Wild Hyacinthe (Crimson Romance) (3 page)

I waited a few minutes, the itch to return to the gym and burn off my irritation nagging at my skin. I scratched beneath my watch as I checked the time, rubbed the back of my neck and shifted. Minutes that felt like hours later, feet entered my field of vision beside my own, clothed in bright green socks and adorned with white running shoes.

I looked up. The nametag over her full breast read “Aria H” and her hair was short, spiky black with a longer streak of blue over her right eye—just long enough to tuck behind her ear. I blinked and swallowed, taking in the sight of the girl who escaped my approach last night. Earrings decorated the rim of each ear: studs and silver hoops from the lobe to the cartilage. Her eyes were bright blue, laced with white throughout. She peered at me with an intense gaze full of intelligence, shaded by long, black lashes.

The incubus urges within me swelled at the sight of one so full of life. I felt constriction in my chest, the need to charge my body with her life. My pants tightened as I realized how deeply I wanted to fuck her into lifelessness. Wanted to but didn’t want to, all at once.

“Hi,” she said, her hands folded in front of her midsection. “What’ll you have?”

I cleared my throat, still stunned by the effect her atypical beauty had over me, and then smiled at her with my usual, winning charm. Well, not always winning, I supposed. Her rejection of me last night was an unprecedented event in my life, and I tucked my hands beneath the table to hide my scabbed knuckles. Rejection made me angry. I had burned off the alcohol and irritation on a freestanding punching bag in my gym last night with bare, bleeding fists.

“Like my name tag?” Aria asked, taking note of the fact that I hadn’t managed to tear my eyes away from her chest the whole time I sat there and drank in her appearance.

I cleared my throat and stopped blatantly staring at her cleavage, embarrassed. “Yeah, it’s very . . . uh . . . letters.”

What the hell? Where was my charm and finesse? I scrambled for something else to say and came up with nothing.

She giggled. “You wanna try that again?”

I chuckled and leaned forward, grateful for her good humor with my stumble. “Yes, I do, sorry. I’m Asher.”

She bit her lip and I wanted to bite it, too. “I think we covered that much last night.”

She was totally right, and I was being a fucking moron. “So we did. And you’re Aria, as I failed to coax out of you when we last met.”

She nodded. “So, Asher, what would you like?”

The list ran through my head at a ridiculous rate. You, naked. Me, naked with you. Your mouth in my lap. Oh, the list went on and on. But that list led to death, darkness, and disgust.
No.

Aria shifted nervously, and then leaned on the table to speak beneath the earshot of her manager. “Look,” she said, “I know who you are, and I’m sorry I don’t . . . Mr. Chain . . . but I need this job, so can you just order something and get it over with,
without
expecting me to eat your charms out of your palm?”

I laughed, surprised by the insult in her dismissive tone but nothing close to offended.
You don’t eat out of my palm only because I haven’t asked you to yet, sweetie.
I couldn’t think of an answer for that, because my mind was still stuck on the idea of sleeping with her. To
want
the kill this much . . . I couldn’t want it. I was still a man, not just a monster.
Right?

Aria narrowed her eyes at me—cool blue with fine, intricate white lacing through the irises—and licked her lips. “I asked you what you will have,” she repeated.

“Oh, I will have many things. For me, it’s usually just a matter of
when
I will have them.”

“Let’s just stick with food for now, shall we?” she said, her eyebrows lifted with a no-nonsense attitude.

I stared back at her coolly, surprised she seemed so unaffected by my good looks.

“It’s rude to stare,” she said. “And it’s rude to wear your sunglasses indoors.”

I chuffed once and snatched the sunglasses from my face, boring my gaze into hers. She gasped. I rarely exposed my eyes outside of the dark nightclubs where my true colors stayed hidden, and I knew the parking lot had been too dark for her to get a clear look last night. As the incubus part of my soul was functioning at half-strength, hungry and eager, my eyes were lighter around the edges and only dark in the centers . . . fairly normal, I figured. My last kill, Kellie the journalist, was four months ago. My urges started to really kick up this long after a charge. But women found my eyes captivating to stare at, regardless of how recently I’d had sex.

Aria took a slight step back and averted her gaze. She cleared her throat and refused to meet my eyes again. That was unusual. Unusual was good. My pants grew tighter with each moment she stood, shifting nervously before me.

Alright,
I conceded,
she’s hard to get. Could be fun.

“I’ll have two eggs, sunny side up, two strips of bacon across each, whole wheat toast with no butter, a skim latte with one sugar, and one quartered kiwi fruit on the side.”

“Very particular,” Aria said, spinning on her heel and retreating to the kitchen without writing a single word down on her pad of paper.

“I prefer the term ‘selective,’” I corrected her as she strode away, hoping my tone conveyed my flirtatious mood rather than the bossy arrogance I knew I let show sometimes. She ignored me.

I watched her walk. Her tight, short, black skirt framed her athletic backside. Abs and ass, tits and an attitude. What more could a guy ask for?

I frowned, realizing that if I could ask for one more thing, it would be to not kill her when I eventually fucked her. I shouldn’t be close with any woman I liked. I’d gotten close with a girl once before. Really close. And the fallout when I ruined it all was enough for a lifetime.

Aria returned with my coffee and later with my food, giving me a perfect view of her ass both times as she walked away. I ate ravenously and tipped her the usual, doubling my own bill for her benefit. As she stared, shocked at the amount written on my credit card slip, I winked. She was fit, fucking sexy and seemingly unaffected by my charms. A tantalizing challenge.

That afternoon was rough. My gym was a few blocks from the Lacy Teacup. I was agitated by the disruption of my routine with a new waitress who triggered my lust in ways I didn’t want to indulge just yet. But as my last client for the day left and I climbed the back stairs to my spacious loft for dinner, I glanced in the direction of the café. Streaking out from the back of the building, across the parking lot and down the street was Aria. I could see far from the height of my balcony and I watched her run down the street until she disappeared from sight. Puzzled, I retired to my well-furnished apartment and basked in the comfort of my double king- sized bed.

I stared at the white wall as I fell asleep, soothed when the white melted away and revealed black streaked with blue like Aria’s hair. Then, as I dozed off, the blue dissolved into black streaks like the hateful reflection of my murderous eyes.

I woke
with an unusual excitement about the day ahead. I was eager to head to the Lacy Teacup to see Aria again and frowned when I found myself rock-hard and crazy horny in the shower as I thought about her lean, lithe frame. I knew that most
normal
men would simply jerk off and be done with it, but as the act of intercourse was vital to my survival, the incubus side of me, my sexual side, was immune to masturbation. I could jerk it all day long—and I tried once—and still receive no release, no orgasm, no fuel for my burning need to fuck and kill. I toweled off and stuffed my erection into my boxers and then my khaki cargo pants, slipped on a dark gray t-shirt and headed out into the summery morning, silently begging the sunlight to keep my usual depression away. Excitement was new, and I wanted more of it.

The drive to Gypsy’s office was short, but every moment of it precious in my Lamborghini. Cars were always a welcome distraction from the stress of my life, the guilt I wore around my shoulders like a heavy backpack of bullshit. I knew my mood could shift dramatically in social situations, and thus I failed to keep many friends. Or any friends, really. Too often, the topic of sex arose in conversations with peers, so I steered clear and allowed the arrogant shield of wealth to protect me in public settings, like clubs and bars. People didn’t often approach me if I didn’t approach them first, and that was best—to keep my demons hidden behind my self-control.

Cars, though . . . cars didn’t judge. They didn’t randomly blurt out sexual jokes, or invite me to the movie theater where I’d be taunted by unlikely heroines in leather on the screen. I supposed my escape through fast vehicles was a bit similar to Gypsy’s avoidance of social settings, though her reclusive lifestyle was rooted in our shared history as orphans rather than my ghastly truths. But deep down, she and I were not so different from each other.

Gypsy’s office security patted me down, as always. My parents’ office building did wonders for cooling my obnoxious libido. My sister sat at her desk, looking lovely and all-business as ever. She cocked half a smile when she saw me as I passed through the giant wooden archway to her office. She looked so much like my mother, sitting at my mother’s old desk, that I sighed and strode forward to embrace her.

My twin hugged me back, stiffly, as was her way.

“Nothing to report?” Gypsy asked me, and I knew what she meant. I shook my head.
No new killings,
she would read from my negative gesture.

“Good.” Gypsy nodded and shuffled forward some papers. “Sign.”

“What am I signing?” I took up a pen and signed all six sheets before she answered me. I trusted Gypsy with my life, so it didn’t really matter. Hell, she could tell me to sign my own crucifixion order and I’d comply without hesitation. She mattered that much to me: the only person who understood me, who knew of the internal demons I battled and loved me regardless.

“Liquidation for purpose of re-investment,” she said. “Just making some adjustments to keep the highest interest rate flowing in.”

I tilted with mock scold. “You don’t need my signature for that, Gyp,” I called her bluff. “You’ve got full power of attorney.”

“Of course I do.” Gypsy raised a single eyebrow with sincere pride. “But I wanted to check your eyes, so here we are.”

I chuckled, leaning forward on the desk so she could see the black of my pupils, which barely extended into my irises, four months since my last charge of life from a freshly fucked woman.
Freshly murdered,
I reminded myself, unwilling to dismiss my crimes for even a moment. “You can always just invite me for a social visit,” I said, watching my sister study my eyes.

“I don’t do social.”

I shrugged, allowing that.

“Let me know how you are in a week,” she said, scrawling something on her calendar to her left. “I can arrange something unnoticeable, if need be.”

“You know I’ll let you know if I need that.”

“Yes,” my sister replied, boring into me with her lovely, ordinary eyes, “but I also know that you are a terrible judge of your own desperation. Kellie was no whore. She had a job and parents and a college degree. You snapped and took her without thinking, without giving me any time to do damage control before it was done. She was noticed. I don’t appreciate when they are noticed.”

I swallowed. She rarely brought up a buried murder unless she had encountered difficulty in the cover-up. “What happened, Gyp?” I asked, appalled.

“The usual,” she said, her normally cool tone masking the disgust I knew she felt somewhere in her hardened, emotionless body. “Detective Jacobson asked some questions. I gave him the answers he wanted.”

Fuck!
I took a deep breath to secure my temper. Detective Jacobson only ever asked for one thing as payment for fabricated answers to the questions of nosy reporters. I clenched my fists and a bubble of rage brimmed through my forced, calm exterior. “Gypsy, for fuck’s sake, send him to
me
. You don’t have to sell yourself to hide my crimes. I’ve told you that how many times?”

My twin refused to meet my gaze as she continued to write on the calendar. “Nevertheless, you know I will, to protect you. Come see me next week. Let me know if things get desperate before then.”

My heart constricted. If my sister wouldn’t hate me for doing it, I’d have hanged myself long ago for the price she paid to protect me repeatedly. I cursed inside my head. The thought of anyone defiling this woman, who wanted nothing to do with the needs of men, especially for
my
sake, was nauseating. I watched her ignore me pointedly and sighed.

“That’s all, Asher,” she said quietly, a hint of remorse in her tone. I turned and stomped out, new ire coursing through my veins that my sister dared to feel sorry for my anger at the revelation that Detective Jacobson was poking around Kellie’s death. Of both of us, Gypsy was dealt the better hand in life, yet she paid the steepest price for my mistakes.

If that’s not love, I don’t know what is,
I thought as I raced out of the busy downtown in my black and red Lamborghini Superleggera, which I lovingly nicknamed the Super Car. And as I turned into the tourist district of Duluth and smelled the potent humidity of Lake Superior, heading for the Lacy Teacup, the truth of that hit home. I’d never known love, save for the love of my sister and my parents and an old love that died too quickly for me to really taste—and I probably never would know any other kind. An incubus was a creature of passion and hate, not love, and thus so was I. I ground my teeth together and resigned myself to the whores of Gypsy’s suggestion to spare my sister another encounter with Detective Jacobson, because she didn’t deserve this bullshit . . . not by far.

Even though I was only going to have sex with whores,
I could still go have coffee with the deliciously sinful and attractive Aria as my waitress at the Lacy Teacup.
Right?
I churned over my reasoning in my head as I slowed my speed and parked a couple of blocks from the café. It was afternoon, and I disengaged the engine of my Super Car next to a shitty little Toyota Camry with a broken side mirror. I chuckled at the contrast of vehicles and walked to the Lacy Teacup, sat at my eternally reserved table and forced myself to forget my self-loathing and regret for Gypsy’s repeated sacrifices. I checked my appointments in my phone as I waited for the waitress.