Wild Hyacinthe (Crimson Romance) (23 page)

Wait. What?
I stilled and pulled my face from his grip, and Asher’s expression softened, fear creeping into his eyes.

I pushed him back by the shoulders, my heart pounding, and pulled my feet up beneath me as I sat. I clicked on the low lamp on the nightstand and stared at Asher.

Bewilderment widened his eyes, and I could feel his fear radiating between us.

“What did you just say to me?”

He stammered and stared at me, slack-jawed.

“Did you just say that I’m . . .
alive
?” Anger tightened my voice. All his warnings echoed through my head, his attempts to keep me at a distance.

“Is there some fucking reason I shouldn’t be alive?” I snapped. He’d meant to keep me away because he thought he’d kill me?

What happened to him before, when he took a woman’s virginity for the first time? What happened to
her
?

Asher reached for me. “Aria. Do you know what you are?”

I batted him away. “That’s a fucking strange question, considering the circumstances. What the hell are you? How about that?”

He shook his head and reached for me again, but hesitated when I flinched away.

He thought he’d kill me when he slept with me. And yet he did it anyway. Rage spun through my chest, lancing me apart, as I grasped that.

Asher held his hands up with surrender. “Let me explain. We have to talk about this. Don’t panic.”

“Don’t panic?” I spat, fury lashing from my soul through my words. “Don’t you tell me not to fucking panic!” My eyes burned with anger, and Asher backed away an inch.

“Okay. Panicking is called for.”

“Damn right it is!” I glanced at the door. It was too far away, he’d catch me in no time. And then what would he do? He meant to kill me, right? And he failed. So what was his plan
now
?

The rational part of me argued that the Asher I knew wouldn’t try to hurt me on purpose. Fury smothered that part before it had a chance to take over my actions.

Asher clenched his jaw, his eyes wild with pain, and a panic that mirrored my own. “I can’t lose you now,” he said.

“Asher Chain, have women died in your bed before?” I could hardly believe the question came from my lips.

He hesitated just long enough to answer my fear. I grabbed the lamp, swung it hard, and flinched as it cracked against his skull and he slumped to the bed, the light flickering out.

I dropped the lamp. Asher was still. I peered at him, poked his cheek, and when I was certain he was really unconscious I shoved him to the floor with my foot. He had been so predatory, before . . . looming over me, his eyes flaming at me, the bite . . . if he wanted me dead, and dead through sex, no less, would he still try to make that happen? Would he find another way to kill me, since that glowing thing didn’t do the trick?

Arousal soared through me so potent I sucked in a breath and released it with a loud moan as I remembered the feeling of absorption, the ecstasy of his soul absorbing into mine, as I gave parts of mine up to him.
Shit.
What was all this? His body, even slumped to the floor like this, was so exquisite I could have climbed atop him and fucked him until he woke up.

No. I needed to get away from him. I needed to think, to figure this all out. Nothing about it rang true in my heart: Asher wouldn’t try to kill me. Yet he said exactly that: he could scarcely believe I survived.

I had to get out of there. I tugged on my skirt and pulled a fresh shirt over my head. Energy and strength coursed through my muscles as I took the stairs two at a time—was the renewed vigor a product of sex, of getting what I needed, or something I took from Asher during our bizarre, abnormal union?

Goddammit! Why couldn’t sex just be
normal
and not loaded with all this bullshit? I swore as I grabbed the keys to the Sissy Car, wishing I could kiss Asher goodbye, but not trusting my self-control around his naked body. If I touched him, I was sure I’d climb into the soothing heat of his powerful arms and cry the confusion away.

I blasted out into the night, pushing the engine of the Sissy Car to its top speed. The dark of night was empty and cold, and I gulped down a lump of remorse as I delighted in the feel of Asher’s favorite car, the speed and adrenaline of it. I’d left him bleeding on the floor with no explanation whatsoever.

I tried to shrug the remorse off. Gypsy would find him soon and he’d be okay. But I assaulted him and stole his most expensive car. She’d hate me, for sure.

Did Gypsy know her brother mixed his glorious body with murder? Did she know he could have killed me?

I squeezed my thighs together as I shifted the transmission, memories of Asher’s body between my legs flashing forth in my mind. I was so happy when he woke me from such a bizarre, physical dream. His grip on me was so tender when he entered me, the orgasm so intense around his hardness. Warmth coursed through my center, an echo of the pleasure, aftershocks rocking my breath. I pounded my fist against the steering wheel, trying to suppress the need as it re-emerged like wildfire across dry brush. Fuck! I couldn’t believe after all that happened I still wanted more of him.

The fear in Asher’s tone when he pleaded for me to speak after he withdrew was clear. Maybe he thought I would survive, and was simply afraid I wouldn’t for some fucked-up reason I didn’t understand. Maybe he wanted me to live. My heart lurched with horror at what I’d done to him.

“Hell no!” I shouted out loud, eager to maintain my conviction. I couldn’t let
great sex
and the hottest man alive sweep away my logic. It felt so good to shout that I did it again, pulling forth that rage within me. “No!”

I opened my mouth and screamed at the top of my lungs, pounding on the steering wheel and pouring all of my confusion, all of my pain into the sound. My heart rate sprinted, and the pulse stirred between my legs. My scream dwindled to a moan, and I couldn’t tell if my anger was more from fury or yearning for more. More of Asher, more of what we did . . .

I drove aimlessly, my thoughts a mess of vacillating wanting and denial. But it grew stronger with every moment that passed, the craving demanding something I couldn’t define. I arced off the highway into Duluth and headed south, driving slow in the brightly-lit streets, not wanting to call attention to Asher-fucking-Chain’s stolen Lamborghini. I watched the alleys.

A pull beckoned me on a soul-deep level into one of the alleys. Something savage, vibrating with urgency, ignited in my core, sliding up through my body like the heat of Asher’s touch. The heat scalded my veins, and my eyes felt alight with fire. I licked my lips, an appetite for
more
unfurling between my legs. I parked beside the alley, that need rekindled, demanding something, a release I craved like water.

A release I’d only tasted with Asher’s mouth hovering over mine.

I stepped out of the Sissy and smoothed my hair.
I don’t need Asher,
I chanted to myself.
I just need to get laid. The way I should have done it the first time.

One hand on the shoulder of a stranger taking a piss beside the dumpster, I leaned in and caught the repugnant odor of gin on his breath. Not like Asher’s sweet, rum-and-Coke-and-sex-on-legs breath. This man stunk like the men of the herds, rather than the potent masculinity of Asher’s sweat after a workout.

“Hey,” I said, forcing seduction into my voice as he turned to get a look at me.

He jumped back and fumbled to reassemble his trousers.

“No, it’s okay,” I said. “Really.” I gulped, revulsion contradicting the arousal I couldn’t deny in my body, and watched as my hand reached out, unbidden, to grab his cock. I plastered a false smile of flirt on my face, trying not to cringe at his size. “I’m looking for some action.”

His breath rushed out as I squeezed and he began to harden between my fingers. He was middle-aged, not unattractive, but not Asher.

Nobody would ever be Asher, and I knew that, so I did it like I should have the first time, before I let my hopes climb way too high and crash around me when it turned out too good to be true.

The man’s gaze wandered down to my cleavage, and the tendrils of hot need twisting low in my belly lashed forth, demanding control of my limbs. I lunged forward to take what I needed, to quench a thirst so desperate I growled as I met the lips of a stranger.

• • •

Spent on the street, I climbed off the man I found and fucked like a common whore, swallowing bile at my actions. I lifted my weight and reached for my skirt, but something caught my eye—that blue glow, an echo of the man’s exhausted, happy form, lifted above him like a silhouette. I stared at his double, a glow like his soul itself, hovering over his body.

I bent to his mouth and wanted his breath. I needed it—even rank with gin and failure—so I parted my lips and inhaled.

The echo of his life slid into my body as I drew the breath deep into my core, the absorption like an electric injection into my veins. I pulled every drop of the ethereal glow from him to me, my muscles charging, gasping with the intensity. It was like another orgasm, and guilt slammed through my heart as I leeched this energy in for the second time, tonight: once from Asher, and once from this stranger. I moaned, my voice reverberating through the vacant alley.

Then, the moment was over. The heat demanding dominance over my actions relented, slipping back down into my body, taking a place of patient watchfulness as I stretched out my hands. What just happened? I tilted my head. The man wasn’t moving.

Not breathing, either. I slapped his face once, and the realization sank in.

Oh, shit!

I grabbed my skirt and scrambled backward on my ass until I slammed into the dumpster. Pain rippled through me, but it was nothing compared to the strength I felt, the electric crackling in my veins, the satisfied fire in my soul. I yanked my skirt up and couldn’t tear my gaze away. He was dead. I killed him. I fucking killed a man.

I struggled with the button on my blouse until I couldn’t see through the tears, my fingers numb. I pulled my knees up and ducked behind my arms, a sob wracking me from head to toe. I didn’t want to look at him. I didn’t want to see what I’d done.

The only person who could possibly understand, the only friend I had in the world, I’d left bleeding on the floor of his cabin as I grand-thefted his auto and cheated on him with a stranger.

A stranger I murdered. Asher would never forgive me, even if I wanted him to.

I sobbed harder into my arms, the world suddenly far too big for a clueless, worthless girl like me.

“Asher . . . ”
a soothing voice pulled me from the stupor of unconsciousness. The lights were on. Mom?

“Asher.”

I grumbled and tried to brush her away.
I’m sleeping, dammit.

“Asher!” Gypsy barked, slapping me in the face once.

I roared to a sit, shaking her off and casting from side to side.
What the fuck?

Then I remembered Aria and sprang to my feet. I stumbled. Gypsy caught me.

“Whoa, whoa, Asher! Sit down.”

I tried to fight her, but my knees buckled and the world swirled around me again. I dropped to my knees and wobbled on them, Gypsy’s hands clamped beneath my armpits.

“Let go of me!” I gasped, but I fell forward, catching myself on my fingertips. I tried to swat at her but my head spun again and nausea rampaged my stomach.

“Asher, for fuck’s sake, stop fighting me! You’re too strong for me.”

I relented and dropped my head to the floor, crumpled on my elbows and knees. She dabbed something cold and stinging above my ear.

“What happened?”

“Find her, Gypsy,” I wheezed into my arms. “You’ve gotta find her.”

“What happened?” she repeated with a force I knew better than to contradict.

“I gave in.”

“Well, I can tell that by the bed sheets, Ash,” she reminded me. “What the fuck happened to you? Who attacked you? They took her body.”

“No, no.” The nausea began to repeal from my guts, so I sat up, giving Gypsy better access to clean my bloodied face. “She’s not dead. You’ve gotta find her.”

“Asher,” she said, “you fucked her. She’s dead. Who else was here?”

I shook my head cautiously. “No one, listen to me! I fucked her but she
lived!
She’s the female equivalent of me. Aria is a succubus.”

Gypsy froze. “You’re kidding, and I don’t find it humorous.”

“You don’t find anything humorous,” I nearly screamed. “So why the hell would I joke? She survived.”

She grabbed my chin to inspect my eyes and flicked a small flashlight at me. “You’ve charged.”

I nodded. “Yeah. From her. And her from me. Gypsy, I’ve found somebody who can tolerate me and fuel me at the same time.”

“But if she’s a succubus . . . what kind of heat are you packing around here?”

“.32 revolver, bottom desk drawer. Why?”

My sister jumped up and ransacked the desk. “Because if she’s a succubus, then she will be as you were in your first few months—seeking the kill—and we have to stop her.”

“Whoa, Gyp!” I launched myself to my feet. I stumbled, caught myself on the desk but managed to remain upright.

“You’re concussed. Stop moving so much.”

“Why do you need a gun to stop her?”

Gypsy looked at me as though I had asked the most obvious question. “If you let the incubus have you and my brother were no longer here, what do you suppose I would do to your body?”

I frowned. “You’d kill me yourself.”

“I’d rather rot in jail without you than live with that thing controlling your body. So what must you do if Aria is no longer herself?”

I swallowed and didn’t want to think about it.

“Your gun’s not here.”

I stiffened.
Oh, shit, that’s right, it’s on the rocks of Lake Superior where the incubus made me drop it.
Gypsy flipped through some papers on the desk and her hands stopped on the note I wrote for her, folded up beside the one I wrote for Aria.

She glared at me as she picked up hers and opened it. She scanned down the page, her eyes alternating between moments of anguish and anger. When she finished, she held it up and tilted her head, disbelief in her eyes. She stared at me for a long moment.