Nikolai: A Dark Light Novella (Dark Light #2.5) (2 page)

“Yes, what?” I ask with a raised brow.

“Yes, Master.”

“Good girl,” I nod with a sinister grin. I pat her cheek before releasing her from my grip, composing myself as I straighten my suit jacket.

They’re all nameless. Just faces. Lips, tongues, hands. Warm, wetness dripping with honey to stave off the hunger for
more.
More of what? I’m not sure.

Varshaun reappears in the doorway minutes later, a hint of alarm sparking his crystal blue eyes and making the contrast to his bronze skin even more startling. “We have a situation.”

I take a moment to listen to the scene two floors below before exhaling my annoyance. Another one in need of a harsh reminder of who’s in charge here. Of who
owns
them.

Females are so fucking temperamental. But, shit, they feel good. Plus, they make me a lot of money. Not that I need it.

“Well? Take care of it. Surely you can handle a simple, little woman.”

Varshaun shakes his head. “This is no ordinary woman. She’s … different.”

My eyebrows rise marginally as I make my way to the en suite bar for a drink. The bourbon goes down smooth, and I refill my glass, downing that as well. I need to escape. To forget what I am.
Who
I am. And what I crave to do.
Will
do, again and again.

Most see me as cold and callous. Vile. Murderous. And they’re right. But truth be told, I’m a conflicted motherfucker. I believe we all are, on some level. Some of us just can’t afford the hassle of having a conscience. It’s not good for business.

“Different,” I murmur to myself. I turn to face Varshaun who still appears unsettled. “Something on your mind, old friend?”

He shakes his head, causing his long, black hair to sway. “I can’t quite put my finger on it …”

I nod, hearing his thoughts. His apprehension. Yes, something’s bothering him. Varshaun is not easily shaken, which is why I keep him close to me. I understand that kind of emotional detachment; it’s the norm for me. His mental discord piques my interest. Not much rattles him. This has to be good, and I’m due for a little fun.

“Very well,” I smirk, making my way across the room. “Let’s see her.”

I scent the air as we make our way towards the scene two stories below. Lust, greed, vanity and every other deadly sin in spades. Humans are weak. You tell them to stay away. You tell them not to touch the flame because it will burn.yet they still come to sate their licentious needs, getting off on the forbidden fruit dangled in front of their dumbstruck faces. They know it’s wrong; they know that bright red apple is rotten to the core, festered with maggots and disease. But they want it. And I give it to them. I’d be a fool not to.

Fucking humans.

A few of the unoccupied girls stand in the doorways of their private rooms dressed in no more than lingerie, batting their false eyelashes in hopes that one of us will pay them a visit. I don’t deny my men their carnal desires, but there is nothing in this house that will satisfy the magnitude of our craving. Not without consequence. And those consequences can get … messy. I don’t do messy.

We enter the great room where three more of my men are huddled around a small, dark dressed figure. Her screams are muffled but I can clearly detect her terror. The closer I get, the more aggravated I grow. We never take them against their will. They have to want this. They have to
feel
this. Sexual slavery just isn’t my thing.

Sensing my presence, the men step aside to give me access to the situation. As I make my way through the barrier of their bodies, I freeze.

This…
girl
. This human girl, is all soft, smooth skin, long, dark tresses, and the most startlingly amber colored eyes I have ever seen in all my decades on this earth. Her body is petite and delicate, though she has a fiery strength in her that virtually pushes me like a force field, battling my solid frame with an unseen current.

I let my eyes find hers, but she quickly turns her head, refusing to meet my gaze. Ah, she knows. Either that or she’s afraid. Good. She damn well should be. I, however, know fear does not power this girl. She is brave. Bold. And that tempts the fuck outta me. Every cell in my body hums and expands before nearly bursting with sensation. I can almost feel her soft, fragile skin under my eager fingertips. Smell her subtle scent of wildflowers and brown sugar. Taste the sweetness of her undiluted essence sizzling on my tongue.

“What do we have here?” I ask no one in particular, as I move closer to the girl. Her glassy eyes widen at the sight of my advance. Her fear is thick and palpable, but so is her strength. I am just much stronger. My resolve, however, may be another story.

I reach over to remove the gag from her mouth, careful not to graze her milky white skin, though I am aching to touch her. Her lips are cherry red and swollen, lush and waiting to be worshipped. Her reddened, puffy eyes look up at me in disgust. Hatred. Terror. She tries to extinguish it, but her petty mortal emotions give her away. It’s the eyes. The eyes never lie. They are swimming with her truth, telling the tales she struggles to conceal.

Her full lips tighten into a grimace. “Get away from me, you piece of shit.” Her broken voice is raspy and thick with unshed anguish. The sound sends an unfamiliar pang of discord to my chest.

“Why are you here, pretty girl?” I ask soothingly. I step forward and fondle a dark brown curl, breathing in her sweet scent.

She tries to jerk away from my touch, but she is bound. Not by rope or twine, but by power. Something you cannot see, something not entirely tangible, but she knows it’s there, knows it’s
real
. It lives in her as well.

We are both birthed into faith - unshakable belief of things beyond all logic and understanding. She knows deep inside that legends are truth. She knows that monsters are real. She can see me just as well as I can see her.

“Fuck you,” she spews as she struggles against the invisible restraints. The corner of my mouth curls and I blink slowly. She’s so … potent it nearly intoxicates me. I want more.

I turn to Varshaun and cock a brow. He takes a moment to read my unspoken question. “She was given to us. An unsettled debt that got… complicated. But, I agreed to take the girl in exchange for leniency.”

“Since when do we accept whores as payment?” I grimace, turning my attention to her supple curves. Shapely thighs extend into round hips before cinching into a narrow waist. My mouth waters as I imagine how soft and warm she would feel beneath me. How those thighs would tighten and quiver while wrapped around my waist.

“I’m not a whore, asshole. Now let me go!” she demands, still unable to give up her futile struggle. I laugh, admiring her determination. And she’s right - I am an asshole. A damn good one too. I’m nothing if not a perfectionist.

I stroke the luminescent skin of her cheek lightly, feeling the burn underneath my fingertips. It’s unpleasant but not unbearable enough to make me stop touching her. The feel of her skin against mine sends a jolt of electricity through my frame, stirring my senses from decades of numbness and detachment. This girl is different, indeed. Special. And dangerous.

I want her badly. So much so that I’m willing to break my own rules, and that fact fucks with me.

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” she seethes in a harsh whisper. “I know what you are.”

The conviction in her voice causes me to drop my hand, and I frown. She may be able to feel my power, even see it radiating around me, but there’s no way she could know exactly
what
I am. She’s human. Stupid. Weak. Ignorant. She is ultimately a flea compared to me. We’re more than cautious about protecting our identities, and those who happen to learn our secret are eliminated without question.

I peg her with an icy glare. “Who sold you, pretty girl?” The bite in my voice doesn’t match the tenderness of my words.

Those big eyes are instantly assaulted with a flash flood of tears and her succulent mouth goes slack. She turns her head and furiously bats her wet lashes in an attempt to hide the pain that so obviously haunts her. I want to grasp her cheeks and make her look at me. I want to lick every salty tear that slides down from those mesmerizing eyes. I want to drink her in, feel her inside of me.
Be
inside of her.

“Who?” I repeat, softening my tone.

I watch her slender throat as she swallows laboriously. “My father,” she manages to choke out through a rogue sob. “And he didn’t sell me. I came on my own accord. To save his life.”

I nod, though I don’t quite understand her depth of devotion. It’s a modern day Beauty & the Beast. This brave, human girl has sacrificed her life in order to save another. She’s thrust herself into darkness and danger, completely blind to the sheer evil that lies in this room alone. Yet, she’s done the unthinkable, only to save a sloppy drunk with a gambling problem.

This beautiful girl has selflessly put her life in the hands of a villainous monster. In
my
hands.

I’ve never felt that magnitude of loyalty for anyone … except my brother. But he’s gone, abandoning me to figure all this shit out on my own. Dorian was the good one. The smart one. The one that kept me from fucking up everything our family has built and stood for. The only one that ever understood me and loved me anyway. Yet, he’s turned his back on us. On
me
. The one person that needed him the most.

I flex my hands into fists as tension settles in my joints. Why the fuck does this shit still bother me? How can I possibly give a damn about him? Once the years turned into decades, I merely stopped counting. I knew he would never come back. And can I really blame him? After what our father did to him? Would I have stayed and pledged my allegiance to the man that made it his personal mission to turn my life into rot and ruin?

I want to bury this shit. I want to erase all the confusion and anger that has haunted me my entire life. Never good enough… always the black sheep. I need to find a substitute for the turmoil brewing inside my hollow chest, bubbling over until it feels like acid singing my throat. I want to end it all and forget what I am.
Who
I am.

“I know …” a sweet voice whispers, a soothing balm to my black, tormented soul. I look up and my blue eyes collide with warm, molten honey. “I know,” she whispers again.

I swallow down my sudden upheaval and plaster on a cool smile. “What do you know, darling?”

Her full, bottom lip trembles, and she quickly tucks it away between her teeth. “I know who you are.”

I take a step towards her, generously scenting the space between us, getting high off the mix of fear and arousal. “Everybody knows who I am.” Shit, at least they think they do.

Her gaze never falters. Not even a hint of uncertainty as those haunting eyes slice right into me. She merely watches as I bleed out onto the marble floor. “But do they know
what
you are?”

I freeze where I stand. Not because I’ve been exposed; hell, inside these four walls, there’s no question of my identity. But what really strips me bare, making it impossible to hide from the truth I so desperately want to escape, is the almost question on those crimson lips. The same question that has been permanently burned inside my skull.

Do
I
know what I am?

I turn my gaze away, refusing to let her see what lies beneath. I don’t care what she thinks of me. She’s wrong. She’s a stupid whore who wouldn’t know the damn truth if it bent her over and fucked her seven ways from Sunday.

“Varshaun,” I bark, my voice raw and harsh. “Take the girl to Nadia; get her cleaned up. Then place her in my chambers.”

I need a distraction. Something to stifle any inklings of guilt or empathy. Avoidance. Denial. Escapism. It’s what I’m good at. It’s what I create for the weak and perverse. I provide a place of fantasy and desire, allowing them to indulge in the taboo without fear of exposure or judgment.

We’re all monsters here. And I’m the most fucked up of them all.

Blocking out the sounds of struggle below, I climb the stairs up to my room before stopping mid step. “And get ready,” I demand over the commotion, perched high above the fray of debauchery and hedonism. “We’re going out.”

It’s all a blur.

Loud music. Alcohol. Drugs. They’re all necessary evils. All part of my plan.

It’s easy to forget when you don’t remember.

We stumble up to my room, our hysterical laughter echoing throughout the vast house. Nobody pays us any attention. They’re all too caught up in their own immorality to give a fuck about ours. Besides, I make no qualms about what I want. I not only live up to my reputation, I embrace it with open arms.

The blonde on my left sucks my neck while my hand snakes up her dress. The brunette on my right works at the buttons of my slacks as I pull down her top to expose a swollen breast. In the next instant, her pebbled nipple is in my mouth, between my teeth, as my tongue elicits indecent sounds. My hand finds the slick, wet flesh between the blonde’s legs, and her moans compete with her friend’s. They grind against me, clawing at my hair, my back, my dick … battling for climax. I feel them both throbbing, both trembling with want. With
need
. And I plan to give them what they desire. But first, I want to play.