Black Fallen (25 page)

A loud rap at the door sends her into a blurred vapor. Then gone.

“See ya,” I whisper, staring at the place she’d just pointed. I’ll talk to her again.
Later. Then I turn to the door. “It’s open.”

Noah walks in, and I hear his intake of breath at the doorway. “Damn, Poe,” he says
after several seconds. He walks over to me, gives me the twice-over, his gaze lingering
as it goes from the hem of my gown up to the bodice. Those mercury eyes finally meet
mine. “Damn. The pink is back. Good.”

I give him the twice-over, too. He’s dressed in a tailored black tux. Sun-bleached
dreads are pulled back with a black leather and silver clasp. His face is marked by
ridiculous beauty no man should ever possess. He had to have had the shit beat out
of him before he became a vampire. Pretty boys always get beat up.

A slow smile transforms his face. I don’t know how to describe it. Part arrogant.
Part predatory. Part . . . endearing.

Only if you know and love him, I guess.

I remember a time when I wanted to beat him up, too.

I meet his gaze. “Damn,” I say in return. “You clean up pretty nice, Miles. But I
didn’t think you were going to the event. Only lurking outside.”

“Jake says to lurk outside, you need to look as if you belong inside,” he answers.
He stretches one arm out and dusts off imaginary lint with his hand. “Not bad, if
I say so myself.”

I roll my eyes. “Hold on, let me get my shoes.” I turn to the bed, pull the heels
out of the box, and slip them on. I walk back to him and look up. “I’m almost as tall
as you are now.”

Noah’s jaw muscles flex as he looks at me. His eyes are smoky gray. “You’re beautiful,
Riley. In a gown or a sweaty pair of training pants. Either way,” he says. “Exquisite.”

Heat floods my scalp. “I think you’re making me blush,” I answer, and pat my cheeks.
“Are you wearing your special hoodoo concoction that keeps your sexuality tamped down?”

Noah has a special feature. He’s so sexually potent and alluring to females—of all
species—that he has to wear a charmed mixture of hoodoo herbs around his neck, or
females everywhere will throw and claw their way into his pants. Sounds like something
he’d love, I know, but, according to him, after a couple of centuries of it, he grew
weary. I can tell you firsthand, though, when he’s not wearing the charm, he’s . . .
a mess. Let’s just say that. A freaking mess.

He grins. Wide.

I shake my head. “Oh, wait one more sec.” I go to my chest, grab the feather-light
sheath and strap and my silver dirk, slide it up under the skirt of my gown and attach
it to my thigh. I ease the dirk into the sheath. I eye the scathe’s hiding place,
in the trunk. I want to take it but Jason had said the best place for it was gripped
in my hand. That’s a no-go tonight. For now, it stays. My hope soars now with the
possibility of finding Eli. Even if it means delving into the Underworld. I sure as
Hell will do it. In a heartbeat. “Okay, ready.” Noah, whose gaze is kinda stuck to
my thigh, shakes his head and sticks out his arm for me to take, and I do. “Let’s
go,” I say, and look at him sideways. “Arrogant, pervy ass.”

Noah’s laugh fills the corridor.

“Who were you talking to when I first came to your door?” he asks as we head downstairs.

We pass the darkened alcove midway down the corridor, and I see Lily in the recesses
of the shadows. As we pass, I smile and give her a little wave. She literally smiles
back at me. “Oh, someone who reminds me a lot of me.”

Noah’s questioning look makes me laugh out loud.

Downstairs, I have to catch my breath. Honest. I gasp. Out loud.

Imagine a room full of vampires, werewolves, and immortal druids, all in black Armani
tuxedos and lovely formal gowns. Breathtaking is all I can say. I admit, I’m the . . .
oddball, I guess. I’m the one with the dragon tattoos exposed and the wing on my face.
Where Ginger and Sydney are stunning in their gowns, Ginger in a champagne blush and
Sydney in soft plum, they have jewelry to match. I wear no jewelry. My ink, my art,
is my jewelry. I don’t even have earrings.

“And it is spectacular,” whispers Noah in my ear. I squeeze his arm.

“Riley, simply gorgeous,” Jake says in front of everyone, making me want to roll my
eyes and punch him for singling me out. “You’ll be in a cab alone. Gabriel and Sydney,
MacLeod and Ginger, you’ll be in separate cabs. Darius, you ride with Arcos. Miles,
you’re with me. We’ll arrive first. Riley,” he says, looking at me with admiration
and a quick twice-over. “You will arrive last.”

I nod. “Got it.”

Outside, the night air is heavy, but not so much brine this time. That sweet, cloverlike
scent rides the chilly breeze, and Peter hands me a silk wrap as I wait for my cab.
“You look lovely, miss,” he says. “I would drive you myself, but—”

“Oh, that’s okay, Peter,” I say hurriedly, remembering the ride from Hell he gave
us from the airport. “But thank you for the wrap. And for waiting with me.”

He grins. His nose is, as always, red. “You’re most welcome, miss.”

I watch the sun drop as we wait outside the Crescent, and the sky once more has turned
varying shades of purple and gray. Soon, my cab arrives, and Peter opens the door
for me. “The Marimae House, please sir,” he tells the cab driver. Then hands him twenty
pounds. “This should cover it.”

“Aye,” the cabby answers. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Peter answers, and waves to me.

I wave back and we take off to New Town.

Traffic is heavy, and the cab driver takes several side roads that I’m unfamiliar
with—especially once out of Old Town. I can see, though, why even though it’s called
New Town, the ground itself is still as ancient as Old Town. Which is why a particular
battle was fought between the painted warriors of the north and the lowlanders. By
the time we arrive, I’m stunned. Marimae House is a large manor home, at least three
or four hundred years old, and it has a wide, sweeping circular drive that we pull
into and get in a short line of black cabs dropping off guests.

It’s precisely seven p.m. when my cab stops at the front entrance. A concierge is
there to open my door and assist me out. I don’t need assisting, but I allow it anyway.
The damn humming has started up in my ears again. I guess I should’ve seen a doctor
by now. I ignore it as best as I can, push it aside. It dulls.

The manor home is of aged stone and five stories high. With an impressive front face,
it has two fountains out front with mermen and mermaids spewing water. I can vaguely
see a large garden in the back as I start up a two-flight winding staircase

The moment I enter the home, I search for signs of the WUP team. Way across the room,
I spy Ginger and Lucian, standing together near an enormous and intricately carved
hearth and sipping a drink. They don’t see me. I continue to scan the room. No sign
of Sydney and Gabriel. No telling where they are. Probably digging up the garden,
looking for the relic.

I see no sign of the others. I continue to walk through the manor. In the next room
is a huge parquet dance floor, and several couples are twirling around to ancient
music. Ballroom music. Never did learn to dance like that. I’m more of a dirty dancer,
I guess you’d say.

“Miss, would you care to dance?”

I turn around and face . . . a very old guy. Cute, lots of white hair going every
which way, but old. I smile. “Sure.”

He leads me out on the dance floor, and that’s when I catch a glimpse of Jake. He’s
watching me from a table of drinks, where three women are all vying for his attention.
A slight smile lifts his mouth and he gives me a slighter nod.

Prick
.

He then excuses himself and walks hastily from the dance hall.

“You’re very good,” the old man says to me. I look down at him. “Thank you.”

“I like your markings,” he says, and grins widely. “And your pink hair.”

I try not to laugh. “Well, thank you very much.”

We dance a few more minutes, until I notice the guy is actually getting a little winded,
and we stop. “Thanks,” I say, and he ambles off. Before I can even glance at the crowd,
a voice whispers at the back of my neck, close to my ear. “Don’t turn around.”

My insides seize.

“You’re an exquisite dancer,” he says, his voice silky smooth and oh, so familiar.
“Walk straight ahead into the next room.”

I make my way through the crowd of charity-event goers and into the next room, as
instructed. Only a few people occupy it. Chairs and settees are situated about, and
I feel his hand now at the small of my back. It sends shivers down my spine. I hate
that.

“Just at the far end of the room is a doorway. Go through it.”

I’m not nervous, like life-in-danger nervous. I’m . . . anxious. I want to see whoever
this person is. I walk ahead, find the door, open it, and go through it. It’s another
dimly lit room, rather a passageway. One small lamp hangs overhead and gives off a
soft amber glow. The sound of metal clicking reaches my ear. The door is now locked.
The chamber is chilled, empty. We are totally alone.

Strong, callused hands move to my shoulders and slowly turn me around. My breath lodges
in my throat when my eyes meet my company: long, silver-blond hair hangs straight
past his broad shoulders, half of it pulled behind his head and secured. Eyes nearly
the same color as his hair stare down at me, and they look like liquid metal. Full
lips, sensually curved, sit above a square chin and strong jaw. Perfectly shaped brows
lift. “Not what you expected?” he asks.

“No— Who are you?” I manage. His beauty is so great, it almost hurts to look at him.
Literally.

His sexy lips curve. “My name is Athios.” His eyes move to where his hands rest on
my shoulders, and his fingers skim down my arm, tracing my dragons. His gaze lifts.
“You are the most exquisite woman I’ve ever seen,” he says, amazement lining his unusual
accent.

“What do you want with me?” I ask, uncomfortable with how sexual this stranger makes
me feel simply by touching my arms. “Why did you want me to come here tonight? Why
do you sneak into my dreams? I thought you were . . . someone else.”

He smiles. “I . . . don’t know. I couldn’t help myself.” His silvery gaze lingers
on mine. “I had to see you again. I have only imagined you. Like this. Inside your
head. Inside my head.” His gaze drinks me in. “But to see you in life, standing before
me, under my touch? I can’t believe you’re real.”

His words even turn me on. That low hum is beginning to get the best of me, and my
concentration is slipping. Why is my body reacting to him? I’m angered at myself for
even thinking it. I want to leave, yet I don’t. “You are one of the Fallen.”

His jaw muscles flex. “Not willingly, but yes, I am. And you’re one of the hunters.”

Slowly I nod. I can’t seem to take my eyes off his . . . eyes. They’re mesmerizing.
His scent, his entire being is intoxicating. I don’t understand it, and confusion
makes me frown. The ringing . . . it’s starting to make me dizzy again. The hum is
now a whine, like the low-pitched sound a dog hears. I want to cover my ears.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Ringing. In my ears. Hurts.” I clasp my hands over my ears.

Athios grazes my temples with his fingertips, and the humming stops. “’Tis the relics,
I fear,” he says. “Your acute hearing is attuned with their low frequency.”

I blink. I’ve been hearing the freaking relics the whole time? Now my body heats,
and I can’t take my eyes off of Athios. Again, I frown.

“What is it?” he asks. His hands skim down my sides, pulling me closer.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I . . . know this is wrong, yet I can’t help myself,”
I say. “You are controlling me.”

“Why is it wrong?” he asks. “Do you not recall the other night? The one we shared
with such passion?” He lifts my chin with his hand and forces me to look at him. “How
can that have been anything but right?”

“You don’t know me,” I say. “I know that the Fallen seek pure souls. Mine is anything
but, so don’t get any funny ideas about sucking mine out of me.”

Athios laughs low, deep. “That’s the farthest thing from my mind,” he says. “And I
do know you, Riley Poe. From the very first encounter, I scanned your entire soul.
I know what your very first cognitive thoughts were, all the way up until now.” He
grazes my jaw with his thumb. “I know your whole life. And I admire the person you
are. I envy your fiancé. You’re an amazing woman.”

“Well, I don’t know you at all,” I answer, feeling the drug of his touch against my
skin. “How do you know my fiancé?”

“You know me better than most,” he answers, ignoring my question about Eli. “Please
hold still, Riley,” he whispers, drawing close. “Just for a moment.”

I go deathly still as he leans toward me, head bent, and brushes his lips over mine.
His silky hair slips over my shoulder, and the sensation across my skin makes me shudder.
His lips are full, pliable, and they move expertly over mine in a possessive caress,
tasting me with his tongue, pulling at my bottom lip with his teeth. My hands move
to his chest, up the collar of his tux, and around his neck to pull him closer. His
hands move over my back, pulling me against his body. I can’t seem to get close enough.
His lips claim mine seductively, softly, slowly, and I sigh into him. What’s wrong
with me? Why can’t I stop? Instead I urge him on, moaning softly against his mouth.

“Athios,” I whisper, kissing him back. “Beautiful.” My mind whirls, and deep inside,
I grasp onto what little control I have left. My hand moves to my thigh, and slowly,
I inch my gown’s hem up. My fingers grate my blade, and I release it from the sheath.
Gently, I lift it until the blade rests against Athios’s throat.

“Get off of me,” I say with a growl. Control is barely in my grasp. I press the blade
harder, and Athios flinches. “Now.”

Athios pulls back just a fraction. “Impressive.”