Nikolai: A Dark Light Novella (Dark Light #2.5) (5 page)

“Now, sweet girl, I’m going to ask you one more time before I rip that pretty little head off your shoulders. Who sent you?”

She shudders, her mouth agape in horror. I know what she sees when she looks at me. Eyes so cold that they’re almost opaque. White, gleaming teeth that now appear as razor sharp fangs. Pale, ashen skin that speaks of old Voodoo legends told around the fire, warning children of the dangerous, evil creatures that thirst for their souls.

She sees me, and I allow her. Maybe for shock value, or maybe because I know she’ll never survive long enough to confirm the legends of her people. But I let her take it all in … the nightmare that is me. The Dark One that needs to kill her … yet wants to own her.

“Please … I swear,” she rasps through trembling lips. “No one. No one sent me.”

I release a hiss between clenched teeth. “See, I don’t believe you. Now you can either tell me the truth, or I will be forced to resort to more … carnal … forms of persuasion.” I bring my face closer to hers, so close that we share the same breath. “And I really don’t want to do that. Such a pity for that pretty face to go to waste.”

Tears sprout at the corners of her eyes and slide down the sides of her face. I don’t even try to resist; I can’t. I lean forward and lick the salty moisture, tasting the mixture of her sweet skin and tears. When shudders rack her frame, I look down at her through my euphoric haze and smile. “You want me to torture it out of you, huh? You want me to pop that sweet little cherry and fuck you until the point of agony. Don’t you? Because you are a little whore. You are all lying, scheming whores. Maybe I’ve been too lenient. Maybe you only respond to pain.”

Her frightened eyes widen as my hand wraps around her slender neck, applying just enough pressure to let her know that I’m serious. She won’t win this. There’s no escape. I can and will kill her, no matter how badly I want her.

I close my eyes and suck in a breath. Fuck … the feeling of her body beneath mine sheathed only in thin satin, her scent so potent it’s damn near palpable, the taste of her tears…

How can I resist her? How can I not want to rip her flimsy nightgown off her and sink into her for hours?

I shake the thoughts from my head and tighten my grip. “Tell me,” I growl. I’m angry - with her for being so fucking enticing and with myself for being so weak. I can’t let my father be right about me. I am a Skotos, goddammit. Mercy isn’t even in my vocabulary.

“No one! I swear it! On my life!” she cries hoarsely, the pressure on her vocal cords restricting her screams.

“Then how? How do you know me? How the fuck do you know who I am?”

Her tears flow freely, wetting my hand and her hair. I squeeze harder. “Fucking tell me now or so help me-…”

“I dreamt of you!” she screeches brokenly. Even through the garble of tears, I hear her clearly.
Dreamt of me.
It’s a trick - I know it is. But still, I release her neck and roll off her, huffing out frustration and … shame? No. Of course not.

“You dreamt of me?” I’m panting but not winded.

“Yes,” she whispers, refusing to meet my gaze. Her hand flies up to her neck, and she winces.

“When?”

 
Look at me. Please. I need to see the truth.

Finally, Amelie turns her heated amber glare on me, fear and loathing still clouding the unusual irises. She hates me, and she should. But I can’t help but feel … I don’t know … conflicted about it. She swallows and fresh tears fill her eyes. Right about now, I hate myself too.

“Since I was young. Since I was just a little girl, I have dreamt of you every night.”

“Bullshit,” is all I can say in disbelief. But I see it - the truth in those mysterious eyes.

She shakes her head in disgust and looks away, focusing on some random spot on the wall. “I wish it were. Every day of my life, I have wished that I could close my eyes and not see your face. Not hear your voice. Not have you haunting me for 10 fucking years!”

Suddenly, she turns her head and I almost wince at the look of pure hatred and repugnance on her face. “Do you know what that’s like? To have to see evil every single day? To have your nightmares replayed on a continuous loop? To be forced to know someone that makes you wish you had never been born? Because I do. I know you because I have to. Because I was cursed to in order to live. And you know what? I wish I would’ve died. How does that make you feel,
your majesty?
How do you feel knowing that I would rather be dead than have to see your face for one more day?”

Her words sting like a slap to the face, but I press for more. “Why do you have to?”

She turns away with a grimace as if tasting something foul. “When I was young, I fell ill. Doctors couldn’t find the root of the infection. My parents were told that I only had days, maybe weeks, to live.”

I move closer, hanging onto every word, every breath. She exhales and continues, although I can see the painful memory is a struggle to conjure. “My mother’s family had certain beliefs that led them to believe I had been cursed. See, my mom denied their way of life. She didn’t want that for me. Her name was Genevieve. Genevieve Laveau.”

Laveau.

“Your mother is a witch,” I hiss, my eyes lighting with blue fire. If there’s one thing the Dark despise, it’s unnatural magic. Magic that calls upon the dead and worships false deities, disrupting the balance of nature. Amelie and her mother are direct descendants of Marie Laveau, also known as the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. We had exterminated most of the Voodoo garbage in the city over a century ago, but Laveau and her family had ways of evading us. And I’ve had one lying beside me this entire time. I should have known. I should have fucking known.

“No,” Amelie whispers, shaking her head. “She wasn’t. Maybe Voodoo was in her blood, but she never practiced. At least, not when I was around. Doesn’t matter anyway - she’s dead.”

“She sacrificed her life to save yours,” I say, trying to piece together the story.

“If only it were that easy.” Amelie’s voice is thick and strained with emotion. “One night, a woman came to me at my bedside in the middle of the night. I don’t remember much, just that she was beautiful and kind. And that I felt oddly at peace with her presence. She was … like a dream or a ghost, but I wasn’t afraid.

“She said that I would not die yet - that it was my destiny to do a great and remarkable thing. Something necessary that would aide in the safety of our world. I didn’t understand then, and honestly, I still don’t. I didn’t stop her when she cupped my face and smiled down at me. Then…something crazy happened. I know it sounds insane, but she started, like, glowing in the dark. She was as bright as the sun - so bright that I thought it may blind me. And then, she was gone.”

Amelie turns to me, her face blank and devoid of emotion. “That was the first night I saw your face in my dreams. The first time I ever saw pure evil.”

I know that this is my chance. This is the time to cradle her delicate neck and squeeze it so hard that it shatters like glass underneath my fingertips. This girl is dangerous - more dangerous than I ever could imagine. If I don’t kill her soon, she is sure to destroy me.

“And the woman?” I hear myself ask, ignoring the niggling voice in my head, telling me to put an end to this conversation, along with her life. “Do you know what she was?”

The rims of Amelie’s irises spark with golden flames for a mere nanosecond, both taunting and answering me. “She was goodness. Warmth. Mercy. She was the complete opposite of everything that is you.”

“Light,” we both whisper in unison.

Words go unspoken, the strained silence so blaringly shrill and thick that it’s hard to breathe or think. I know what I should do. What I should have done already. This girl has been spelled by our mortal enemy and that makes her my enemy. It’s in my nature to hate her, to want to slaughter her. To crave the magic inside her so badly that it aches.

It aches, alright. Fuck, it aches.

“We’re taught that magic has a price, and to save a life, you must take a life,” she says, kicking down the walls we’ve built between us to shield our true selves. There’s no hiding now. Truth has ripped us both wide open, exposing the scary, grotesque parts of our pasts that no one else wants to see.

“That’s true,” I manage to croak. Why am I telling her this? Why am I even entertaining this conversation?

“I know. Because my mother died a week later.”

My eyes focus on the anguish etched underneath her perfectly guarded mask. “What?”

“Her family knew what had happened to me. They didn’t approve of an … outsider meddling in our affairs. I believe they murdered her. I know what your kind thinks of us. I know that you see Voodoo as unnatural and a crime against nature.”

“That’s because it is. True magic comes only from the one real power, the Divine. Your gods are nothing more than false prophets. Frauds. That is why your mother died. A life for a life. The balance had to be restored.”

She nods, those topaz eyes shining with crystalline tears. “So now you know how I know you. Why I hate you. My mother traded her life just so I could live long enough to meet my own death at the hands of pure, unrelenting evil. How’s that for a trade off?” she laughs sardonically. “Growing up piss poor with a drunk for a father that never got over his wife’s death. He looked at me with accusation everyday, knowing that it should have been me. All so I could one day be captured and forced into prostitution.”

I don’t correct her. I don’t tell her that I won’t force her into anything, and that her virtue is safe with me. I don’t say that her hatred is misplaced, that I am just as confused about the meaning of her dreams and by her significance in my life. And I don’t tell her that I won’t kill her. That maybe the legends of the Dark being the first true evil are false, and that maybe I am more than just a soulless monster.

No. I don’t say any of those things. I don’t want to lie.

“Get up.”

I watch her as she blinks to consciousness, awareness settling into the tiny frown lines on her forehead. She sits up and stretches, then visibly flinches when she notices me sitting just feet away. “Holy shit, when’d you get here? What time is it?”

“Almost noon. Thought you might be hungry.”

Amelie looks at the tray of covered dishes I’ve placed on the bed, and for the first time since I laid eyes on her, she almost … smiles. The aroma of tomato, onion and saffron waft from the heated plates and her stomach grumbles, causing her cheeks to blush scarlet.

“Looks like I was right,” I chuckle, uncovering the dishes. I hand one to her and she digs in, barely pausing to breathe. She looks up at me with a mouthful when she feels my eyes on her.

“Sorry,” she mumbles around rice and seafood.

I shake my head. “No, I should be apologizing. You’ve been a guest here, and I have been a less than gracious host. I should have fed you. Forgive me.”

She stops mid chew, exposing the half eaten mush in her mouth. “You’re shitting me, right? A guest? I was brought here under the intention of becoming a prostitute! This is hardly the Ramada.”

“Yeah. About that … I have a proposition.”

Amelie dabs her mouth with a napkin before narrowing her eyes at me. “A proposition? Like what? I’m not into any kinky bondage shit, you know. I mean, I’m not into anything, really.”

I nod, stifling a grin at her choice of words. Kinky bondage shit? Yes, please. “I know. And I don’t intend to force you, either. You will help out with some of the more domestic needs around here. The cooking, laundry…like a housekeeper of sorts. And when the debt has been fulfilled, you’ll be free to go.”

She raises a brow, the sour taste of skepticism puckering her full lips. “Free to go? Just like that?” Scraping the remnants of food on her plate, she shakes her head. “So what’s in it for you? I’m not stupid. Your kind doesn’t seem like the type to show mercy.”

“I have questions that need answers. I believe that you are unaware that you were purposely sent, but this is no coincidence. I need to know why that is. If you are compliant, I will set you free.”

“Ok,” she shrugs. “Ask away. What do you want to know?”

I take a bite from my own plate, watching her as she assesses the movement of my mouth. She licks her own lips and a familiar heat floods my groin, causing my pants to go snug. Maybe I was wrong about her. Maybe she wants this. Wants
me
. Maybe, just maybe…

Her stomach growls, and my ego takes another blow. Awesome.

Without even acknowledging my wounded pride, I push the plate towards her, and am met with a small, appreciative, yet embarrassed smile. I’ll take it.

“You sure?” she asks, already picking up the fork.

I nod once. “Sure. I’m not hungry anyway.” Not for food, at least.

Amelie shovels a helping into her mouth, closing her eyes to savor the fusion of exotic, Spanish flavors. With anyone else, I’d be thoroughly repulsed, ready to shove their ill-mannered ass out of my sight. But with her, all I feel is … guilt? Or sympathy? Is that what I’m feeling?

No. Hell no.

“So,” I begin, forcing myself to bury the unnamed emotion caught on the tip of my tongue. “Does anyone else know what you are? About your lineage?”