Nikolai: A Dark Light Novella (Dark Light #2.5) (8 page)

Still, everyone knows I’m not to be fucked with. Call it instinct or a sixth sense, they can feel the way the tiny hairs on their arms stand upright whenever I’m near. They notice the drop in the temperature, the sudden density in the air. That niggling voice in the back of their heads that tell them to run and not look back. I am the supreme evil, a force so dark and dangerous that even grown men quake in my presence.

The whimpers grow louder as I take a step towards the group of bystanders, and something in my little black heart rejoices. Ah, yes. Fear. Like fucking candy to the Dark. The taste for it developing on my tongue, my mouth curls into a devilish smirk before I wink an icy blue eye, causing the light bulbs in the room to pop and shatter. Shrieks ring out, and I bark out a hearty laugh. What’s the point in having all this power if you can’t have a little fun?

I approach a young woman quivering on the carpet. Her gaze instantly drops to the floor and I crouch before her to meet her eyes.

“Look at me, little one,” I command. Reluctantly, she lifts her head, giving me access to her big brown eyes. She’s beautiful, her skin smooth as silk, the color of sweet chocolate. “That’s right. Good girl.”

Her curly tendrils frame her face in a wild, exotic style and I reach out to gently stroke the dark coils. She instantly relaxes, her wide eyes still locked onto mine. “Now that you’re calm, I have a few questions for you, pretty girl. Do you know who I am?”

“No, sir,” she squeaks, her voice light and high pitched, with a thick Yat accent.

“Good,” I smile. “Do you know
what
I am?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. That’s very good. Do you work here, sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir,” she answers without hesitance. Feeling the pull of my influence mixed with her carnal desire, she moves into my touch. Her dark eyes grow hot and sultry, and her nipples pucker under her thin satin slip.

“And how old are you?”

The girl captures my hand in her own and brings it to her lips, kissing the palm. “Fifteen, but Malcolm makes me tell people I’m nineteen.” When I frown and pull my hand free, she scrambles forward, nearly climbing onto my lap. “But I swear I’m good! I’m one of the best here. Malcolm even says I’m his favorite. He said my young, tight pussy feels like heaven and tastes as sweet as a hot fudge sundae. And that I give the best head in three parishes.”

Bile rises in my throat, and my irises tingle with fury. “No need, dear one. No need to worry about that ever again.”

I’m on my feet in a blur of blistering rage and cross the room just as Varshaun finishes his tirade.

“The next time I even suspect any of your girls stepping out of bounds, I’ll do more than blow open the fucking door,” he warns him. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, Mr. V. If I find any of my girls have broken the rules, I’ll kill them myself,” he stammers, beads of sweat rolling down his fat face. He exhales a sigh of relief when Varshaun nods and turns to retreat. Little does he know, V is the least of his problems.

“Listen to me, you fat fuck,” I hiss, moving in so close that I smell the vile odor of his rapid breaths. “You’re done using underage girls. So done, that you will return them to their homes plus compensate them all for exploiting them. Let’s say twenty grand each, plus you’ll ensure they get into decent schools. Doesn’t that sound fair?”

“Wha-? Twenty grand? I don’t have that kind of money!” he screeches indignantly, causing revolting spittle to fly from his mouth.

“You heard me, you sick fucker. Twenty grand. And if you don’t have the cash, I suggest you find a good realtor. You have three days.”

I spin on my heel and make my way to the door where Varshaun waits, wearing a delighted grin. My eyes spot the young girl with the spiral curls, and I nod to her. Her big, brown eyes shine with grateful tears.

“It’s not like they didn’t want it, you know,” Malcolm calls out from behind my back, obviously delirious. I pause mid-step, my trembling fists tight at my sides. “They begged for it. Pussy is pussy, no matter how old it is. As long as it can grow a bush, it’s fuckable.”

My mind instantly goes to Amelie. She could’ve been one of these girls. She could’ve been the girl with the curly, brown hair, used and abused at such a tender age. What if it was Malcolm that her father was indebted to? What if she was forced to offer her body to him in exchange for her father’s life?

“You know, on second thought…” I turn around to face his deranged scowl, blind rage clouding my rationale. “I really,
really
hate child molesters.”

I raise my palm, spreading my fingers as they become engulfed in blue fire. Simultaneously, Malcolm’s limbs go rigid and his mouth falls slack, completely immobilized. His muddy brown eyes are filled with terror as he tries to struggle against the invisible restraints. Drool drips from the corner of his disgusting mouth.

“Shhhh,” I say in his ear. “Don’t fight it. It will all be over soon, you piece of shit. You won’t be able to abuse another child again. Now … along with child molesters, I despise spineless men. And you, dear Malcolm, are spineless.”

Malcolm grunts out a tearful response as I circle his grotesque frame. Dozens watch with rapt attention, yet none of them step up to save their employer. They have no love, no loyalty for him.

“Yes, yes, I agree,” I nod, responding to his indecipherable groans. I stop in front of him and smooth the silken fabric on his meaty shoulders. “You really aren’t completely spineless. But that can definitely be arranged.”

With my hand still covered in blue flames, I sink it into Malcolm’s gut, spearing through blubber, tissue and vital organs. Screams ring out all over the mansion, masking his muffled cries of pain. Yes, pain. Though he may not be able to move, he can feel everything. He can feel me clawing my way through his flesh with razor-sharp talons. Can feel the blood gushing from the gaping whole in his abdomen. And when my hand wraps around his spine, he can feel every-fucking-thing as I rip it from his body.

“There you go, motherfucker,” I say, dropping the blood-slick bones to the floor just as Malcolm takes his last pathetic breath. I release the hold on his body and it crumples to the floor in a bloody heap. “Now, you’re really spineless.”

I look around at the array of panicked faces staring back at me. “You all are free to go,” I call out, loud enough for my voice to echo throughout the grand house. “However, if you wish to stay, you can be sure that you’ll be provided with sufficient living conditions, pay and healthcare, as well as protection. And if you are younger than the age of eighteen, a car will be sent this afternoon to take you home to your families.”

As if on cue, the young girl approaches me, holding out a towel. Graciously, I take it, wiping away Malcolm’s putrid blood and guts that extend all the way up to my elbow. Fuck. Another suit ruined. But as I look down at the young girl, and the other grateful faces surrounding me, I know that I’ve done the right thing. I’ve chosen to be
better
.

I lay on my back on top of the satin, ornate comforter, my head resting on top of my hands … and I smile.

Amelie is showering in the en suite bathroom just feet away, and images of her naked and wet, with only tiny suds kissing her most intimate places, are engrained in my head, causing my cock to ache with need.

It’s been nearly two weeks since I had sex. Two weeks of sleeping chastely next to Amelie’s tight, delicious body. Two weeks of feeling the warmth of her smile. Two weeks of letting someone see me for the very first time, and not being afraid of the rejection. Laughing heartily at her corny jokes. Listening intently as she tells me stories of her old neighborhood and growing up on the wrong side of the tracks. Teaching her how to play chess, and in turn, her teaching me how to play Gin Rummy. Watching her delicate eyelids flutter as vivid dreams of me visit her subconscious.

I smile.

Because for the first time in nearly two centuries, I have found happiness.

I thought it was that feeling I got whenever business was spectacularly good. Or the sensation I felt during amazing sex. I even thought I had achieved it when my father agreed to let me run all Gulf Coast operations, allowing me to prove to him and myself that I was more than a spoiled royal brat.

I was wrong. Amelie is my happiness. Being with her, knowing her, letting her know me, is the epitome of bliss.

“What’s with the crazy eyes and serial killer smile?” a sweet, playful voice asks. “You plottin’ on me?”

I look over just as Amelie crosses the room towards the bed, wearing nothing but a navy silk sleep shirt that stops right at the middle of her shapely thighs. I do everything in my power to force my eyes up to her face. Holy fuck. Is she trying to kill me?

“Well, if I told you, I’d have to kill you,” I jibe, hoping to mask the longing in my voice.

Amelie kneels on the bed, drying her damp hair with a towel. “Hmmm, those are mighty big words for a pretty boy prince,” she retorts. “Don’t forget - I’m from Ninth Ward, buddy. I can and will kick your ass.”

We both break into guffaws at her ridiculous comment. I sit up, bringing our bodies closer together, and stilling all laughter. Our gazes collide for long, silent seconds before Amelie looks away, a scarlet blush painting her cheeks.

“Don’t you find this kinda … weird?” she asks quietly.

“What’s weird?”

“I don’t know,” she answers with a shrug. “One day, you’re ready to murder me and I’m hating you, and the next it’s … different. Like it’s easy and casual and fun, and I actually find myself looking at you as a decent guy, and not some monster. Because to me, now that I know you, you’re not. You’re nothing like I expected.”

“Well, what did you expect?” I ask, tipping my head to one side.

“Crazed, soul-sucking lunatic that just goes around screwing anything on two legs and killing without a second thought?”

A few weeks ago that assessment would have probably been spot on. I don’t have the heart to tell her.

“Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I’m not disappointed,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m relieved. Be kind of a buzz-kill to be sleeping next to some demented murderer. Talk about awkward.”

I flinch and my mouth pulls down into a grimace before I can stop myself. Those amber irises pick up on the switch in my expression immediately, and Amelie frowns. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I reply, with a stiff shake of my head. I can’t meet her eyes. It’s in those depths that I am the most vulnerable, the most honest.

“No, it’s not
nothing.
Come on, Niko. You’ve asked me a million questions and I’ve answered them all truthfully. Now if I’ve said something to offend you, you have to tell me. I don’t want you smothering me in my sleep or something because you’re pissed at me.” She offers a small smile, but I don’t return it.

“I’m not going to hurt you, ok?” I snap. “I told you that. So just drop it.”

Amelie reels back, confusion and hurt darkening her face. “Whoa. Ok, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It was a bad joke.”

I shake my head again and look away, disgusted with what she must see in me at this very moment. She’s right, and I don’t deserve her. I don’t even deserve to breathe the same air as her. If I can’t be honest with myself, how the hell can I be honest with her? If I can’t accept what I am, how can I expect that of her?

“I have to tell you something,” I finally say, my head still turned.

“Ok,” she replies with a quiet, strained voice.

I take a deep breath and release it, letting go of fear and reluctance. If I want Amelie to trust me with her heart, I have to be honest with her. I have to earn it. I have to be better than what I was before.

“The day that Varshaun came to get me, we had some business to tend to in the Quarter.” I look back at her, my eyes gleaming with apology. “What was supposed to be a quick, routine stop turned … dark.”

“Ok,” she says again, prompting me to go on.

“Have you ever heard of Malcolm Boisseau?”

A look of sheer disgust flashes across her face, answering my question. I don’t even wait for her to tell me how she knows him. The answer may push me to the brink of violence.

“We followed up on a tip that Malcolm’s girls were engaging in black magic, which is forbidden in this city. And while we were there, something literally fell into my lap.” I run a hand through my hair and pull at the ends in frustration. “Amelie … I found out he was not only exploiting young girls, he was having sex with them too. He was fucking molesting children.”

Amelie gasps and claps a hand over her mouth in horror. “Oh my God,” she says, letting it fall to her heart. “Oh my God, that’s terrible! How did y-…Wait. What do you mean he
was?”

I’m frozen in place, held by those penetrating eyes that seem to strip me bare to my soul. I don’t know how to tell her; I can’t find the words. I’ve killed dozens of times without shame, without an inkling of remorse or regret. I’ve done it for power, for revenge, hell, I’ve done it for fun. But now… now that my newfound conscience has taken the reins, I can’t even find it in me to confess my sins, no matter how justified they are.