Dreams for the Dead (8 page)

“Oh god,” she said breathlessly, forgetting herself.

With a lazy smile, he backed off to remove his jeans and she lay there watching him, mindlessly running her hands up and down her torso. She could feel his eyes on her, his need for her a physical thing that exhilarated her. He produced a condom from somewhere and let the wrapper fall to the floor as he rolled it on.

“I guess you just carry those around wherever you go,” she said.

“You never know when you might need one.”

“Obviously.”

He kissed her deeply when he climbed on top of her. “You’re mine,” he said in a ragged whisper.

“No, I’m not,” she panted in reply. She was out of her mind. He could have crushed her. He could have devoured her. She wanted him like not
hing else.

He took hold of her hips and pulled her down a few inches. He bent her knees and pushed them apart, all the way down to the mattress. She cried out as he slid himself into her. He adjusted his a
ngle and suddenly she was clawing at the sheets, her body arching up to meet each sundering thrust. They couldn’t get close enough.

“Harder,” she said, breathless.

Tightening his grip on her, he did as she asked. The expression on his face seemed urgent, brimming with hopeful abandon, as if he’d long been looking for something and thought he might have found it at last in her. There was wildness and hunger in him, things Dawn had never known with Zach. She was on fire, eyelids fluttering, muscles tight.

He leaned over her, heat trapped between them, whispering her name in disbelieving tones. She clutched him to her as he finished off in slow, rolling motions. Then his hips were still, his body weighing down comfortably on hers. They lay silently for a moment, just breathing.

All too soon, the shameful enormity of what she’d done started to drag Dawn down from a blissful afterglow.

Tristan’s pupils were huge when he lifted his head to look at her. He blinked and pushed the little damp hairs back from her forehead.

“You were cold before,” she said, placing a hand on his smooth chest. “You’ve gotten warmer.”

“Mm.” He dipped his face to her collarbone and nuzzled her lightly. “That’ll happen. What’s that smell?”

“What? Oh. Nag champa.”

An appreciative groan sounded. “I like it.”

“Great.” She shoved at him, suddenly upset. “Now get off me.”

He rolled off compliantly, smiling to himself. He stretched and let out a contented sigh. “I really do have shit to do today.”

She pulled on her clothes without looking at him. She’d successfully seduced him, or maybe he’d seduced her. Either way, she couldn’t just go around making demands like she held all the power now, like he would just suddenly roll over to her whims. She had to play the game with caution and precision, even if she only pretended to know what to do.

“Could you take me with you?” she asked shyly, turning to look at him.

“You don’t need to come with me.” He swung off the bed and reached for his jeans.

“But … I want to.”

Tristan’s eyes came to rest on her, unfathomable. The affectionate persona he’d assumed was gone. “Don’t tell me you have feelings for me already.”

Dawn’s eyes flared. “I didn’t say anything about feelings. I just don’t want to be cooped up in this st
upid room anymore, tied to the fucking headboard.”

His eyes narrowed. “Tell me, Dawn. What’s the worst thing you’ve done? Break your bo
yfriend’s heart? Pretend to be someone else in order to fit in with people? Maybe you stole a candy bar when you were a kid and never told anyone, because you knew they’d make you fork over fifty cents for it.”

“Maybe I’ve done worse.”

“No, you haven’t. Believe me.”

“You don’t know me,” she said quietly.

“You’re right. I don’t. And you don’t know me either. You can’t even begin to fucking imagine me.” He pulled his shirt on angrily.

There hadn’t been a moment where she really thought she knew him, not even a little. And yet she’d felt a strange sort of intimacy just by being in his arms, knowing there were secrets and not even caring. It was a dangerous feeling, she knew. It would work against her if she weren’t careful, and this day would come back to haunt her and she’d be sorry for the mistake of letting down her guard. Maybe she already was.

“You can come with me,” he said, all the heat gone from his voice. “If you must.”

He drove them somewhere along the outskirts of town, where boxlike houses lined quiet streets. It wasn’t raining anymore, but lilac-gray clouds still covered the sky. Tristan parked on the gravel shou
lder in front of a church tucked into a copse of trees in the midst of the hushed neighborhood. It was white and plain, but pretty, with no sign to indicate the denomination.

“If we drove all this way just to pray, I’m going to be pretty upset,” Dawn said.

The hint of a wry grin crept onto his lips. “Very funny.”

The wooden doors were unlocked and Dawn followed Tristan inside. Although the narrow wi
ndows on either side of them let in some afternoon light, a pair of thin tapers in golden candleholders burned on the altar steps. A boy knelt reverently between them, his head bowed low between his shoulders, and he didn’t stir at their entrance. Tristan slid into the nearest pew, smooth and polished with use. Dawn sat next to him and they waited in silence.

After several minutes the boy stood and waited for them at the base of the altar steps, apparently having been aware of their presence all along. He wasn’t tall, just barely missing six feet, but his slender frame had a mu
scular grace. He was maybe nineteen, beautiful in a striking, androgynous way. His skin was smooth and pale as candle wax. His neatly combed hair was the whitest shade of blond, his eyebrows and lashes dark as soot in contrast. His eyes were brilliantly aqua, like tropical seas.

With such features, he should have looked like an angel. Dawn thought so, anyway. But a clear, cold hardness in his visage destroyed any inkling of innocence.

Bad angel
, she thought as she and Tristan rose.

The boy’s eyes shifted to her and goosebumps rose on her skin. His gaze went right through her, beyond her, as if even looking at her wasn’t worth his time. This air of superiority made her hate him instantly.

“Who is she?” he asked quietly. “You’re still playing with toys like children?”

“No one,” Tristan answered as they came to a stop before him.

Dawn bristled. She took a subtle step away from him. He didn’t seem to care.

The boy’s eyes slid back to Tristan. “What do you want?”

“Loftus needs you, Fallon.”

Fallon blinked haughtily. “I am not available to his whims.”

Tristan lifted his eyebrows in amusement. “Yes, you are.”

“He cannot control me the way he controls all of you.”

Tristan’s jaw hardened and his brows shot back down. “Fuck off, Fallon. He’s found the
prima materia
.”

Though Dawn had no idea what a
prima materia
was, Fallon looked interested for the first time since they’d arrived, though only slightly. “We can continue talking about this in private.”

“No. That’s not possible.”

“I’m not going to run,” Dawn snapped.

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

She smiled innocently. “Who would tell a lie inside a church?”

He returned the smile, only his was far less innocent. “Someone who doesn’t believe in God.”

Fallon looked piercingly at Dawn. His beauty hurt like a knife. “This place makes him squeamish,” he said.

Dawn snorted lightly. “Me, too.”

She spun away from the two of them and sat herself in the front pew. Ignoring Tristan’s calculating glare, she picked up the blue leather hymnal from the bench beside her and flipped through the tissue-thin pages. She remembered the high, clear sound of her mother’s singing voice on the rare occasions they’d been to church. Dawn had always thought traditional hymns beautiful and haunting, though she felt no passion for any religion or god.

Flipping another few fragile pages, she glanced up. Tristan and Fallon argued in hushed tones at the a
ltar. Maybe she could run again. Maybe not. It seemed they were too absorbed in each other to notice her, but she couldn’t be sure. Putting the hymnal down, she stood up and moved into the aisle. Neither of them said a word.

Carrying the experiment further, she meandered up the aisle toward the doors. Surprisingly, one of them was already standing open.

“God damn it, Dawn!” Tristan roared.

Come get me
. She slipped outside, blinking in the cloud-filtered sunlight, and ran few steps before colliding into a man’s chest.

“Well,” the man said. “This is not entirely unexpected.”

When her eyes adjusted, she was looking at a familiar man with shoulder-length black hair and a shadowy face. His eyebrows were heavy over eyes like dark green moldavite. Branek. Dawn’s stomach flipped over with fear. She started to turn back to the church but he was on her in an instant, one hand firm over her mouth.

“I didn’t want to do this,” he whispered in deep tones. “Much. But, god, sometimes I just can’t help m
yself.”

She struggled, but he kept his hold on her as he wrestled her away from the door. At the corner of the building he paused to glance around and she managed to break free. Like an idiot she ran blindly, her feet slapping the concrete in clumsy haste.

Branek caught up with her easily and dragged her down into a row of juniper bushes. His weight crushed her to the dirt. She shoved at him but he didn’t budge.

“This won’t take long,” he promised, opening his mouth wide to reveal the sharp fangs of an animal.

Dawn screamed. The sharp scent of juniper stoked her fear. She thrashed her body wildly and got a knee up between his legs. He rolled off her with a groan.

“Damn it!” he wailed, clutching himself. It would have been comical if he hadn’t just tried to maul her.

Strangely, her first instinct was to run back to Tristan rather than for help. But he was already behind her.

Branek grinned without getting up, fangs sharp and deadly. “Hello,” he said pleasantly.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone. What the fuck are still you doing here?” Tristan asked.

“Just checking things out. Like I do.”

Tristan stood above him in three steps, face tight, eyes blazing in the sun. He looked as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t trust himself to find the right words. One foot twitched back and for a moment Dawn thought he might kick Branek.

But then Branek’s hand shot out and clamped around Tristan’s ankle. He pulled him down and rolled to straddle him. An involuntary scream escaped Dawn’s lips as Branek slammed his fist into Tri
stan’s face a couple times, blood spurting alarmingly onto the pavement. She pressed her hands to her mouth, eyes filling with hot tears.

“You haven’t been practicing,” Branek said with cheerful hostility. “I shouldn’t have been able to take you by surprise like that!”

Tristan let out an animal growl. “You motherfucker!”

“Hey, next time I won’t be so nice.”

“You never are.”

“You’d better remember it, too.”

Branek got up and sauntered toward Dawn, grinning like an idiot. Still sitting on the ground, Tristan set his nose with a single quick motion and wiped his bloody hands on his jeans. He didn’t seem angry, only annoyed.

“So,” Branek said casually. “You still share these days?”

Suddenly Tristan sprang to his feet, swift and dangerous. “No!” His swinging fist caught Branek in the mouth. Branek’s head snapped to the side and he stumbled. As he righted himself, he came back with a punch that knocked Tristan back off his feet. He let out a barking laugh, his eyes showing white all the way around. Then turned back to Dawn, his split lip leaking blood.

“Don’t
touch
me,” she said.

“Loyal to him?” Branek chuckled. “That’s a mistake, you stupid girl.” His hand shot out to grab her. He pulled her close so that her back was pressed into his chest, his arms pinning her in an e
mbrace that was far from pleasurable. “It won’t hurt,” he whispered.

He lied. She jolted to feel the sting in the side of her neck. It was shocking how quickly this had happened, so quickly Tristan couldn’t even get to his feet in time to help. Dawn felt a visceral di
sgust at the pulsing warmth of Branek’s lips on her skin. His body enveloped her, one arm tight about her waist. She lurched away from him, her body sparking with pain, fingertips tingling with it. Then she was face first on the ground and he was crushing her, teeth still lodged in her throat. She heard distant shouting. She wanted to sleep.

No one will see. No one will come.

Darkness.

… darkness …

She dreamed of a wound so bright and clean, a gaping hole in her middle. It allowed bad things to creep into her, unspeakable things. She lay on her back in a broken bed. If she moved, she would die, and blood would stream from her mouth in a gruesome waterfall. Her breath was carefully shallow.