Knight-in-Arms - Secrets: (BWWM Interracial Paranormal Shifter Romance Part One) (3 page)

“If you think I'm sensible, it's because you don't know me well enough”.

“I'd like to know you well enough...”

Xavier toyed with the stem of the wine glass. For a moment, Rochelle thought she saw sadness, loneliness haunting his lovely eyes.

“If you knew me well enough, you'd stay far away from me”.

“Of course I wouldn't”.

“If I told you I had a dark past, that I was dangerous, that I was prone to violent outbursts, would you still want to get to know me?”

His eyes were piercing now. This was a hypothetical question; surely he was just testing her resolve... He looked down at the red wine in his glass and swilled it around once.

“Yes”, she said slowly, “they would all be things that happened before I met you. I'd only care about the ‘you’ now...”

He looked up, fixed her again with that penetrating gaze and leaned even closer.

“What if I told you I was still dangerous?”

He was joking; he had to be. But his expression remained serious, and perhaps just a little bit curious.

Rochelle stared back at him.

“Can I interest you in some coffee, signorina?” The waiter made her jump, breaking the connection between them.

“And for you, signore?” He poured the hot liquid into their coffee cups. The steam rose between them like an enchanted haze.

“I'd have to know what kind of dangerous you are” she said.

“Oh, the dangerous kind, to be sure”. He took a sip of coffee.

He was teasing her this time. She could see the humour dancing in his eyes. It was a shame. Before the waiter had interrupted, she'd felt they were getting somewhere.

Going home felt a bit of a let-down – like going back to being a child in war-torn Britain after having been queen of Narnia.

He walked her to her door and she stepped inside. She turned round to say ‘goodnight’ and frowned as she saw the curtains twitch from the house opposite. Nosy Mrs Richards. Rochelle knew that she hated how her family ‘stained’ the road with their blackness.

She pulled Xavier inside quickly and shut the door.

“We’re being watched” she explained.

Everyone else was out. She switched on the lamp on the table by the door and turned back to him. The warm glow of the lamp glimmered softly, reflected in his eyes. Perhaps it was the wine casting a nice atmosphere over things.

“I didn’t tell you the real reason I agreed to come tonight…” he said suddenly.

“What was it?” Rochelle asked, her voice almost a whisper.

“I enjoyed your company; I found you intriguing”. He reached out and brushed the hair away from her face, never breaking eye contact. Rochelle stopped breathing.

“I wanted an excuse to see you again”. His gaze and touch made her heart flutter with the anticipation. He leaned in and kissed her, gently, softly. Rochelle could sense caution in him. Maybe he was holding back, unsure of the situation, or didn’t quite trust himself. But soon the intensity increased, as though his desire for her had just been awakened. His arms tightened around her and pulled her closer, his hands caressing circles into her back. Rochelle felt feverish and giddy. True, she hadn’t known him long, but she had no idea he could be like this. She ran her hands over his firm chest, felt his torso heaving up and down, his heart racing beneath her fingertips. He tightened his arms around her waist and lifted her onto the table behind in a strong, fluid motion that made the world spin. Locking her legs around his, she reached up and pulled him towards her, entwining her hands in his hair, letting the soft, dark strands cascade over her fingers as she stroked the curls at his nape. One of his arms loosened from her waist and his hand followed the seam of her skirt to where it ended, running along the material of her tights.

He pulled away abruptly.

“We shouldn’t be doing this”.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Xavier shook his head.

“
This
is wrong”.

“It didn’t feel wrong” she said. She knew he felt the same.

He sighed.

“I’m sorry” he said.

Rochelle thought she understood: he hadn’t intended to kiss her – goodness, she hadn’t meant to kiss him either. They had both been caught up in the moment and started getting a bit carried away.

He helped her down from the table and opened the door.

“Goodnight” he said without looking at her. She stroked his arm reassuringly and squeezed his hand.

“Goodnight” she replied.

Then, he was gone.

Rochelle didn’t sleep well that night. The kiss. Even if it was a mistake, even if it was the wine, it was all she could think about – that and how he’d told her he was dangerous. Rochelle wasn’t into bad boys but the way he’d said it made him sound mysterious. She felt like a moth to a flame.

As soon as it was morning, she called him. And called him again. But he didn’t answer. She sighed. It was so difficult. He was so aloof and guarded. Occasionally, she’d see a glimpse of the man behind all that, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, but all too soon – all too easily – he’d hide away again. She wanted to know the man who had made fun of her musical tastes, had laughed with her dad, had told her he wanted to see her again, who had kissed her…

Her phone buzzed. It was from him.

It’s best if you don’t come round today.

Rochelle stared at the text. So, he was avoiding her? Somehow, she felt suddenly annoyed.  She tossed the phone onto her bed. Idiot.

She tried to distract herself. She went out shopping and bought some cute outfits and then came home and dosed off watching episodes of programmes she’d missed while abroad.

When she woke up, it was dark in her room except for the orange streetlight peering in, scanning for life like a Martian from
The
War of the Worlds
. She must have fallen asleep but she wasn’t sure whether it was during or after the last episode of whatever she’d been watching.

She stretched, sighed and got up to turn on the light. As she pulled the curtains closed, she glanced up the road. His house was still in darkness but his car was there. Perhaps he was asleep? But it was far too early – not even 8pm.

She got ready to go out. She wasn’t annoyed any more but she did feel entitled to answers. The more she’d thought about it, the more she realised the kiss was not a mistake; it had translated her jumbled mass of feelings into something clear and concrete she could understand: She liked Xavier, like
really
liked him. Xavier. The thought of him, of the way his hands had touched her as they’d kissed, the sensation of his lips on hers, the intimate heat radiating between their bodies made her heart beat faster all over again. She had to know for her own sake, for her own sanity, where they stood. And if she was completely honest with herself, she wanted to be in his arms again.

His front door was open. The latch was on as though he’d stepped outside for a moment to put the rubbish out or something, but he was nowhere in sight.

“Xavier?”

She went inside.

“Xavier?”

The door next to the living room that was always locked opened. Something rushed out and aimed straight for her. Rochelle gasped and tried to step away but the creature was too fast. Its paws reached up to her, its tongue lolling.

Mindy. It was Mindy. Relieved, Rochelle hugged the dog and fondled its ears.

“Where are the lights?” she wondered aloud, half talking to Mindy. If it was anything like her house, the light switch would be… She traced the wall on the right side of the front door in the darkness. Here. Light streamed through the hallway.

“Where’s your owner?” she asked. Probably in the room Mindy had run out from. She opened the door. She’d finally get to see what was behind it.

Steps. Leading downwards. So this was the basement? Her house didn’t have a basement so this was new territory for her. She had no idea where the light switch was. It wasn’t to the side of the door or hanging as a chord. 

If she left the door open, the light from the hallway would at least guide her part of the way.

Some of the steps creaked as she went down them. This time, Mindy didn’t seem to want to go back. Surely it was a bad sign if a dog didn’t want to go down there? She pushed the thought aside.

“Xavier, are you down here?” she called. Only silence answered.

The final step. Now, she was in the basement.

It was a large room, like a bedroom. The wall-mounted lights were switched on but they were dim. In their soft glow, Rochelle could see a hardback book resting on the bedside table next to a bed. Like everything in Xavier’s house, it was immaculately made, with large, fluffy, white pillows and a duvet that rose like freshly-baked bread. The wife in the basement rumour pierced through to her conscious thoughts. She pushed it back. It was nonsense…wasn’t it?

A dull, metallic glint to the left of the room caught her eye. Manacles. Large manacles, attached to thick, dark chains. In the wall where the chains were secured were angry gashes, like something had been so desperate to escape it had scratched into the plaster. And was that a stain of blood on the wall?

Rochelle recoiled, horrified. Her blood ran cold. For a moment, it felt as though her heart had stopped. She turned to leave and then she saw him.

“Xavier” Idiot! Why say his name when she could have escaped undetected? He looked up.

He was sitting in an armchair on the far side of the room, wrapped in a blanket. There was a bowl of soup next to him on the table under the lamp, though he didn’t seem to have touched it.

He looked like Xavier, like the way he had when he’d brushed the hair away from her face and his fingertips had danced along her cheek. Part of her wanted to stay and listen to his explanation. The manacles belonged to the former occupant. Of course… But the part of her that wanted to run screaming from the house didn’t believe that for a moment. How would an elderly woman make such deep gashes in the wall?

“You should go”.

His voice was gruff, weary almost.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing – a cold. Just go”.

From where she was standing, she couldn’t see him tremble. Droplets of perspiration gathered on his forehead as he tried to restrain himself. Just a bit longer.

“I think you owe me an explanation first”.

Why wasn’t she leaving?

“Later. Please, Rochelle”.

He closed his eyes, trying to block her out but he could smell her: flowers and soap and nail polish. And a further, underlying scent that made his pulse quicken: human.

The soup was untouched but his appetite was awakened. He got up from the armchair. The blanket slid from his shoulders. He advanced towards her, aware of her every movement: the way her eyes widened in fear, her lips parted, her chest rose and fell, quicker and quicker, and how she stepped backwards, closer and closer to the bed.

Rochelle realised too late that her chance for escape had gone. She should have run left to the stairs and out of the basement, but instead, she had instinctively backed away from him. And now she was cornered.

In the dim light, two massive structures erupted from his back, ripping his shirt to shreds. Wings. They were harsh, angular and featherless, almost like a bat’s.