carved section of wood. The hand guards were angled toward the blade. The metal was pitted and seemed forever old. He was liquid motion, steel strength, and she could see how he maintained his lean but muscular physique. Her chest tightened as she watched, and that odd sensual heat curled through her like tendrils of fire.

He ran toward the far wall as though he intended to barrel right through it. At the last second he tucked his sword to his side and ran right up the wall, doing a complete flip until he landed on his feet again.

“Show off,” she said with a smile.

“I’m pretending you’re not here, remember?”

“Oh . . . right.”

She’d put her hand to her chest, her fingers clutching the edges of the coat. If she watched him the whole hour he planned to be in here, she’d be a puddle on the floor. That every now and then he slid a glance her way made it even harder. She actually didn’t get the sense he was showing off. Between those glances, he was focused, eyes as hard as the steel of his blade. He hated whoever he imagined as his opponent. Every thrust, every slash, carried the extra energy of that enmity.

“Who are you pretending to engage?” She followed his gaze to the mirror, seeing the recipient of that hatred.

He didn’t answer, just gritted his teeth and kept fighting.

“You’re fighting yourself, aren’t you?”

He grunted, neither confirming nor denying.

He had gone beyond grief and self-recrimination, to punishing himself with meditating in the cold, these brutal workouts, and that bare room. Cutting off his desires, a psychic castration.

But she had made him respond.

It all stirred inside her, like a boiling witch’s cauldron. She pushed herself to move away, walking to a collection of pictures, trophies, and plaques on the far wall. The plaques declared either Magnus or Lachlan a winner of some sort of competition or another, like the “2003 Kick Arse Highlander Warrior Award,” given to Lachlan. Or the “2005 Shot in the Eye Archery Award,” declaring Magnus the winner. The accompanying pictures showed the boys at various ages, their father or mother presenting the award. Interestingly, these were all competitions held at their home, with the brothers the only competitors.

She glanced back at Lachlan, unable to keep her gaze away for long. He was looking at her. She turned back to the wall, now shifting over to the pictures of the brothers in swordplay. Magnificence, especially the ones where they wore kilts. Never anyone else but the core family in the pictures.

She heard his heavy breathing as he came up from behind, and forced herself not to turn. The scent of clean sweat and male sent a spiral of heat right down the center of her body. He stepped up beside her, slick, tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck damp, chest rising and falling with his breaths.

Which reminded her of how good sex would be: sweaty, heavy breathing, and this hot, wet feeling flowing through her. She didn’t even realize she’d begun running her finger along the edge of the coat collar, bumping over the ridges of her ribs.

“You’ll see him soon enough,” he said, nodding toward the picture.

“Who? Oh, Magnus. Yes, I’ll have a lot to explain to him. I hope he won’t hate me.”

“He’ll be angry at both of us, and confused, I’d imagine. But he’ll come to see that it was the only decision we could make. Then he’ll take you to bed and all will be well.”

His gaze followed her finger and remained where her coat had fallen open enough to reveal the pale dip between her breasts. Her nipples had hardened, because of his standing there making her think of sex. But he was talking about sex with Magnus, which didn’t feel the same.

“Stop talking about him taking me to bed.”

“You’re looking at his picture, obviously remembering how good it was. He’s probably quite adept. We spent a lot of time . . . ‘researching’ sex as youths who had no way to experience it. Magazines, movies, chat rooms. There’s a lot of information out there for hungry young men. But the most important thing we learned is that if the woman is enjoying herself, everything else will fall into place. You’re thinking about how he made you feel, how much you want him again.”

“You are completely, utterly rude and disgusting.”

His mouth quirked. “Aye, that I am. Utterly. Completely.” He leaned closer. “And I’m a sick bastard, too, wanting to hear how much you loved it, how he branded you with his tongue, his—”

She put her hand over his mouth. “Stop.”

“Just tell me, and I’ll shut up.” His mouth moved against her palm, warm, moist breath pulsing against her skin.

She jerked it away, her throat going dry, heat pooling low in her stomach. Because she saw it now, his desire for her, the heaviness in his eyes before he caught himself and banked it. He wasn’t being voyeuristic or even rude. He wanted to hear the words that would kill his desire, because wanting her was an unpardonable sin against his brother.
I would never put the moves on my brother’s girl.

“I hate to disappoint you, but I never slept with Magnus.”

It wasn’t relief that colored his face, but anger. “Why the hell not? He’s charming, good-looking. What normal, hot-blooded woman could resist him?”

She gritted her teeth. “I’m not normal, in case you forgot.” He spun around and stalked off. Before he could reach the interior door, she said, “I’m going to the carnival this morning. I’ve got to finish up a couple of things before it opens.”

His shoulders tensed as he seemed to tamp down all that frustration and anger. He tilted his head up, still facing away from her. “No way.”

“I can’t just not show up. I’ve been too involved in this, and my absence will be suspicious. I have to tell Hayley not to go to my apartment. She’s the girl the carnival benefits.”

“The girl who got the anonymous bone marrow donation.”

“Yes. There’ll be people there, so it should be safe. And I need to go to my apartment, get my things.”

“You’ll have to tell them you can’t stay long. You have a family emergency. It’s not a lie. It’s too dangerous to be out in the open.”

“You think Russell would attack me in front of witnesses in broad daylight?”