Tormented by Darkness Read online

  He pulled his from his lapel pocket and passed it to her with a nod at the office they’d inhabited earlier. “I’ll be in the living room.” Where the fire burned and the priest had thankfully taken away the urn. Though he looked forward to peeling off that enticing dress, he wouldn’t rush this. There were other things he wanted to discover, and the mention of her family filled him with curiosity.

  Not to mention, that little exchange brought back what she’d said about her father. He’d killed her mother? Mick frowned as the door to his office closed. Had the bastard been put away? Or, like too many others, was he still walking around, dodging the law, hiding from justice?

  He’d just discovered another reason to get close to Rhiannon. Only this one made him question things better left untouched. It painted her in a different light, threatening his perception of her inherent goodness. She wasn’t unspoiled. She’d experienced firsthand the very same type of death that surrounded him. Maybe she could understand his constant need to seek out life through engaging the physical.

  No, he argued with himself. If anything, she’d never comprehend how he could be so unaffected by the loss of life, so emotionally disconnected to the victims and their families. And she’d certainly never understand how, at times, his sexual tastes skirted what many women found appropriate. Besides, he wasn’t considering long term. Tonight was only about the pleasure. A brief foray out of the darkness with a woman who made him feel more alive than he could ever remember being.

  He moved to the hearth and stoked the logs, flaring the fire. Rhiannon was the kind of woman a man kept. One who demanded marriage, commitment, and all the homey ideas of family he couldn’t embrace. So what the hell was he doing toying with her?

  What the hell was she doing with him?

  ****

  “Rhiannon, you’ve got to get back here. You have to read this,” Dáire insisted, his voice just short of impatient. “We have to talk about this. With your birthday tomorrow, this chapter of our mother’s spell book discovered, you’re not safe. Our sire is looking for this, and whether you intend to go through with it, won’t matter to Drandar. He won’t suffer another injury willingly.”

  “No.” She shook her head in emphasis. “I know what it says. I know what it is. I know the risks.” She could picture her brother, pacing their living room floor, gripping his cell phone with white knuckles. The ties they shared created the picture, the emotion he felt as clear as any first-hand visual account. And she hated to worry him, hated the strain that came with detaching herself from Dáire and pursuing something she alone wanted. They’d been a pair for centuries. Half of the same whole, and for the first time, someone else took precedence. Mick needed her. More than Dáire, more than she needed her safety.

  “Rhi, if anything happens to you—”

  “I’ll be fine.” She kept her voice steady, willing that reality into existence. She’d sensed no sign of their sire’s dark presence. If Drandar knew about the chapter, he would have been here by now. “Don’t tell the family, Dáire. Taran and Brigid can’t know. They’ll tell Drandar.”

  A heavy, exasperated sigh drifted through the receiver. Long seconds of silence followed. Then, what Rhiannon had anticipated since she’d tossed the journal on the coffee table filled Dáire’s quiet question. “Are you going to go through with it?”

  Even before Cian discovered the first chapter of their mother’s hidden rituals, they’d always talked about becoming mortal together. When they realized their mother had broken the spell that would eradicate Drandar into eight portions, conversation revolved around waiting for the other. Performing their ceremonies on the same Sabot, so that they would never risk the possibility of one existing indefinitely while the other faced mortal limitations.

  Now, Dáire’s voice carried hesitancy. He’d never deny her the escape from the torment of their demonic half. But if she chose to go through with the ritual tomorrow night, it would cut him deeply.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Wounded hearts—I know two. Taran and Mick. Neither of them are an option.”

  “Mick?” A touch of disbelief laced Dáire’s voice.

  “Yeah.”

  Understanding slammed into her, restless energy that came from the product of being the opposite half of Dáire. He’d made the connection, knew the one man Rhiannon couldn’t purge from her system could help her heal. And he understood what asking her to wait for him would cost. Rhiannon grimaced against the force of her brother’s powerful reaction.

  Then, as sorrow reigned above all else, Dáire’s voice rang flat. “Bring him to the house after the funeral tomorrow. The ritual only specifies it must be performed facing north under the stars. Bring him here before you do something you can’t undo.”

  At his unmistakable reference to the rising bloodlust of her dark spirit, she closed her eyes on threatening tears. “I don’t know if I can fight this, Dáire. It’s so strong.”

  “Bring him here, Rhi. Now.”

  Shaking her head again, she swallowed hard. “No. I’m not in love with him. He’s safe tonight. I don’t know how long that will last.”

  Her brother let out a low, threatening growl. “If you don’t get his ass here tomorrow, I will.”

  Chapter Eight

  She wasn’t going to fight it, Rhiannon realized as she closed Mick’s cell phone. Not that she had a very good chance at winning anyway, but she wasn’t going to combat everything she was and deny herself the one thing she craved beyond all reason. She could yield to desire, surrender to passion, and that didn’t have a damn thing to do with her curse. So long as she didn’t fall in love with Mick, the urge to claim his life would remain no different than the restlessness that haunted her daily. She’d learned to keep the demon at bay. Satisfy it with other measures.

  Like the one she was about to embark on now.

  She stepped into the living room to find it surprisingly comfortable. Mick had picked up the plastic plates and cups the visitors left behind, and the lights were down. The fire illuminated the room, and if it weren’t for the fragrant aroma of a multitude of flowers, she could almost pretend his stepfather’s death hadn’t brought her here. That Mick wasn’t seeking merely comfort, but that he truly wanted her.

  In the back of her mind, she acknowledged, if he did, she would have been here long before tonight.

  No, she was a means to an end, and she was well versed in that game as well. So tonight, she would take what she wanted, as he took what he needed.

  She seated herself on the rug by the fire, tucking her legs to the side beneath her. Mick stretched out on one side, his head propped in his hand, jacket and tie discarded. He reached between them and laced his fingers through hers. Dark eyes lifted to her face. “I’m sorry I broke down on you.”

  Rhiannon shook her head. “It’s understandable. It’s not like anyone ever gives us a chance to practice losing our parents.”

  “Yeah, that.” He lifted her hand, touched the pads of his fingertips to hers, then slipped those strong fingers between hers once more and squeezed gently. “Did I understand you right? Did your father…murder…your mother?”

  Though it had happened lifetimes ago, and Rhiannon hadn’t witnessed her mother’s capture, nor the subsequent way Drandar tortured and killed her, pain pierced through her contentment. She looked away from Mick, nodding.

  “Is he, did we—”

  “No. He was never convicted.” The Selgovae had banished him, but even then, that amounted to little more than a slap on the hands. When their people turned on him, Drandar eradicated them as well. They hadn’t even seen his wrath coming. But in the quiet of night, his soulless presence sucked the life from their bodies.

  Mick lifted up, his frown immediate and intense. “Why not?”

  There were too many factors that would never fit Mick’s neat little world of logic to begin explaining, and Rhiannon didn’t want to delve into the lies. Instead, she summoned a sultry smile. Setting her palm against his chest, she urged
him back the rug, onto his back, and plucked open the top button of his white dress shirt. “You didn’t really invite me to stay to ask me about my father did you?” Not giving him time to respond, she dipped her head to swirl her tongue across the bronzed flesh she exposed.

  Mick’s sharp intake of air accompanied the tight grip of his fingers against her upper arms. She glanced up through lowered eyelashes and unfastened another button, trailing the tip of her tongue along the same path. “I’ve wanted you too, Mick,” she confessed as she worked her way down his broad chest, loosening the fabric until it fell away from defined muscles and a tight, hard abdomen. She pushed the material completely aside and splayed her hands over his warm flesh. Traced the shadowed contours of muscle, exploring all she had dreamt of, teasing as she wended her way lower, to the buckle of his black dress belt, lower still to the rising length of his cock.

  He let out a soft satisfied grunt as she wrapped her fingers around his erection and gave him a firm squeeze through the fabric. His hips lifted a fraction of a degree, sending a zing of electric energy all the way down to Rhiannon’s toes.

  “No,” he answered huskily. “I guess not.”

  Laughing quietly, she added pressure to her palm as she stroked him once again. “You guess? If you really want to know about my sire, we can talk about him.” She pulled on his belt, freeing the buckle. “But I can think of more enjoyable ways to spend our time.”

  ****

  Mick’s world tilted sideways. Holy hell he hadn’t expected Rhiannon to be so bold. If anything, he’d prepared to have to ease her into things given her earlier hesitancy.

  Nor had he anticipated her fingers to be so skillful. She’d had her hands on him all of five minutes, max, and good Lord, his cock was aching. It hit him again how very little he knew about her, but this was one area he was more than willing to learn at leisure.

  Her lips seared across his chest, little flicks of her tongue igniting sparks of feeling he hadn’t known existed. They pricked into him, pleasant and yet a touch painful. Like she pulled something he wasn’t entirely convinced he wanted to give from the depths of his being…and yet…he couldn’t stop the magnetic way his body responded. He wanted her in ways he’d never wanted anyone, and he was absolutely certain if Rhiannon knew just what he craved, she’d run out the door.

  All of her was a hell of a lot to ask. Accepting all of him, even more.

  To silence the words that crept up his throat, he tangled one hand in her thick hair and tugged her mouth to his. The hungry nip of her teeth connected all the bursts of painful pleasure into one engulfing stream of sensation that turned him inside out. He couldn’t touch her in enough places at once, couldn’t find his way through the barrier of her short dress. Frustrated with the utter lack of contact, he gathered her skirt in his hands and bunched the material up, pulling it to her waist. When the hem collected in his fingers, refusing to break the mesmerizing heat of her kiss, he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her onto his body. Her knees slid around his waist. As she lowered herself to sit, the damp material of her panties met his skin, and the pressure of her buttocks just above the tip of his erection arced another burst of desire through his body. So close. So damnably far away.

  Good grief, what was the matter with him? It wasn’t as if he’d never had sex with a woman. But he’d swear on his soul, something inside him was fragmenting into bits. He needed release before she broke something he couldn’t piece back together.

  But Rhiannon was determined to make him wait, to draw out his blissful torture until he shredded into pieces. She rocked backward, stroking his throbbing shaft as her hands skated down his body and popped open the button at his waist. Yet she made no attempt to move and help him out of the tight restriction of his pants. Confined to the whims of her will, Mick gave into a groan and contented himself with exploring her just as fully. He reached behind her back to lower her zipper. When her dress tumbled loose, he tugged the short sleeves down her arms and slid his hands around her ribs, to the fullness of her breasts.

  As his fingers closed around the soft flesh there, her mouth left his. She straightened, and Mick opened his eyes. His gaze fell on a vision of beauty. Head tipped to the side, her long, glorious red hair tumbled over ivory skin. The firelight danced on those thick tendrils, picking up natural highlights and making them shine like divinity kissed her. Her eyes were closed, her expression soft with an emotion he couldn’t define. The way she responded to him, as if she treasured the way he brushed his thumbs over her hardened nipples, as if the kneading of his fingers was something to cherish, humbled him.

  Everything that was cracking inside him suddenly locked back together, and the frenzied rush of desire gave way to an even greater need to savor every last minute she gave him. He gently lifted his hips into her body and held them there, tempering the pulsing of his cock. Her lashes lifted, blue eyes locked with his, and Mick tumbled so far into Rhiannon he feared he would never surface.

  “Rhiannon,” he whispered, at a loss, overcome with an urge to say…something.

  “Make love to me, Mick.” Her unsteady voice rasped pleasantly.

  He held her unblinking gaze as he collected her crumpled dress and eased it over her head, tossing it aside. Alternating his weight between his elbows, he allowed her to help him out of his shirt, and it too joined her dress. She lifted to her knees. His hands encountered hers at the zipper to his pants. Their gazes fused. Mick’s heart kicked into his ribs.

  Then his world ground to a stop as he realized every bit of protection he possessed was at his house across town. “Shit,” he muttered. “Rhiannon, I don’t have anything with me.”

  She shook her head, her hair tickling across his skin. “It’s okay. I’m protected.” Bending over she placed a tender kiss to the center of his chest. “And I’m clean.”

  Rhiannon didn’t give him opportunity to assure her of the same. Sitting up once more, she pushed his dress pants to his thighs and set his confined cock free. As cool air touched his overheated flesh, and the promise of her moist heat hovered near the tip of him, a shudder worked its way down his spine. He kicked off his pants, settled his hands on her trim waist, and eased her down against his aching shaft.

  How or when she’d disposed of her panties, he couldn’t say. Maybe while she’d been helping him out of his shirt. Regardless, the warm moist heat that met his flesh scorched him from the inside out. His body responded of its own accord, his hips surging forward to slide his cock through her soft, feminine folds. A tremor rocked through her, vibrating into him. Her gasp ricocheted in chorus with the snapping fire.

  That little sound unraveled him on so many levels, Mick couldn’t process them all. All he knew was she was wet and willing, and she wanted him as much as he desired her. Determined to not slam into her with abandon, Mick gently lifted her body and held her in place as he aligned himself. He brought her down, at the same time he lifted his hips, easing into her tight flesh, marveling at the perfect way she gloved him.

  Bit by bit, he brought them together, taking his time to make sure she felt every inch of him the way he felt her. The effort strained his control, and when he was buried so deep he could go no further, he was shaking. His lungs refused to unclench, turning his breath in short gasps. “God…you feel…perfect.”

  Rhiannon twisted her hips, taking him a fraction deeper. “Mm. I’ve dreamed of this.”

  Yeah, so had he. Only this was ten times better than the fantasy. Rhiannon in the flesh made his imagination seem flawed and naïve.

  Hands on her hips, he tilted her pelvis forward and eased out of her sweet depths. Then applying gentle pressure to her hipbones, he guided her in countermotion, as he pushed in deep. She caught onto the rhythm, rocking slowly in time with him, her lashes fluttering as her breathing hardened along with his.

  Mick slid one hand up her slender spine, twined his fingers in the back of her hair, and urged her downward. Her breasts pressed into his chest, her mouth dusted across his. He l
atched on to her soft lips, nudged them apart, and drew her into a hungry kiss.

  Passion exploded between them. Beneath the ardent stroke of her tongue, his temperance snapped. The sound of their slipping flesh, the soft mewls that bubbled in the back of her throat, dragged him into a tidal wave of sensation. Her body demanded more. His responded, all too willingly. Pleasure pooled at the base of his spine, seeping outward, spilling into his veins until it filled every spot of emptiness his soul possessed.

  This was living. Unlike any life he had ever experienced.

  As he thrust in harder, Rhiannon’s sharp cry pierced through his awareness. Ecstasy sharpened to a fine point, so sweet it was painful as her inner walls fluttered around him. He pumped again, his breath lodged somewhere between his throat and his lungs, and Mick’s sense of reality fractured. Pleasure catapulted through his body, sending him headlong into unchained release. His hips spasmed, his fingers dug into her hipbones, and he held her still, spilling himself into Rhiannon with a drawn-out groan.

  Gradually awareness returned. He became aware of her gentle weight crumpled atop his chest, the soft fall of her breath against his perspiration-slicked skin. He gathered her into his arms and nuzzled the crown of her head, breathing in the flowery perfume that clung to her hair. Inside, he shook from head to toe. With that uncontrolled tremor, he knew. Something had happened to him in her arms.

  But even as he rolled her over and gazed into her limpid pools of blue, seeing completeness reflecting back at him, he told himself it was nothing more than pleasure.

  Mick pressed a gentle kiss to her swollen lips. “Bedroom?” he whispered.

  She swallowed. For a moment, he’d have sworn fear flickered behind her tremulous eyes. But as she smiled, he dismissed his imaginings and pushed a damp lock of hair away from her face to trace the elegant tattoo across her cheekbone.

  “Yes,” she whispered as she curled her cheek into his palm.