Night Falls on the Wicked

TWENTY-TWO

She wasn’t sticking around.

Adrenaline pumped through her as this decision surged through her veins to her head in a scary, burning rush. Her hands trembled as she shoved her hairbrush into her bag.

She spun around, searching for the rest of the few things she’d brought with her. Clothes mostly, but she knew she would need everything she had where she was going. She checked her wallet, counting her cash. She didn’t keep a credit card. As much as she moved around, it was easier to just live on cash.

She knew what she had to do—what needed to be done … even though she’d always sworn to never consider doing such a terrible thing. Even her own mother killed herself to avoid such a fate. She’d only surrendered when the demons had become too much, tormenting her and driving her mad. As much as she resented her mother’s actions, a small part of Darby had always respected that her mother had never caved to the pressure that demons placed upon her.

Her throat grew tight, air hard to draw into her lungs. Unbelievable as it seemed, the moment had come when the prospect seemed not only palatable but necessary. The sacrifice would be worth it. Aimee deserved a chance at life. She’d endured so much already.

The door to her bedroom flung open.

She spun around with a gasp, plunging her hands behind her, stopping them from fumbling through her luggage and alerting Niklas to the fact that she was leaving. “Ever heard of knocking?”

He stalked into the room and stopped before her, his face fierce, the silvery light back in his indigo eyes. “We need to get a few things straight.”

She swallowed, not liking the hardness in his voice or the way his jaw clenched. He was pissed.

“Yeah?” She swallowed.

“What you’re doing is wrong.”

Panic fluttered in her belly. He knew she was leaving?

She lifted her chin, determined nothing he said—or did—would stop her from going, from doing what needed to be done. “W-what are you talking about?”

He jabbed a finger in the air, inches from her nose, before continuing, “Blaming me, blaming you—it’s just pointless, Darby.”

He didn’t know. She sucked in a deep breath and glanced away, trying to keep the guilt from her eyes—because her decision had been reached. She’d leave tonight. While he slept. Before he woke.

“There’s no point arguing about this. Whether I blame myself, you …” She shook her head. “It changes nothing.”

But he didn’t look like he was finished. Which was really too bad. They stood toe to toe, their angry breaths the only sound in the room.

If this would be the last time she saw him, she regretted that it was like this. She turned, unable to bear the sight of him any longer. It just made it too much … too hard.

His hard hand clamped down on her arm and hauled her back around. Her body slammed flush against him and his mouth came down over hers, devouring, moving and firing instant heat and sensation to every nerve in her body.

It took her only a second to respond.

As it sunk in that this would be her last night with Niklas—last sight, last touch, last taste—she threw her arms around his neck. Perhaps this would be her last chance with any lover of her own choosing at all.

She plastered herself against him and stood on her tiptoes, aligning herself against him, her every curve fitting so naturally to him.

He growled low in his throat and lifted her effortlessly off her feet. They traveled only a few steps before she was falling, descending. He came down over her on the bed, his solid body thrilling in its power and weight upon her.

He kissed her mouth, her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh of her throat until she was moaning and arching against him.

Her hands wedged between them so that her fingers could access his clothes and tear at the fabric of his shirt with a desperate need. This, now, was everything. In this moment, she could forget the pain, forget what was and what was yet to come.

Buttons popped and flew through the air. A voice in her head told her to slow down, to enjoy and memorize this moment, the last she would have. But it was that same voice which made her rush greedily ahead and seize this, him—a memory to keep her warm for generations of lonely, bitter cold.

His hands moved with more finesse but were no less quick. Everywhere he touched, she burned, felt alive, connected to another soul.

She cupped his face in her hands, stilling for a moment. Her palms flexed over his cheeks, reveling in the rough scrape of his bristly jaw. She gazed up into his eyes. The light there was nearly blinding, and she marveled that she’d done that to him. She’d brought out that desire in him. The intensity of his gaze stripped her of everything, made her feel bare and exposed—as if he could see to the core of her. All her secrets … including the terrible thing she was about to do. She had to do.

“It’s going to be all right, Darby.” His voice stroked her like the brush of a feather. His fingers brushed her cheek with such tenderness that a sob rose up in her throat. “We’re going to find Aimee.”

Staring into his beautiful face, she wanted to believe that. Wanted it to be true. And maybe … maybe it was.

But it was a chance she couldn’t take.

She wasn’t going to gamble with Aimee’s life. Not when every moment that passed, a piece of her might be dying at Cyprian’s hands.

She knew what she had to do. She saw it so clearly—even as she saw herself in Aimee. Alone. Motherless because her mother couldn’t protect her, help her … Just like Darby’s own mother, Aimee’s mother hadn’t even been able to protect her.

Luckily, Darby had her aunts to take her in. Darby shuddered to think what would have happened to her without her aunts. She would never have made it.

Aimee had no one. No one but Darby.

And Darby knew. She had to be there for Aimee. Had to do this thing for the girl. A girl who had a shot at a normal, happy life. The life Darby could never have.

Deep down, she had still been hoping, kidding herself that she did have a chance. Why else was she trying so hard to live, struggling with this cat-and-mouse existence that wasn’t really living at all?

She came up on her elbows and kissed him then, putting everything she had into it. Everything she ever had to give.

His hand delved between her thighs, playing against her, locating the little nub buried in her folds and rubbing, pressing, squeezing until she bucked against his hand.

She whimpered, thrusting her hips to meet him. He eased a finger inside her, working it slowly in, stretching her until a low moan spilled loose. Ducking his head, he claimed her lips, taking the sound deep into his mouth. He drank greedily from her, his kiss deepening, slick tongue sliding against hers in a sinuous dance.

She moaned as his finger withdrew, her hips moving forward, seeking. Her core burned, ached with need.

He tore his lips from hers with a broken gasp. Their heavy breaths mingled between them, warm as vapor. He dropped his forehead to hers, his glowing eyes probing, seeking, reading her hunger for him in her own unblinking stare.

Then she felt him pushing inside her. She hissed at the burning pleasure, the searing stretch of her inner muscles. Deeper, he penetrated her, and the pleasure grew, expanded.

With a groan, his fingers seized her hips, anchoring her for his repeated thrusts. She cried out at the swift, pounding pleasure.

One of his hands flew to the back of her head. His mouth was on hers again, feverish and hungry. He kissed her until the ache between her legs grew to a desperate throbbing, matching the pulsing rhythm of his body slamming into her own.

Her legs parted wider without will or volition. He kissed her until she could no longer feel her lips. Until breath eluded her, unnecessary as long as she had him. His mouth, his hands … his body merged with hers.

His hand fell on her breast, his fingers finding the peak, rolling and squeezing her nipple until it turned into an aching little point. She writhed beneath him, dark, desperate sounds escaping her lips. She tangled a hand in his hair, pulling roughly on the strands.

He rewarded her, sliding his hand between them and rubbing that spot. She broke free of his lips with a sharp cry. She lifted her calves and locked her ankles around his hips, rocking against him.

His eyes stared down at her, more silver than indigo in the dim light. She clenched her inner muscles around him in repeated clutches. Moaning, he dropped his head to the crook of her neck and began moving. Fast and fierce, thrusting in and out of her, pounding with unchecked savagery, the beast in him unleashed.

And still she wanted more. Wanted all. Head tossing back, a scream poured from her lips, drowned out as his mouth covered hers. She shattered inside.

Ripples of delight washed over. She trembled as he pumped into her, the smacking sound of his body against hers thrilling and primitive. With a shudder and deep groan of his own, he finished, pouring himself deep inside her.

Panting from exertion, she flexed her fingers where they clutched his head, holding him close as the pain, the grief slowly returned.

The remnants of desire gradually ebbed from her body, faint tremors playing out along her nerves. She trembled as he lifted his head, his gaze colliding with hers. Still lodged inside her, she felt him pulse, twitch. The sensation was surreal and not a little intoxicating. It was almost as though they were one being. Connected. A bond she had never felt before. From the intense gleam in his eyes, he did not appear eager to sever that connection.

For moments, they did not move, did not stir beyond their chests rising and falling with matching breaths. Staring into his eyes, her fingers curled in the impossibly silken strands of his hair, she wished that she never had to move, never had to break the magic of the moment. She closed her eyes in a pained blink. An impossible dream. She knew what fate awaited her—what must be done.