Black Dalliances (A Blushing Death Novel) (3 page)

Rearing back with a quick jerk of his head, Dean broke our kiss. Taking several deep breaths, his chest heaved up and down with each panting breath. “I have to show you something,” he growled in the back of his throat.

The snicker of self-satisfaction I was trying to hold back tugged the corners of my mouth up. I bet he had something to show me.

“It wouldn’t be the rocket in your pocket, would it?” I laughed.

“Did you just make a dick joke?” he asked, and I heard the appalled tone he was striving entirely too hard to attain. I was more astounded that he’d said ‘dick,’ quite frankly. The man never swore. Ever. And he’d just said ‘dick.’

“Did you just say . . .” I asked. Narrowing my gaze, I turned my head from side-to-side and scanned the room suspiciously before I whispered, “. . . DICK.”

Throwing his head back, Dean laughed. A full-bodied, rich, curl-my-toes kind of laugh filled my ears and tingled in my belly. I couldn’t describe the elation that made me feel like I was soaring at the sound. Knowing that I’d made him happy enough to let go and laugh was enough.

“Come on.” Shaking his head, he slipped his arm around my waist and hugged me to him. “I have something I want you to see,” he said, a smile still twisting his lips up.

“What is this?” I asked, ducking lower in the front seat of his truck’s cab to get a better view. The house was monstrous. The thing was almost bigger than the mansion in Victorian Village where Patrick housed his colony.

“It’s a house,” Dean said, his face neutral and unyielding.

“Well, no shit, Sherlock.” I couldn’t believe how comfortable I felt, as if I’d never left. If only Patrick was as forgiving or as easy as Dean.

“Come inside and see,” he said, stepping from the truck and circling around front. I got out and stepped up onto the sidewalk beside him.

A thigh-high wrought iron fence surrounded the front yard of the red-brick home. When I say yard, I mean about a six foot by twelve foot area of grass. Flowers surrounded the house and walkway. Across the street from Schiller Park in German Village, a flowering pear tree with vibrant white flowers covering the entire canopy shaded the front of the behemoth. The houses on either side were only five or six feet apart but this mansion seemed perfectly content snuggled in the space provided.

Dean strode up the steps to the porch and plucked a key from his pocket then opened the door. The distinct sound of a security alarm beeped from inside as I followed him in. He punched in a few numbers on the keypad and stopped the high-pitched, annoyingly shrill sound echoing through the empty space.

Dark cherry hardwood floors with matching woodwork outlined the doors and the elaborately carved staircase. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered. “Is this a project house?” I’d seen his project houses in the company portfolio books for the parade of homes. Each one of them was something to be proud of but this . . . It was a masterpiece.

“Why don’t you take a look around?” he said, following me into the kitchen.

Christ on crutches!
It was a gourmet’s dream.

Stainless steel appliances gleamed in the morning sun as it flooded through the wall of windows overlooking an Eden in the backyard. Floor-to-ceiling white cabinets with glass front French provincial doors lined the walls with a gigantic subzero professional freezer. The island could seat eight people comfortably. A six-burner gas stove sat in the center of the granite countertop, making my knees weak. The in-ground pool, nestled in the foliage and flowers, was like an oasis that no one could see beyond the ten-foot privacy wall surrounding it.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs,” he said, a self-satisfied grin curling his lips.

Taking my hand, we climbed the grand Victorian staircase together. “This is the master bedroom,” he said, stepping inside.

Overlooking Schiller Park, triple bay windows filled the room with natural light. Off the master bedroom was a walk-in closet the size of my bedroom at Cadenza’s and a master bath that was simply sinful. A triple vanity with matching medicine cabinets of beveled glass glittered across the counter like shiny new nickels.

The second floor had three additional bedrooms and another full bath at the end of the hall. Beautiful, but not as spectacular as the master bedroom and bath.

“This is great!” I smiled, proud of him. He and his team had done a fantastic job on this house. “Whoever buys it will be happy here.” The house had a good vibe.

“There’s more to see,” he said, opening a door at the end of the hall and ushering me through.

We climbed a second staircase leading to the third floor and the hum of electricity made my skin tingle. Rounding the corner, I stood in awe.

Rows of weapons lined the walls; crossbows, a bow and arrows, guns of multiple sizes and calibers, even a replacement for the gun I’d lost in the fire. Light shone off the nickel-plating from the skylights in the vaulted roof and made it shine. An oscillating spindle sat lonely in the corner next to a punching bag hung from the ceiling. Exercise equipment that I’d once dreamed of was stacked neatly along the walls. On the opposite end was a command station with all the computer equipment that had been destroyed with my house.
 

My hands shook and my knees went weak. A sense of relief washed through me as my eyes burned with tears. This wasn’t a project house.

“Tre?” I whispered, my knees buckling. I reached out, grabbing the banister for support. “What is this?”

“It’s yours.”

“But.” My bottom lip trembled.

“No buts. We took the insurance money from your house and paid off the mortgage. Sold the land for a profit.” I turned, allowing him to see my tear-filled eyes and my gratitude.

“Baby, don’t cry. This was just as self-serving as generous,” he said, glancing around. “This place is big enough for all of us.”

“So this is mine?” I asked in a shaking breath. “I bought it?”

“Yes. Well, you bought most of it. We didn’t want to deplete everything so Patrick and I chipped in some. Our people do tend to spend a lot of time in your house,” he said, a warm smile plumping his cheeks and twinkling the olive-green in his eyes. “The rest is in your account. You should check your balances more often.”

They’d done this for me. No matter how mad Patrick was, he still loved me or he wouldn’t have done all this.

“Come on, there’s more,” Dean said.

I slid my fingers into his much larger, much warmer hand and let him lead me back down the stairs. I took everything in again with the brand new understanding that it was mine. Mine, Patrick’s, and Dean’s. Ours. A home.

He led me back down to the first floor and into the living room. Turning toward the south wall, a gigantic flat screen television was mounted and framed by the exposed red brick.

“55 or 60-inch?”

“72.” He smirked, which was too damned cute.

“Is that for me or you?” I snickered, attitude making my words sharp. I couldn’t let him think I was grateful or anything, now could I?

“It’s for me. Football season is coming up, and I’d like to watch it on a good television,” he said, staring at it instead of me. I somehow knew I’d be prying him away from a Big 10 game in the fall.

“And I’m excited about this because . . .?” I asked, turning to face him with my hands on my hips.

He grinned down at me as if he could hear what I was thinking. I hoped not. Probably not or he wouldn’t be grinning at me.

“Not this, the boxes,” he said, nodding toward the floor.

Five small boxes were strewn about in no particular order. Walking over, I knelt down and flipped open one of the cardboard flaps, then another and another. They were all there on Blu-ray;
Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Robin Hood, Peter Pan, Pinocchio, 101 Dalmatians, Fantasia, The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast,
and the rest. All of them.

I leapt into Dean’s arms and they closed around me, engulfing me in his strong embrace.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Don’t thank me. Thank Patrick. I think some were hard to get. He kept mumbling about Disney’s damned vault.”

I glanced back down at the boxes on the floor and felt a new wash of guilt.

“I messed up,” I whispered, taking in all they’d done for me, done on the belief that I was coming back. I’d dealt with my grief in the wrong way. At the time, I wasn’t able to come up with any other option but to leave. I had no excuse. My heart raced in my chest and my eyes burned with unshed tears.

“No,” he argued.

Dean could say whatever he wanted but I knew better. When I’d seen Patrick’s face, I knew I was right. I’d hurt him. I’d been the only woman Patrick had ever really loved and I’d left him without a word and a sad excuse for a note.

“Yeah, I did,” I said with conviction. “I just need to figure out how to make it right.”

“Baby, you gotta give Pat time.”

He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, tugging me to him. Pressing his long, bulky body against my back, he clung to me.

“What does that mean for us?” I asked, my chest tightening at the thought of losing either of them. Things wouldn’t be right between Dean and me until they were right between Patrick and me.

He nuzzled my neck, breathing in my scent. “Baby, we’re fine. I don’t wanna wait but you’re not goin’ anywhere. You’re my Eithina. No fightin’ that now,” he said, a soft guttural purr to his voice.

A new weight pushed down on my chest. I was still keeping a secret and I knew in my bones Patrick wasn’t going to like it. I couldn’t keep it from Dean though. I also didn’t want him to find out some other way. Glancing around at the empty space, I knew it was as good a time as any.

“I have something I need to talk to you about,” I said, backing away from him. Distance helped clear my head and my nose. His heavy musk-rich scent filled my senses and clouded my brain.

“What?”

“When I was in Vegas,” I started with a heavy sigh. “I got a little too close. Jarvis, Marabelle’s second-in-command, was looking to get rid of me but not draw your attention or Patrick’s.”

Pacing back and forth in agitation, I faltered.
How would he take this? How do I explain this?
Light streamed through the windows and across the hardwood floors in long geometric shapes, drawing my attention.

“They wanted to make it look like an accident?” he asked succinctly.

I turned.

Sitting in the middle of the floor with his legs crossed in a yogi style, Dean squared his shoulders and waited to hear me out. The long line of his spine was rigid as he watched me pace like a caged animal.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “They sent a couple of guys who drugged me. They beat the shit out of me and dropped me in the middle of the desert. Fairly old school, really,” I said matter-of-factly. The whole situation seemed so far removed now, as if it had happened to another person.

Dean started to rise but I stopped him with my outstretched hand.

“For now,” he cautioned. Leaning back on his palms, he got comfortable. He didn’t like that I’d gone through it alone or that I wouldn’t let him touch me to comfort either me or him, I couldn’t tell. Even if he didn’t like it, he was willing to wait and listen, which I appreciated.

How do you say,
Oh by the way, my dead boyfriend and your beta appeared to me as a spirit guide
? There was no good way to say it other than just blurting it out. “I saw Danny,” I whispered.

Dean’s eyes shot up to meet mine. “What?”

“I saw Danny out in the desert,” I reiterated.

“You’re sure?” he asked. His gaze narrowed and focused on me.

“Positive.” I grinned. I wasn’t sad about Danny anymore and I let that fill me.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked with more fear than concern.

Evidently, he didn’t like the expression on my face, or didn’t trust it. I couldn’t tell.

“Well, I finally got to say goodbye, for one.” I sighed. I still loved Danny but it didn’t hurt anymore and I was able to let him go. Danny was happy and I was happy, for the most part.

“And two?”

“He showed me the power of our magic,” I said with a bigger smile.

“I don’t understand.”

“Wait here,” I said, my voice excited and my heart pounding as I went back into the kitchen. I opened the door to the half bath and stepped inside. It was the only room on the first floor that wasn’t exposed to windows. I didn’t want to change in front of the whole world. I was excited, not stupid.

I stripped down to nothing and thought of Dean, of the Pack, of the scent of his wolves surrounding me and covering my body in the warmth of their acceptance. My skin tingled from my hair to my toes as my body changed, becoming something it wasn’t ever supposed to be.

After a few long and tension rich seconds, I peered down at my paws on the white tile, warm from the sunshine. I blew out a satisfied huff and trotted out into the kitchen, through the empty house on four paws instead of two legs.

“Baby? What’s taking so . . .?” Dean shouted, turning to look through the dining room and into the kitchen. When he saw me sitting in the doorway, my paws on the floor and my tail wagging behind me, his mouth dropped open. A stunned expression crinkled the corners of his eyes which I wasn’t sure how to interpret. “Dahlia?”

I couldn’t really answer him. I wagged my tail harder, sliding it across the cool hardwood. Peering deep into the eyes of his wolf, I let him see me.

“Dahlia?” he asked again as I strode into the living room and plopped down beside him. He seemed confused, as if there was another wolf in the house.

So. I licked him.

He chuckled, running his large strong hands through my silky fur.

“You’re beautiful,” he growled.

His breath skimmed along the fur in my ear, making me twitch and I sneezed. He laughed again as his fingers stroked my body beneath the fur, rubbing my head around the base of my ears.
Christ on crutches, that felt amazing!