When the Dark Wins

It was there he sank in those fangs.

The pain was extraordinary.

Legs giving out, it was only the strength of the man that kept her upright as he drained a punctured vein.

He feasted no matter how she fought, until her vision narrowed to a pinpoint. Limp, useless, she hung like a ragdoll.

Pain seemed to fade, her body ready to release the spirit where it could leave this room and go to God.

The sweet silence of death so close, she craved it. Smiled at the coming light.

Until Darius dropped her.

Weak, twisted like a discarded marionette, she could only groan while the man licked his lips and grinned.

He wasn’t going to let her go to the light. No, he wanted to keep her in his darkness forever. Isn’t that what the missing page claimed?

Trying to get to her knees, to crawl under the desk as if it might offer shelter, earned a barked laugh.

“Kara sevde, there will be none of that.” He seized her ankle, and pulled her under his crouching body. “What would you gain by hiding that pretty face from me?”

“Help me.” Her plea was not for him; it was said out of sick desperation that God might listen.

“Hush, child. You are not going to die.” A rumble of demonic glee, of a thirst for more than blood, moved from sculpted lips to an unwilling ear. “But I will grant you sleep. Enjoy my mercy. But when you wake, two more kisses are owed.”

Chapter 8

Floating in warmth, Pearl was certain this had to be what heaven might offer—weightlessness, intoxication by a sense of perfection.

Nothing could touch her here.

Nothing, until softness brushed her brow, urging lashes to part to the glow of gold.

Candles burned, flickering soft light off a cracked oil painting. It was the image of a woman tending to goats on a rolling hillside, beautiful by any stretch. The sun shone as if real, more real than the dots of light blurring in the periphery of her vision.

“That, my dear, is our favorite painting. Can you not feel the wind in the bent grass as you look upon it? Seeing it now, I almost remember the scent of a field warmed by summer.”

Shifting, only just growing aware of her body, led water to slosh and splash against her skin. Blurry vision settled on a man so near her face, she could smell the soap on his skin. Following the line of his arm from neck to hands, she found his sleeves were rolled up, his forearms dripping wet and half submerged.

Pearl felt weightless and warm because she was prone, naked, in a copper tub… a stranger hovering over her.

A strong hand came to her jaw, angling her lolling head back to rest on the waiting towel. “It’s only I, your Darius.”

Certain she was drunk, Pearl sucked her bottom lip. It was smeared with flavor. Wine? Or was that bourbon? Reaching up to gather what dripped from the corner of her mouth, she looked to her fingers and found blood.

A deep, perfect red.

Her throat ached to lick it up, craving that crimson bead as she’d never wanted anything before. “I don’t…”

The man winked. “Know how you got here? We were playing a game, and I’m afraid you grew utterly drained.”

Entranced with that red dot, Pearl brought it back to her lips so it would not be wasted.

The man had other ideas.

Catching her wrist, he brought the finger to his lips and sucked it clean.

When she tried to snatch her finger from the heat of his mouth, he pricked her flesh, laughing when she squealed. Then he gave her a dazzling smile.