Chapter Ten
“So an engagement, huh? Business, pleasure, or both?” I jibe, though the honest part of me is genuinely curious. We sit in his car in the Jamba Juice parking lot, neither of us ready to say goodbye just yet.
“Oh, definitely business. The only pleasure I’m interested in is yours,” he smirks. I blush instantly though I’m a bit skeptical. It’s Friday evening; what kind of business would he need to tend to? Dinner with a client? He did say he was looking to change careers.
“Well, sorry to disappoint you but I have plans as well.” There. Let him try that on for size.
Dorian responds with a raised eyebrow and a sexy smirk. “Oh, do you? Business, pleasure, or both?”
“Ummm, pleasure. Definitely pleasure,” I quip.
Dorian moves in to quickly close the space between us. His eyes are dancing with fury and passion. He looks pissed. Really pissed. I begin to recoil when he grabs the back of my head feverishly, harshly gripping my tresses and plants his lips on mine with such intensity it frightens me. My first instinct is to fight him and I forcefully shove my fisted palms against his hard chest. But as he pries open my mouth with his tongue and it begins to massage mine, sucking me hard into his mouth, I relax and accept his brutal tongue lashing. I’ve been naughty and I want to be punished. Just as I begin to reciprocate and my hands find his face, he pulls back hastily, leaving me breathless and wanting more. So. Much. More.
“Well, I do hope you’ll think of me when you are engaged in your pleasure.” He flashes a devilish grin. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me! Cocky ass.
I try to escape the car with what’s left of my dignity and bid him goodnight. Dorian waits until I’m safely in my vehicle before speeding off hastily. The temperature has dropped dramatically so I shrug into my worn leather jacket and flip on the heat. My body heat mixed with my labored breathing causes the windows to obscure with fog, and I hit the defrost button. But before it has the chance to clear the condensation, I notice that someone has taken their finger and written something on my windshield. Surly, just some punk kids playing around; it probably says ‘Wash me,’ which would be an appropriate request. But at a second glance, I realize that this is no juvenile prank and the message is meant specifically for me.
Align with the Dark or Die
Oh. My. God. I look frantically around me. This can’t be happening. Someone is out there watching me! They know who I am! I shakily lock my doors and check behind my seat. All clear. Though the Defrost has begun to work and the words are dissipating, I hurriedly wipe it with my sleeve to erase it from my sight.
It wipes away clean.
Fear knots my stomach and I feel as if the wind has been knocked right out of me. If someone had marked this on the outside of my car, it would not have simply disappeared. This was written on the inside of my windshield. Someone was in my car. The Dark was here, waiting for me. I can’t breathe; I can’t move. My head is shouting for me to go, get the hell out of there, but it’s as if I’ve been placed in cement. Snap out of it, Gabs! This is not the time to break! the voice inside me screams, shaking me from my trance. I’ve got to get home, where I’m safe from whatever evil awaits me tonight. With a renewed tenacity, I put the car in Drive and race home to safety.
“Morgan, I don’t know if I can make it tonight,” I say over the phone, once in the shelter of my bedroom.
“Oh hell no, you are not backing out now! This could really be my big break! I need you, Gabs!” she whispers into the receiver. She is still at work.
“But…I…uh,” I stammer. Crap, I should’ve come up with a story before I called. My nerves are still too shot.
“Seriously, you can’t back out. I’ll owe you big, I promise,” she pleads.
I sigh heavily. “Ok, I’ll go,” I reply exasperated. There’s no other way to get around it. It’s not like I can tell her the truth.
“Great!” she squeals. “Remember, dress to impress!” And again, she hangs up.
I still have a couple hours to burn before I have to get ready so I pull out Natalia’s journal and flip towards the end, realizing I only have a few more pages to read. I’m just not motivated enough to deal with whatever new tidbits about my enchanted life she has yet to share. I place it back on my nightstand.
“Hey sweetie,” my mom greets me, as I step into the family room. My parents are watching television, looking every bit as normal as they did before my twentieth birthday. You would think they didn’t even know they were harboring a half Dark, half Light immortal.
“Hey guys, what’s up,” I say flopping down on the soft carpet, folding my legs.
“Just hanging out. Haven’t seen much of you, Kiddo,” my dad remarks. It’s his way of checking up on me.
“Yeah, I’ve been busy. Work, school, you know,” I respond. I want to get to the point. “Can I ask you guys a question?”
“Sure, sweetie. Anything,” Donna says. Chris turns down the volume and awaits my query.
“I know we said that someone is...looking for me. But would the Dark want me to become one of them, maybe? Like, would they want me to, um, ascend into the Dark?” It sounds ridiculous as I’m saying it but I’ve got to get some insight into the horrifying message left on my windshield.
Donna nods her head gravely. “I suppose they would. It makes more sense than killing you. You’d be a great asset to them.”
“But you understand how dangerous that is, right?” Chris chimes in. He’s hoping, praying I’m not considering it. “They will just use you and your power to gain more influence.”
“Is that any different from what the Light wants to do with me?” I ask incredulously. “I mean, I don’t want to be a part of either one. It seems like each side has their own agenda. I’m just a weapon to be obtained for their own selfish reasons.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Chris says thoughtfully. “I guess I just see the Light as the lesser of two evils. But you will have to choose for yourself.”
“Do I?” I ask, looking at them both intently. “Why do I have to choose? What happens if I don’t?” Chris and Donna look at each other, confused and speechless.
Finally Donna shrugs. “I can’t say. It’s not something that’s ever been done before. Natalia just assumed that you would choose the Light. You know how I feel about that.” Chris looks at her questioningly. She must have not shared all her reservations about my ascension with him, which would be a first. They always seem so in sync.
I nod, understanding what she’s trying to convey. It’s just as I suspected; I am of more use to the Dark alive than dead. They want me just as much as the Light does, and that message was them officially throwing their hat into the ring, though their scare tactics prove to be more disturbing than inspiring.
“I have to get ready. I’m going to a new salon opening with Morgan tonight. Have to get all dolled up,” I say, trying to feign lightheartedness.
The truth is, I’m scared shitless. I’ve never been this afraid to walk out of my home before. But I can’t be a prisoner. I can’t hide here without alarming my parents. And the last thing I need is for them to start asking questions. I’ve never, ever ran from a fight before and I’m not about to start now. I just pray that one side, either the Light or the Dark, wants to keep me alive enough to intervene if a supernatural threat comes my way. It’d only be right, being that they’re both vying for my allegiance.
“Ok, honey. Will you be having dinner with us? It’s just about ready,” my mom says, hopefully. Our family dinners are becoming more few and far between. I have got to make more of an effort to cherish these moments.
“I’ll grab something really quickly. Morgan wants me to look my best so I need all the time I can get!” I chuckle.
“You are perfect just the way you are,” my dad says. His face is serious, grim even. I flash him a toothy smile to show him that I’m ok, though my insides are snarled with fear and apprehension.
I retreat to my room, and put on some music to drown out the anxiety echoing in my head. I pull out one of the few sexy, chic dresses I own: a black long-sleeve slinky mini dress with a drastic dip in the back. It’s quite provocative and Morgan would approve. I head to the shower to primp myself from head to toe, making sure my skin is silky smooth to the touch. I decide to wash my hair again, since I had a roll in the grass with Dorian. Plus I want to wash the smell of fear off of me completely. After a thorough blow dry, I pull out my curling iron and commence to fashioning dangling ringlets. I then pin my long tresses to one side with a decorative silver hair clip. Perfect! Makeup is my usual routine, with some extra shimmery dark eye shadow and a bit more eyeliner and mascara. I give my cheeks a brief sweep of peach blush and smack on a pinkish-nude lipgloss. I nod to myself in the mirror; I think I did Morgan proud.
I am slipping on my tight black dress and a pair of shimmery black almond-toe platform pumps when I hear the doorbell. Before I can hobble to greet her, Morgan is bounding down the hallway and delving into my room with excitement.
“I can’t wait for tonight! If I get hired, do you know what that means? It means that we can get a crazy nice bachelorette pad!” Morgan’s delight is infectious and I sincerely am thrilled for her. If anyone could land a job at an exclusive salon, it’s Morgan. Her talent speaks for itself and she emanates style.
“Well, fix me up if you need to. I know you want me to make an impression, even if I am just your wing-woman,” I wink.
“No, Gabs, you look great! You really do,” she nods, motioning for me to turn around. “Ok, I see you, girl! You are workin’ that dress!” We both giggle with glee, and I truly feel pretty next to Morgan and her 5ft 9in frame draped in a body-hugging peplum dress and red bottom pumps. I can’t believe she actually goes to work wearing things like this, heels and all, standing 8 hours or more. The girl has got a gift.
“Well, my dear, I believe there’s a salon owner to be wowed. Shall we go?” I ask, extending my elbow so Morgan can link her arm in mine. She loops it in and we head downtown in Morgan’s red Mustang.
“So I have to tell you something,” Morgan says, as we head southwest. She turns her music down; uh oh, it must be serious. I brace myself for the worst. “So last night, I went to UCCS for some little gathering they were having. I don’t know- some kegger and one of my classmates took me. I so would have called you but after I spoke to you and you agreed to come with me tonight, I didn’t want to push my luck. Plus it was last minute,” she explains.
“It’s fine, Morg,” I reassure her. She always feels bad about excluding me, though I keep telling her I don’t mind.
“Ok, so of course, I saw James and Miguel there. Everyone is having a good time, drinking, and somehow… I slept with Miguel.” The look on her face is a mix of shame and anticipation.
“Morgan! Are you serious? How?” I ask incredulously. It isn’t like Morgan to hop into bed with a guy just for the hell of it. Especially a lowly college kid.
“I know, I know! It just sort of happened. One minute we’re playing quarters, and the next minute, we’re in his room bumping uglies!” We both erupt with laughter at her analogy.
“So…how was it?” I ask, once our giggles have ceased.
Morgan looks at me with wide eyes. “Fan-f*cking-tastic.”
My expression mirrors hers. “Really? Miguel? Who would’ve thought?”
“Girl, tell me about it. I had no idea he was a pipe layer on the side. Dude had me speaking Spanish by the end of the night!” And with that we have another laugh and turn the music back up.
Luxury vehicles line the parking area reserved for the grand opening of Luxe. The simple yet chic marquee gleams in the dark night, while a banner hangs below it, stating that it’s the Grand Opening. We park around the corner, foregoing the valet parking, as to not draw undue attention to ourselves just in case someone from Posh is spying. However, all eyes are surely on Morgan’s svelte frame as we approach the door, handing our tickets to a young woman dressed in all black, which seems to be the color scheme for the evening. Her asymmetrical cut is sleek and severe and her makeup is dark and smoky with bright red lips. She seems friendly enough though I detect a hint of envy as she spies Morgan’s couture. I tightly grin a warning when she brings her eyes to me.
Luxe is chic and modern, being that it isn’t over the top with ostentatious décor. However, the twinkling chandeliers, marble countertops, and plush black leather couches scream opulence. Even the stylists’ chairs at each work station look more lush and comfortable than what most people have in their homes. The color scheme is simple: white, black and steel grey. It’s clean and almost sterile looking but it’s tranquil. Luxe exudes serenity- a woman’s ultimate haven.
Morgan and I snag champagne glasses from one of the many servers circulating with drinks and hors d’oeuvres. Shrimp ceviche in shot glasses, mini crab cake sliders, bacon wrapped scallops, chicken satay with peanut sauce, caramelized onion crostini, lobster stuffed mushrooms, mini Beef Wellingtons, various canapés, dessert shooters, and cake pops- I am in seventh heaven! There’s even a raw oyster bar along with a sushi station with a chef making fresh maki and sashimi. The spread alone makes me glad I decided to come along and I secretly hope my stomach isn’t protruding in my form-fitting dress. Party guests mingle and network over cocktails, aged scotch, wine and, of course, champagne. I stand in the background, nodding, sipping, and grazing as Morgan works the room with ease and grace.
“Morgan!” a silky soprano rings out from across the spacious room.
We both turn our heads to see a tall, buxom young woman in a black body-hugging bandage dress and sparkling red Louboutins covered with gold spikes making her way towards us. Her long dark hair is layered and highlighted with auburn streaks, and her makeup looks as if it’s been airbrushed. She’s flawless. She smiles brightly as she approaches and I notice her eyes are gorgeously blue, like clear waters off a tropical island. Her body is ridiculous- curvaceous yet toned. I feel like a pervert admiring her so intently so I plaster on my own smile, and step back a bit to get out of the way.
“Aurora! You’re here!” Morgan squeals. They embrace and Aurora air kisses each of Morgan’s cheeks.
“Aurora this is my best friend Gabriella. Gabs, Aurora is the client I was telling you about. The one who hooked us up with the tickets.” I smile genuinely at Aurora and extend my hand to her. Aurora meets it with her own perfectly manicured hand and a slight jolt shoots through me from my fingertips crawling up my arm, causing me to retract. Aurora’s expression grows dark just a fraction but she recovers, though she’s looking at me quizzically.
“Oh, sorry, must be the static,” I shrug uncomfortably.
“Yes, must be,” Aurora replies, still gazing at me questioningly. She plasters on a rigid smile and looks back to Morgan. I feel like an idiot.
“I am so glad you came. The owner is here and like I said, I know him personally,” she gushes. “He’s more of an investor, but he has a good amount of influence on the hiring.”
Morgan’s eyes grow wide with delight. “Ooooh, really? That would be amazing. I mean, look at this place! It’s gorgeous!” I can tell Morgan is feeling buzzed from the champagne. I make a mental note to keep her away; she’s our ride home.
“Come on, I think I spot him over there.” Aurora points towards the rear of the salon, which is a lot larger inside than it appears from the outside. “Wait until you meet him; he is drop dead gorgeous. And between us girls, let’s just say our relationship goes a little beyond professional. I really think he’s the one!” she winks.
We weave through the crowd towards the back where there are several doors leading to different spa treatments. I think there’s even a room for Botox and other procedures since the pamphlet we received boasted their on-sight doctor.
As we saunter further, the crowd becomes less of the hip and fashionable, and more mature and formal. I instantly feel uncomfortable in my backless dress and begin to tell Morgan that I’ll meet her by the bar when I get a glimpse of the breathtakingly handsome man dressed in an all-black tailored suit. His dress shirt, also black, is unbuttoned at the top, provocatively revealing the ridged curves of his throat leading to a well chiseled chest. He excuses himself from his stale conversation with a stuffy older gentleman and flashes a seductively crooked smile upon our approach. My heart races furiously as he takes in the three young women standing before him, gazing at us with an air of arrogance mixed with bad boy allure.
It’s Dorian.