Beyond the Darkness (21 page)

When she reached the bottom of the scar, he pulled off her sweater. He unsnapped her bra with a flick of the fingers and pushed it back over her shoulders. Her knees buckled when he put his mouth on her neck, and then lower, and oh, how she hungered for him deep in her soul. She moved against him, and his tongue lathed her breasts. She felt the scrape of his teeth against her skin, then her nipple, and gasped.

He dropped to his knees, his hands on her behind, burrowing his face against her stomach. Then he unbuttoned her jeans and unzipped them, nuzzling the top edge of her pubic hair with his mouth. She let out a breathy sigh. So did he. His fingers started to pull at the top edge of her panties.

She dug her fingers through his soft hair. “Cheveyo . . .”

And then the brush of fur against her skin. She opened her eyes and saw him as jaguar. Pissed off jaguar, by the angry flicks of his tail and the fierce look in his eyes. She leaned back against the tree trunk, and he growled, showing gleaming white fangs, both upper and lower. He turned his back on her, taking slow, deliberate steps away.

She knew he was trying to intimidate her, push her away so he could control himself. But she couldn’t be afraid of the jaguar anymore. She took a step closer, and he whirled, his growl even louder this time.

She knelt down to his level, her face only inches from his. Her voice was high and off-pitch when she sang the Tom Jones song, “What’s up, pussy cat? Oh oh oh . . .”

She reached out to the cat’s face. He flinched, making her flinch in return.
No, it’s Cheveyo. Don’t let him scare you.
She lifted her hands again and stroked his face. He let out a low, warning growl.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” she whispered, looking into his black eyes. “I know you’re trying to control your humanity by becoming cat, but I’m not letting you scare me away.” She kept stroking the cat’s face as she spoke, and then she leaned forward and kissed his cheek, feeling whiskers against her lips.

“Hell.”

In a blink she was kissing his face, skin, the faint scratchy stubble.

He surged to his feet, driving his fingers into his hair. “I liked you better when you were afraid. It was safer for both of us.”

“You liked scaring me away?”

“No, I didn’t like it. But it’s better than getting distracted when an enemy is out there somewhere.” He flung out his hand.

He was breathless, and it took her a second to catch her own breath as he shoved her bra and sweater at her. He kept his gaze on their surroundings as he spun in circles, even looking up at the trees. She pulled on her sweater and zipped up her jeans, stuffing her bra into the bags of the bike along with her water bottle.

Cheveyo started the bike then, and she held on tight as they moved toward what passed as a road. He paused once they were about to get onto a real road again and turned to her. “That crazy reaction we have, it’s going to get us killed. When I’m in that space, I’m totally lost in you.”

Lost in her. She inhaled those words. “Yeah, it’s the same for me.” Her voice had gone soft at that. “It’s just some weird chemical reaction, us, the adrenaline.”

“No, I just realized what it is, at least for me. It’s watching you become strong. Even though I’m scared to death you’ll get hurt, watching you fight, and fight well, it’s a damned turn on. I don’t know if that makes me a sick son of a bitch or—”

“Or human, maybe,” she said, squeezing his chin. “Because that’s what triggers it for me, too. Watching you, the way your muscles move, the fierceness of your face—”

“Even when I’m cat?”

“Yeah, even then.” She touched his face as she had when he was cat. “You’re a beautiful cat.”

He sighed. “You’re killing me, Petra.”

Then he turned and continued on the road. She remembered that he didn’t like when people used the words “death” and “kill” casually. A tremor rippled through her. So what did he mean by that?

B
aal watched the humans through the binoculars, their hands sliding over each other’s bodies. The woman was half naked, and the hunter’s mouth was on her breasts, his hands on her ass. Baal could
feel
their hunger. Not a sustenance hunger. Not an animalistic hunger.

Human hunger mixed with emotions he couldn’t identify.

Something was happening to him. As soon as he’d come upon them in this state, he had morphed into man without even thinking about it. The more he ate the flesh and drank the blood of humans, the more human he felt. And the longer he could stay in this form. He watched them hungrily touching and putting their mouths on each other. They didn’t mate to procreate. They did it for pleasure. His body stirred, too, his penis becoming stiff and hot and uncomfortable. His humanness was mixing with his animal, melding, twisting inside him.

He was a direct descendant of one of the subjects of the experiments that combined Glouk and human DNA. He had only tapped into his humanity to perform tasks he was hired for. To be used but never appreciated or treated as an equal. Here, in the promised land, he could indulge his animal but still walk around as human without anyone knowing just how different he was.

Humans came in all shapes and sizes and degrees of beauty and ugliness. Yes, he was ugly in human terms, but no one gave him a second glance. He liked being human, and mostly, he liked being acceptable. He looked in wonder at the way his erection was pressing against the front of his pants. Sex for pleasure.

He liked this part of being human, the way hunger spiraled through him as he watched the two touching each other. Especially the way looking at the woman’s body made him feel. He would touch her like that. He would have sex with her, filling her with his astonishing appendage. As soon as the hunter was dead, he would take her. Maybe he would even keep her around for a while.

Chapter 16

P
etra noticed they’d passed the road with signs that read
PARKS
, where Cheveyo lived. He probably didn’t want Baal tracking them to the cabin, but they had a day before they needed to be at the second finestra.

She leaned closer to him. “Where are we going?”

“Vegas.”

Her heart tripped a beat. “As in ‘Las’?”

He turned his head. “We’re going to dinner and a show, and for a few hours pretend we’re not facing the enemy tomorrow. Sound good?”

She leaned against his back, squeezing her eyes shut in gratitude and delight. Maybe he didn’t hear her sigh or see her eyes well up, but she was pretty sure he got the message.

They were grimy and gritty by the time they reached Vegas. It was warmer there, low eighties, and she had shed her jacket. It was six o’clock, not dark enough for the lights to glow against a black sky like she’d seen in pictures. Who needed lights and neon when the sunset painted the sky in orange and purple slashes?

He cruised down Tropicana and turned onto Las Vegas Boulevard. At the corner was New York, with a roller coaster snaking around the buildings. She was spellbound by all of the huge casinos she’d only seen in movies: MGM Grand, the Monte Carlo, Paris, with its replica of the Eiffel Tower, Caesar’s Palace, all the places and headliners she’d heard about. Elton John! Celine Dion! Cher! David Copperfield!

“Surreal, isn’t it?” he asked, obviously sensing she was in awe. He was looking around, too, taking it in. “Pick a hotel, whatever tickles your fancy.”

“We’re going to stay at one of these places?” She was trying not to sound like a kid, but heck, the thought of staying at one of these magical places—and she got to pick!—was squeal producing. “Paris! I want to go to Paris.”

He did a U-turn and pulled into the grand entrance, driving right by the Eiffel Tower. As soon as they stopped and got off the bike, a valet approached.

Cheveyo took a key from a compartment and handed it to the man, along with a folded bill. “I need this bike to stay here, where I can get to it quickly.”

The valet’s eyebrows rose, especially when he saw the hundred dollar bill. “Yes, sir.”

Cheveyo pulled out their bags. “I’ve got them.”

They walked into the lobby, so immense and glamorous she could hardly take it in. The marble floors had a ribbonlike decor. She trailed behind, nearly walking into someone because she wasn’t paying attention. When she finally looked around, she didn’t see Cheveyo for a second. She found him near the check-in desk, waiting for the next clerk.

He was watching her with a bemused expression. “Go ahead, wander around. I’ll take care of this part.”

She wondered if he’d get them separate rooms. How far would their pretending go? Distracting herself from that thought, she wandered around. Everything was cream and gold, gaudy and wonderful at once. Huge chandeliers added to the elegance . . . or gaudiness, depending on how one looked at it. Still, it was all beautiful, and different than anything she’d seen.

One area looked like a miniature Paris street, with cafés and shops. She was entranced. A muscular blond man was wearing a skintight gold outfit and entertaining passersby.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and swiveled with a yelp.

Cheveyo smiled. “A bit jumpy, eh?”

“Can’t imagine why.”

He looped his arm through hers. “This way, mademoiselle. We’ll get showered, then come down to the shops and pick out something for the evening. I’ve had the concierge make dinner reservations and get us tickets to a show.”

She put her hand over her heart. “I get to shop for something pretty,
and
we’re going to a show?” She hugged him, losing herself in the feel of him for a moment before stepping away.

He laughed—at her enthusiasm, no doubt—and she was stunned by how it transformed his face. He wasn’t a creature hunter in that moment, wasn’t haunted by darkness and loss. He was a man who found pleasure in her pleasure, and it made him breathtakingly gorgeous.

They stepped into the elevator, the only ones in it.

“This is the best date ever,” she said, and then quickly added, “I know, it’s not a date date.”
Good move, there, Mademoiselle Dummy.

He said, “It’s a date. Our first and our last.”

The first part made her heart soar; the second dashed it. They were only pretending to be normal. That didn’t mean they could let all caution go to the wind. They got off on the tenth floor and she followed him to one of the doors.

He slid in the card and opened the door, then gestured for her to walk in first. “They don’t have a two-bedroom suite, so we have connecting rooms. We’ll keep the door between open.”

She stepped into the luxury suite, too absorbed by his presence to notice much about the room. He let the door close behind him, set her bag down and unlocked the connecting door. “Get your shower.” He glanced at his watch.

“I know, ten minutes!” Now, she took in the room. “Wow, this is gorgeous. Huge! Fit for a queen. Or at least a princess.” She shot him a smile.

The suite had a living area that was separate from the bedroom. She picked up her bag and walked in. Yes, it all looked very Parisian, or what she thought Parisian might look like. A canopy set off the king-sized bed, both in matching upholstery. Immediately she pictured Cheveyo lying next to her on it, pillows flying, clothes, too.

The whimper came out louder than she’d anticipated.

“You okay?” he called.

“Fine. Just admiring the room.” With a sigh, she pushed on to the bathroom. And gasped.

He chuckled. “Now what are you admiring? The view?”

“The bathroom. It’s freaking wonderful, with a huge marble tub that reminds me of the one in your bathroom.” Which reminded her of when he’d pulled her in. She had to get him drunk; there was no two ways about it. When he’d been in that blood deprived state, she saw a playful side of him that had to exist beneath his serious, ever-vigilant exterior.

She regretfully opted for the shower, using the hotel’s shampoo and soap, and putting on the clothes she’d packed for fighting: knit pants, a blue sweater, and those god-awful dusty sneakers.

When she emerged, sans makeup because she didn’t want it to rub off on the clothes she tried on, he was studying the map spread out on the coffee table.

“One bit of business,” he said.

She sat down beside him. “Where are we going?”

“Here.” He pointed to a place just outside Zion National Park, over the Utah border. “Pope’s given me some orientation of where the finestra is. Obviously it’s off the road, not where tourists would be. It’ll take about three hours to get there, and we’ll need extra time to locate it. He’s psychically giving me landmarks to help us.”

“Really? He remembers enough to help us find it? Oh.” Just as Pope had put the image of the warehouse in her head, now she saw rocky landmarks to signal the finestra’s location. One peak that looked like a witch’s nose, complete with wart on the end. And steep drop-offs.

“See it?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah. Not fun. But I’m amazed he can remember such details.”

Cheveyo leaned to the right and sketched out that same peak on a piece of paper. “He says he had to learn the subtleties of each finestra’s surroundings as part of his training. If we leave at six tomorrow morning, we should be fine.”

She jumped up, wrapped her arms around herself and spun. “We get a whole night here. I get to sleep in that big bed with all the pillows.” Alone. Her gaze met his. She cleared her throat, sat down and looked at the map. “Doesn’t look like a fun drive.”

“I suspect it’ll be like what we did today. Only not as long.”

“Thank gawd.” Her finger trailed across the map. “I love all the names of the mountains: Big Maria Mountains, Vulture Mountains . . .
Chocolate Mountains
? Really? I would love to live on the Chocolate Mountain range.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You know they’re not really made of chocolate, right?”

“Well, yeah. I just like the sound of it.”

His soft chuckle trickled down her spine. He folded the map and put it in his bag. “Ready to shop?”

“Does lipstick come in different colors?” Though she could just as easily stay right there in that room, with him, too. The temptation of that was probably why he’d packed in dinner and a show. “What are we seeing?”

“One of the Cirque de Soleil shows.”

“Juicy. One of them came to Baltimore but I had to work that night.”

“At Hooters.”

She swiveled to pin him with a gaze. “How . . . ? You came to the restaurant?”

He nodded. “You were bummed because you couldn’t get the night off. It was a great way to check on you.” He shrugged. “And the food’s good, too.”

“Thank you for not commenting on the scenery.”

“Well, I did like one part of the scenery.”

She felt her cheeks warm. “How many times did you come in?”

“A few.”

“Did I wait on you? No, I would have remembered waiting on someone like you.”

He held the door open for her. “What does that mean, ‘someone like me’?”

“You’re gorgeous, but not in a typical gorgeous guy way. You have exotic looks, plus you look a bit like Lucas, so that would have struck me right off the bat.”

They walked down the hallway to the elevator. He punched the button. “I used to feel your ache when you thought about him.”

“It’s hard to love someone who doesn’t love you back the same way.”

“I know.” He let those words hang for a moment, and before she could even think to ask if he meant her, he said, “Did you ever tell him you had a crush on him?”

“No! I’m so glad I didn’t. He never saw me that way, and it would have strained our relationship.” She leaned against the wall, her hands linked behind her. “Once I met you, what I thought I felt for him, romantically, all went away. Now I only feel toward him like a sister would. You said you connected to me through Lucas. I think I felt that and confused it for having those feelings for Lucas. It’s kind of weird, I know, but nothing about us is normal.”

The doors slid open and they walked inside. This time there were others in the elevator car with them. Too bad. Or maybe not, depending on how one looked at it. She wanted him, and she knew he wanted her, too. That had never been in question. She totally understood why they shouldn’t go that next step, imprinting their bodies on one another’s and leaving them hungry forevermore.

The problem was, she was hungry anyway.

They spilled out of the car along with the others and made their way to Le Boulevard, the ritzy shopping area. It wasn’t as frilly here, but was still austere with a fountain and lots of marble. Big, glittering windows of clothing and jewelry would normally set her heart aflutter, but compared to having Cheveyo walking beside her . . . not so much. He paused outside the door of a woman’s dress shop.

“I’ll meet you here in about—”

“Ten minutes?”

“Take fifteen. I’m going to find a shirt. I’m treating you to tonight, so if you find something before I come back, leave it on the counter.”

“You don’t have to buy it for me,” she said, touched that he would.

“Do you know how many times I’ve bought a dress for a woman? None. So let me.”

If she didn’t immediately walk into the store, she knew she would throw herself at him and start bawling. She nodded quickly and propelled herself in, wandering the various racks of clothing. Still, no excitement, not like before. No, what she’d felt before was a hunger, and buying things—for herself and others—had been her lame way of filling that hunger.

That’s when Amy’s words hit her: “That’s you buying stuff to fill a hole that things can’t fill. But I think he has a lot to do with that hole . . .”

She hadn’t been ready to accept that truth then, but now it smacked her right in the face. Cheveyo was the man she was supposed to be with, her soulmate, and at a deep level she’d always known that. She’d tried to fit Lucas in that role, and at times other men, and when they didn’t fill it, she went on to buy things that only temporarily sated her. Like an alcoholic, a drink to make her feel happy for a short time. Her credit card bills had been her hangover.

“Can I help you?” a soft female voice asked from beside her.

“No one can help me,” she said on a long sigh, then realized she’d spoken aloud and turned to the petite blonde. “I need a dress, something pretty and simple.”

“Famous little black dress?” the woman asked with a wink.

“Maybe.”

Petra followed the clerk to a rack with several short dresses. She took three of them into the dressing room and came out three times, wearing two blackdresses and then a burgundy one. The third one fit over her curves, giving her cleavage without being trashy, flowing over her hips and ending with a ruffle just above her knees.

“I like that one.”

Not the salesgirl’s voice, but a low, masculine voice that tripped her heartbeat. She met Cheveyo’s gaze in the mirror, where he leaned against one of the racks. He was wearing a burgundy long-sleeved shirt tight enough to show his physique. It was a match in color to her dress. He’d paired it with a tie, but was still wearing a crisp pair of jeans.