The Darkest Touch dh-3 Read online

  He pulled back, rocking his pelvis against her. “I want inside you. Now.” He didn’t know whose voice that was. He’d growled that statement like an animal in heat. What was wrong with him?

  Isabelle surged upward, biting down hard on his lower lip. He tasted his own blood. Didn’t care.

  “Yes. Now,” she said, her own voice hoarse with need.

  He scooped her up in his arms and stalked down the hall to her room. She turned the handle and he toed the door open, using his heel to slam it closed. He could see just fine in the dark so he didn’t bother with turning the light on. Instead, he deposited her on her feet near the foot of the bed and took her mouth again, seeking more of her spicy flavor.

  He’d bet she’d taste just as good all over. He grasped the straps of her sundress and pulled them over her shoulders, dragging them down her arms, tearing his lips away from her mouth to follow the trail of her scent. Musky, primal, it called to him like a siren beckoning. He kissed her throat, lingering at the wildly pumping pulse at her neck for a few seconds, but compelled to move to her shoulder, her collarbone, then lower as he continued to drag the dress down, baring her to her waist.

  Now he cursed the darkness, because he couldn’t see her body, just a silhouette of full breasts. He reached out and cupped the globes in his hands, heard the sound of her indrawn breath. He caressed her nipples, surprised when he skimmed across the cool metal of piercings at the tip of each bud.

  “Now that’s sexy,” he murmured. He knew she was wild and untamed, that there was an animal lurking inside Isabelle waiting to break free. And he wanted that part of her all to himself. He flicked the metal and her nipples hardened under his thumbs.

  “Yes, touch me,” she said, her voice like smoke, intoxicating him, luring him into the darkness.

  Dalton was lost, knew he should walk away, play this game a different way. He was too close to the fire, but he couldn’t resist. It was as if something compelled him-a drug to a junkie desperately needing that next fix. He sensed doom and destruction, yet he couldn’t turn away from Isabelle now if his life depended on it.

  He had a feeling the course he took now would forever alter his destiny. He didn’t give a shit. He wanted Isabelle naked and underneath him.

  He stripped the dress all the way off, then shucked out of his clothes. She reached out and touched him.

  “Your hands are hot,” he said.

  “Your body is hot.” She reached for him, encircled the throbbing part of him desperate to be inside her, and began to stroke, taking his breath away as she expertly wound her hand around his thickness, sliding her thumb over the crest and cradling his balls in her other hand. When she dropped to her knees and pressed her lips to him, his knees almost buckled.

  No. Yes. Oh, hell yes.

  He grasped her hair and wound it around his fist, tightening it, pulling her hair as she wove a magic spell with her lips and tongue, taking him nearly to the edge.

  But he wasn’t going there. He jerked her up by her hair. “Stand up.”

  Darkness filtered the edges of his mind, a violence he could barely control. He pushed Isabelle against the wall, lifting one of her legs and settling it over his hip as he drove into her with one hard thrust. She cried out and he absorbed it with his mouth, kissing her hard, plunging his tongue inside, fucking her mouth the way he did her body.

  She raked her nails down his back in answer to his violent thrusts, groaning against him, gripping his body in a way that made it hard to control. Explosive passion warred with the darkness enveloping him until he couldn’t hold back any longer. He set it free-on himself, on Isabelle, who seemed to revel in the darker side of him, absorbing it and giving it back to him, biting and scratching him as he powered inside her, not with tenderness, but with force. She didn’t balk, didn’t cry; she took, accepted, and delighted in the way he fucked her.

  “Yes. More!” she cried. He felt her tighten around him, her body claiming his as she growled out his name in climax.

  The fury of her passion blinded him. Darkness drove him. The tight gripping of her body was his undoing and he went with her, burying his face in her neck and pouring out all he had, shaking and shuddering until he had nothing left.

  Afterward, spent, sweating, and glad this time for the darkness, he felt her slacken against him. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, pulled down the covers and laid her down.

  She hadn’t said a word. Had he hurt her? Did she regret?

  He searched her face, his eyes adjusting enough to the darkness to see her eyes were closed. He waited, but she didn’t move at all. She was out cold. He sat on the edge of the bed and raked his hands through his hair.

  Fuck. What had he just done? Even worse, what had he just unleashed?

  He’d allowed that darkness within him, the violent, sinister side, to come out and play.

  So much for romancing her. So much for seduction. Hell, he hadn’t even been nice about it. He’d taken. Violently. Shame washed over him. He wanted to run, to hide. But wasn’t that what he’d been doing for years?

  He dropped his chin to his chest, knowing it was no use to wish he could change things. This hadn’t been the first time it had happened, it had just been a very long time since he’d allowed it.

  With Isabelle, it had been easy. But he couldn’t blame her for it. He was responsible. And now that it had happened, he had to make use of it. Which made him feel even worse, if that was possible. But he had to do what he’d come here to do.

  “Isabelle.” He shook her shoulder, testing her. “Isabelle, wake up.”

  Nothing. He tried a couple more times, and she didn’t move. She was out. A long day and enough alcohol and she was exhausted. She wouldn’t wake for a while.

  Perfect.

  He stood and looked around the room, not wanting to chance turning on a light, though he didn’t think even that would rouse her.

  He searched every part of the room, taking his time, looking through each drawer and the closet, until he found the box. She hadn’t hidden it well at all. Then again, she probably wasn’t expecting anyone to go hunting for it.

  The lock was easy to pick, and he grabbed the book Isabelle had locked in there. He locked the box back up and put it back in the closet, then dressed and left the room, leaving the door unlocked.

  Once in his room, he turned on the light and opened the book. It didn’t take much scanning of pages to realize it was a journal, or diary.

  But not Isabelle’s diary. It was the journal of Isabelle and Angelique’s mother, Monette Deveraux. He leaned back and started reading from the beginning, from the time Monette, a French archaeologist, first began doing her work.

  Good thing Dalton could read several languages, since Monette wrote entirely in French. He sat back and flipped through the pages, wanting to get to anything that would help the Realm of Light figure out what was going on with Isabelle and Angelique.

  It was only when he got to a certain passage that he sat up, his eyes widening.

  I haven’t written in a while and it’s because I’m not certain how to explain this. It’s strange, surreal, almost as if it were an out-of-body experience.

  I don’t know what happened. He seemed like such a nice man. Seductive, beautiful, with the most unusual eyes I’d ever seen. He took such interest in my work, and we spent days, and nights, talking about my current project. We would have dinner, and he was always so polite. I began to trust him. Perhaps that was my biggest mistake. I have always been too trusting.

  He stayed with me for over a month, gaining my confidence-and my love. I knew in my heart he was the one for me. Foolish, foolish woman I was.

  We made love in the desert, under the stars. It started out beautifully, but then it went so terribly wrong. Something in his eyes-those eyes that I had found so beautiful-they turned evil-horribly evil. I couldn’t stop him. The passion, the terror, I wanted to stop, and yet I didn’t want to stop. It was heaven and hell combined. When it was over, I was afra
id and I ran from him into the night. He chased me. Then something even worse happened.

  Two men interceded. Dressed entirely in robes of black, they fought Ahmed. I was so frightened. I hid so the two men couldn’t see me. When they approached, Ahmed changed. His eyes glowed red, he grew fangs and claws-I know what I saw, I’m not insane! He attacked, and the two men in black robes sliced through him with their swords. I smothered a scream, I was so terrified I couldn’t even breathe. But instead of Ahmed falling to the ground and bleeding, he simply disappeared in smoke and ash.

  I have seen many strange things in my travels. Many unexplained things. Spiritual, demonic, call it what you will. Ahmed was not of this world.

  I cowered, afraid to move, to even breathe, certain they would strike me down next. But they left. It was hours later when I could run from my hiding place.

  I never told anyone what I saw.

  Now I find myself pregnant with his child.

  But what kind of child do I carry? Is it a human child, or, God help me, something else?

  I’m so afraid. And I have no one to talk to.

  Who would believe me, anyway?

  Oh, shit. Dalton swallowed, his throat dry and his head throbbing. He continued to read on, realizing as he did that what he’d just read about had to be Angelique and Isabelle’s conception.

  The journal entries grew sparse as the years went on. The girls were born, seemed perfectly normal, and Monette seemed relieved. She didn’t mention her secret again. She wrote about the girls’ childhoods and her own adventures in archaeology. She spoke of their travels, how the girls were educated, but she didn’t mention the demons again. Still, he couldn’t put the book down, had to know if there was anything else.

  He found an entry that stopped him cold.

  I worry about Isabelle. I always have, though I’ve been loath to put it in writing. Now that the girls are adults, I’ve mentioned it to Angelique. She’s noticed, too.

  Isabelle has a dark side. A very dark side. Yes, we often disagree on the archaeology part of our work, but it’s more than that. I sense there’s evil within her-a true, pure evil. I don’t think she’s ever been aware of it, but I’ve noticed it since the girls were little. Small things at first. Stealing and lying well beyond harmless children’s pranks. Hurting her sister. Angelique has scars from the fights with Isabelle. I can’t recall the number of times I had to pull knives and other sharp objects away from Isabelle’s hands. The threats she made, the malevolence in her eyes. What would have happened had I not been there to keep close watch over Isabelle, to prevent potential disaster? There were times I feared she might kill her sister. I never spoke to Angelique about this. I didn’t want her to be afraid of Isabelle.

  There was a fire once in a bungalow, and I found matches on Isabelle, though she denied starting it. But she’d reeked of smoke. Thank the Lord everyone had escaped the hut that night. I never told anyone I suspected my own daughter. She was only eight years old. What could I do?

  There were more events than those I’ve mentioned here. So many more examples of the darkness within Isabelle. I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve never known what to do about it. I’ve watched her, praying the evil of their father never surfaces in Isabelle, but I fear that someday it might, that it already has. But as soon as I think Isabelle is lost, she turns on the charm and she’s oh so sweet, her innocence shining through. Which is real, the innocence or the darkness? I honestly don’t know.

  How could this potential evil be so invisible in Angelique and so prevalent in Isabelle? I don’t understand. Yet it is what it is.

  I will never tell anyone about the girls’ parentage, but now that I’m ill, I’ve asked Angelique to keep watch over her sister. Angelique knows nothing, and I would never burden her with this secret. It would destroy her to know the truth. It would destroy both of them. No one must find out. But I must ask Angelique to protect her sister.

  It’s all I can do. That, and pray for Isabelle’s immortal soul.

  God help her. God help them both if any part of their father lives within them.

  I love my girls so much. Please, God, save them.

  Dalton had to talk to Lou. Now.

  “Oh, my God. What are you doing?”

  He damn near leaped out of the chair, pivoting around at the sound of Isabelle’s voice.

  How long had he been reading? Hours, no doubt. He’d lost track of time, so absorbed in Monette’s journal he hadn’t counted on Isabelle waking up.

  Damn brilliant, Dalton.

  Her hair disheveled, she’d pulled on the dress she’d worn earlier. Her eyes wide, she stepped into the room and looked down at her mother’s journal, then back up at him.

  “Isabelle.” He had no words, didn’t know what to say or how to explain what she saw.

  “That’s mine,” she whispered in a ragged voice as she choked back tears.

  “I know.”

  “How did you find it? I had it locked up.”

  “Yes.”

  Her gaze narrowed, anguish turning to anger. “You’re not really some rich guy who wants to help me find treasure under the sea, are you?”

  He shook his head. He couldn’t avoid this. It was time for the truth. “No, I’m not.”

  The tears spilled down her cheeks. She wasn’t shocked anymore. Her gaze narrowed and he could feel her anger from across the room. It lit into him like a cold fury.

  “Who the hell are you, Dalton?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ryder held Angie in his arms and listened to her slight moans. Not sex moans, but fitful ones. The kind that signaled bad dreams.

  She was sleeping, but not peacefully.

  He wasn’t sleeping at all. He’d gotten an hour, two at the most, which was all he’d needed. Now he was restless, anxious; he would feel a lot better if he could get up and pace. But he didn’t want to risk waking her. She needed the rest.

  And he needed to think, to figure out what to do now that they’d crossed the line.

  Not that he’d done a lot of resisting. One look at her coming out of the steamy bathroom wrapped in only a towel and he’d been a goner. He’d tried to get across to her that the two of them together was a bad idea. His body had thought it was a great idea, though. And damn if he’d been too tired to argue with either her or his cock.

  “No.”

  He looked down at Angie as she whispered the word. She was frowning. Still asleep, twitching a little, mumbling unintelligible words. She was having one hell of a nightmare.

  He knew all about those. He pulled her closer and stroked her hair, wishing he could take the bad dreams away.

  From both of them.

  Ah, hell. He felt something for her. Desire, definitely. But it was more than that. He didn’t want to see her hurt. He didn’t even want her to have a bad dream. She was frowning, and tears had started rolling down her cheeks. Whatever she was dreaming about was making her unhappy. Her chest rose and fell rapidly and she had started to shake.

  He couldn’t stand this.

  “Angie. Wake up, darlin’.”

  Her eyes shot open with a start and she laid her palm on his chest, lifting her head to stare up at him.

  “You were having a bad dream.”

  She stared at him for a few seconds, then blinked. “Isabelle was in trouble and I couldn’t get to her.” She wiped away the tears. “Silly dreams.”

  He drew his hand over her hair. So damn soft. Everything about her was soft. Yet, she was so tough, thinking she had to carry the entire world on her shoulders, do it all on her own. “Are you okay now?”

  “Yes.” She sat up and turned to face him. “I worry a lot about Izzy.”

  He propped a pillow behind him and sat facing her. “I can tell.”

  “The darkness in her concerns me. Especially now that I know the Sons of Darkness may be searching for her. And with what happened to me at the house last night. . I mean it’s obvious I have some kind of skills that aren’t exactly. . norm
al.”

  “Yeah, it does.” She seemed to accept it. In fact, they hadn’t even had time to delve into where she’d gotten those abilities. That was a major talk he wasn’t prepared to have with her.

  “What if she has those same kinds of powers, Ryder? I’m not exactly a dark soul, and look what I did to that demon. It scares me what she might be capable of. To be honest, I’m even worried about what I might be capable of.”

  He blew out a breath. “I know what it’s like to have a dark side, to wonder if you’re going to snap any minute.”

  “You do? How?”

  He never talked about his past. So why now, and why with Angie? He’d like to think it was to coax her into revealing something about herself and about her sister, but he knew that was bullshit. Maybe he just felt bad that she felt bad about herself, and about her sister.