Night Falls on the Wicked

EIGHT

Darby gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

Niklas looked particularly displeased as he stared down at her. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Um.” She glanced over her shoulder at the rattling kettle. “Making some hot chocolate.”

“Why are you even here?” He glanced disgustedly at the window covered in cardboard, apparently unbothered by the screeching kettle. “You can’t mean to stay the night here. You’ll freeze.”

She moved into the kitchen and removed the kettle from the burner. “I have an electric blanket.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Your boss expects you to—”

“No. Sam invited me to stay the night with him and his wife.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I’m fine,” she snapped, getting annoyed. She couldn’t explain that she couldn’t fall asleep with others nearby—that she was a danger to them. And what business was it of his anyway? “It’s just for one night. He’ll repair the window tomorrow.”

“One night is all it takes to freeze to death. And can you make it any easier for …”

“For what?” she pressed, her eyes scanning him intently. Was this it? Would he say what he knew? Would he admit to possessing knowledge that matched her own suspicions?

“Can you make it any easier for danger to find you?” he finished, his eyes glowing again.

She pulled back, her gaze narrowing. “What are you talking about? Truly? Stop being vague.” She spoke quietly, almost as if she didn’t want the night to overhear her words.

Deep in her bones, she felt there was more to this man. A lot more. Things he knew that she knew, too. They were toeing a dangerous line, dancing around each other with their secrets.

“There are all kinds of things that could harm a woman alone. And you’re more vulnerable than most.” He motioned to the boarded-up window, but she noticed that his gaze drifted, moved to her front window, out at the sky, to the full moon hanging low on the night.

“What business is it of yours anyway?”

At this, he stared at her, a cold shutter falling over his gaze as the truth of her question drilled deep.

“What do you care?” she demanded, pushing the point, feeling she was close. Close to pushing him away. Close to running him off for good. As much as the thought of this stung her, she charged ahead, needing to drive him away. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”

A heavy beat of silence stretched between them, strained and uncomfortable.

He inhaled. “You’re right.” He moved toward the door.

She couldn’t make herself move or speak. She had to see him leave, had to watch him walk away even as an inexplicable ache built in her chest. She watched the broad shoulders, the rigid set of his spine and embraced that she’d never have him or any other man ever again.

She’d said the words, done everything to get him to leave her alone—even as her heart, her body willed him to stay, willed him to come closer. To touch her as he had earlier with that simple brush of his fingers. To touch her more than that. To fill the ache of loneliness gnawing away at her.

Weak, she knew, and foolish and selfish. But that was how she felt. Thankfully only how she felt. She gave nothing away, no outward sign, no indication that she wanted him to do any of those things. She was responsible, at least.

What choice do you have?

He stopped then, turned back and stared at her, pinned her with his deep gaze. She forgot how to breathe beneath that intense stare, both afraid and hopeful that he would read her want, her need.

“Go,” she whispered, inwardly cringing at the pathetic whisper of her voice. Hardly convincing.

He angled his head, the light in his eyes intensifying the longer he stared, taking her apart piece by piece, opening her up to see what it was she hid inside … who she was.

He moved before she could process it. A blur and rush of wind that bewildered her.

Before she had time to process just what happened, he was in front of her, hauling her into his arms, lifting her off her feet as he claimed her mouth. Heat. That was her first impression as he enveloped her. Encompassing heat and male strength.

Shock rippled through her at the sensation of his mouth on hers. She gasped and he took advantage, deepening the kiss, forcing her mouth open for his slanting lips.

His lips were warm like the rest of him. They moved firmly, expertly, robbing her of all will as he pushed deeper inside her apartment, backing her up against a wall.

Her hands hovered for a moment at her sides, warring with her weakening will. She should push him away, end this insanity before it went further. And yet she failed to do any of that.

With the fleeting thought that she really should know better than to do this flashing across her mind, she seized his shoulders. She was lost. There was no going back. She clung to him, pressing against him as their mouths fused, moving feverishly, tasting and sucking.

She yanked down the zipper of his bulky coat and slid her hands inside, skimming her palms over his chest, his dark sweater warm and soft and tantalizing against her palms, only a single barrier separating her from his firm chest, and she wanted to be rid of it. His heart thudded swiftly beneath her exploring hands and she moaned into his mouth, desperate for his flesh on hers, for an answer to the ache in her belly.

His hands cupped her face and the gesture struck her as both tender and desperate. Her knees trembled. Without the wall at her back and his hard body at her front, she doubted whether she could remain standing.

He slid one hand down her throat in a fiery trail and covered her breast through her flannel top. She whimpered against his mouth and surged shamelessly against that hand.

It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. Not after the lonely years. Not after one taste of him.

This is what she’d wanted from the first moment she ran into him outside the store. Since the instant she’d glimpsed his hand and her entire body had ignited.

He crowded her, pressing closer, overwhelming her senses. She gasped raggedly when he broke their fused lips. His lips singed her cheek, skimming toward her ear, fanning heat and moist kisses there that left her panting.

He lifted his head. Heart hammering wildly in her chest, she glanced up only to find his gaze fixed on her face, his eyes searching, scanning every nuance, missing nothing.

He looked at her strangely, his eyes feverish, intense, consuming. As though he had never seen anything quite like her before. Her chest tightened.

Reaching out, he caught a lock of her hair. Studying the red strands, he rubbed them experimentally between his fingers. Dropping her hair, he ran the back of his fingers down her cheek, igniting a trail in their wake.

Her breath caught in her throat, trapped, frozen within her like a bird in the face of its predator. And like prey, she looked away, dropped her gaze, wishing he would step away from her, wishing it with the same desperation that she hoped he would not.

He inhaled deeply next to her cheek. “You smell so sweet. Like vanilla.”

“It’s my lotion,” she murmured lamely, her gaze returning to him, brushing his chin, his mouth, his nose, until she locked eyes with him again.

He watched her with fierce relentlessness. She felt as if his gaze alone could strip away everything, all her barriers, reveal all her secrets, all that she hid from the world. She shivered.

“What are you?” he murmured, his voice a wisp of heat on the air, so close he scorched her bruised lips.

Closing her eyes tightly, she shook her head, panicked that he should see anything at all when he looked at her. Anything close to the truth.

“N-nothing,” she choked.

“Oh, no,” he returned, his voice quiet and confident and much too close as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb caressing her earlobe in a deft, sensual stroke. “You’re definitely … something.”

His lips came back down on hers again. She moaned into his mouth and leaned into him. His hand found her breast again.

She didn’t know what burned hotter, his lips on her or the imprint of his hand on her aching breast. And then there was her blood. It baked in her veins, drove her to a frenzy. She buried her hands in his hair and pulled his mouth closer, deepened their kiss with a ferocity that might have frightened her if she had let rational thought even enter her head.

She was beyond rational thinking.

She ravaged his mouth, biting, licking, sucking. She unleashed herself, unleashed everything she had denied and hidden away for the last three years. And he gave it all back to her, met her every lick, her every kiss and nip. He took and seized, his mouth and hands fierce and thorough. Everywhere.

A sob rose in her throat as he buried his warm face in her throat, sucking on the stretched cord there. His teeth scored her sensitive flesh. She trembled from the inside out, her fingers digging into his shoulders, clinging …

He growled, the dark sound vibrating against her skin.

She stilled at the deep animal sound, startled and a little frightened.

What the hell was that?

The noise didn’t even sound … human. He didn’t. He sounded like, like …

He wrenched away from her, his hands hard on her arms, holding her away from him as if he didn’t trust himself to have her near him.

His chest heaved, ragged breaths tripping from his mouth. He closed his shining eyes in a savage blink, torment etched into his face.

Her own gasping breath filled her ears. She watched him intently, trying to make sense of what she’d heard, of what she read in his face, what she saw there in every anguished line and angle … of the impossible thought skittering through her head.

He opened his eyes. They glowed with that eerie light again. He looked at her with such stark longing that all fear melted away. For a moment, she thought he would pull her back into his arms and devour her … finish what they started. What she wanted.

But no. Instead, he flung her away as if the touch of her burned his hands. He was gone so quickly, she hardly saw him leave. There one moment and then gone the next. She blinked and brushed a shaking hand to her lips. What just happened?

She moved to the door and looked out, but he was already gone. So much for his worrying about her staying the night alone in an apartment with a broken window.

Her shaking fingers traveled from her bruised lips to her throat, still hot and tender from his kisses. Her body throbbed, ached. Freezing to death wouldn’t be problem tonight. She doubted she would cool down any time soon. Not with the memory of him to warm her.