Of Blood and Smoke

Chapter 20

TWENTY

Della

Today was the last day. I had a truck arranged, and nearly everything packed. It was all boxed up except for absolute essentials. Yesterday, I’d excitedly told my dad about our new place. I knew he couldn’t understand me, and I knew nothing short of a miracle would bring him home to me, but he was my person and there was no way I’d give up hope.

Tomorrow morning I’d say goodbye and good riddance to this apartment. Christina had tried to pull a fast one and wrangle me into a weekend shift knowing full well I was moving. I went over her head and straight to Micha and explained my circumstances, sweating like I’d just run a marathon. But I put my foot down anyway. To my bewilderment, he’d agreed that moving to a better place took precedence.

Take that, Christina. She was furious and I didn’t care. The overtime pay would’ve been fantastic, but I had other priorities.

After I checked and double checked, triple checked, that all my stuff was ready to go and thoroughly labeled with precise details, I arranged everything I’d need in the morning into a pile on top of my dresser. Then, I took a tour of what had been mine and my dad’s home for so long and let the memories rush over me. It was hard to believe we’d been through so much and I never could’ve imagined that this moment would finally come.

While things were so much better for me, my dad was comatose in a rehabilitation facility. It wasn’t fair, he should’ve been here nagging me about proper packing procedures and asking me thirty-six times when the movers would be here and then lecturing the wind about how “nobody knows how to work anymore.”

I giggled as a lone tear tracked down my cheek. He was such a dad . He even wore jorts with New Balance sneakers.

After I showered and packed away my toiletries, I crawled into bed. Brett had messaged saying he’d be here at nine in the morning, and I answered saying “Okay” and set my phone beside my pillow. My lists were written, I’d strategized how my boxes would be loaded and unloaded. Everything was ready and in order.

My anxiety was driving me crazy, reminding me of all the things that could go wrong in the morning, and I nearly wished I’d invited Brett over. He could’ve given me a massage, or maybe even an orgasm, perhaps. Something to calm my mind and send me off to dreamland.

I almost hoped for my personal home invader to show up in my dreams. Maybe he could give me a rub down? The strange thought that he might not know where I’d moved crossed my mind and left me oddly bereft. I snickered thinking about what a weirdo I was—nobody should want such a thing to be following them around. Then I remembered he was merely a figment of my subconscious mind.

It was hard to clear my head but eventually, sleep took me away. I must’ve been trying to get comfortable because I found myself on my back, after I’d nodded off on my side, and once again I couldn’t move.

Like the other times before, the air appeared to be wavering like there was a film of heat or humidity suspended in it. My eyes darted, looking for my visitor, fully expecting to see him. I couldn’t see a thing and railed at my paralysis, cursing it.

Speech still escaped me. The words floated by in my head, but they fell away without materializing.

The mattress dipped beside me and a hand smoothed down my arm. “Little One,” the voice said. “Did you miss me?”

There was an amused tone to his words, and I struggled to identify the voice. It was his, I knew, my mystery visitor. The problem was I wanted to see if it was familiar outside of these nocturnal appointments, but I couldn’t place it despite a familiarity that hung just out of reach.

Debating what I should say, I paused, before I realized he wouldn’t hear me anyway. “Yes,” I whispered.

“How much?” he purred, shocking me, before interlacing his fingers with mine.

My heart thudded over the intimate contact. “A little bit?” I wasn’t going to tell him I’d been lying here hoping he’d show up and now I didn’t know what to say.

He leaned over me and pressed his lips against my forehead. No cloak and hood, I noticed. A suit jacket.

“I’m not supposed to want or allow this,” he stated softly. “But when I saw your heart, it lit a fire within me. I’ve never been drawn to someone like this, not once over my very long life.”

Very long life . His words echoed in my head. He didn’t sound very old. I would’ve guessed he was in his thirties, perhaps early forties.

“What are you? Some kind of evil spirit?”

Forcing the words out was becoming more and more difficult, taking an amount of effort that was extremely tiring.

He didn’t feel personally nefarious to me, even with the sinister air that clung to him, but I knew he couldn’t be good if he was breaking into people’s homes, and their bodies mysteriously froze when he was near. It didn’t upset me nearly as much as it should’ve and had rather the opposite effect. I didn’t want to think about what that said about me.

Wait—I’m sleeping . This isn’t real.

The man let out a deep laugh. “Perhaps. One wouldn’t want to get on my bad side.” He lifted me gently, angling me so my head rested against his chest. His hand slipped under my shirt, and he began lightly caressing my abdomen, sending bolts of heat straight down between my legs.

“Patience, Little One,” he said.

If I could’ve blushed, I would’ve. Maybe I had, it was impossible to tell. Fleetingly, I wished I’d left my mirror fixed to my wall, so I could see his face.

He bent his head and began trailing his lips down my neck. I felt the warmth of his inhalations and then the barest brush of something sharp. My pussy contracted and his fingers grasped at my waist.

My senses were beyond heightened, every brush of his skin against my own charged with explosive electricity. My breathing shallowed and I wanted so badly to shove his hand south, but I was completely at his mercy. I felt his eagerness growing right beneath my rear and all I could think was Jesus Christ. I want that .

But even more than that, I wanted to move, to see his face. I was fighting against the invisible hold he seemed to be responsible for harder than almost anything I’d ever fought.

The authority and power he exuded over the atmosphere were nearly tangible. It wouldn’t have surprised me if it were a living, breathing entity of its own. The effect he was having on me was all-consuming. My nocturnal intruder was the bogeyman, and I was his willing slave who would’ve done anything he told me. This was the darkest and most delicious dream I’d ever had.

Fighting my uncooperative limbs, I was hoping to at least free an arm like I had before. Even while distracted by the touch dangerously close to my core, part of my brain focused on willing myself to move. He laughed softly over my struggle, and I realized if he could sense it or see it somehow, it had to be possible to break out of the hold.

“Where are you trying to go? Did you think it would be that easy?” he murmured, letting out another low chuckle. He moved his hand and curled it below my chin.

Gently, he turned me and began running his lips down the side of my face, close to my hairline. I heard him exhale with a low sigh, stirring the fine hairs by my ear. The sensation was luxurious and seductive, I felt myself melting into him, giving up my fight.

If he were here to kill me, it’d be the most pleasant way to depart this life I could ever imagine.

“I just want to see you,” I complained, my voice echoing and still trapped in my head.

He began kissing my jaw line and his fingers curved around my hip, tilting me closer. If I could’ve broken free, I’d have instantly known who held me.

The overwhelming desire to see who this man was clawed at me, tearing me apart from the inside out. My back was against his firm chest, his arm strong around my midsection, and his soft hair trailed along the space between my shoulder and my neck.

The way he felt, he had to have been beautiful, he had to be all my dark fantasies come to life.

His tongue flicked the flesh behind my ear and my spirit shuddered, the need for him writhing within me. “Stop fighting me. Submit to me,” he whispered. “If I wanted you to see me, you would.”

Submit ? Did he think it was okay to keep me here on the brink, to leave the magical petting unfulfilled?

A different form of heat arose within me and finally, my arm broke free. It swung in the air, the see-through form distracting me for a millisecond, before it felt like I’d been slammed back into my body. The sensation was as if I’d fallen from atop a mountain and careened into the ground at full speed. I jolted, one wrist smacking his thigh and the other his collarbone as my knee smashed into his stomach.

As quickly as I could, I grabbed onto his shirt and threw my leg over his, so I was facing him. With my chest heaving against his, and my breasts rubbing his torso, I tried to calm my breathing. The man held perfectly still. I could feel his shock and disbelief and it matched my own.

After all that effort, suddenly I was scared. The undeniable fact that I was clearly awake changed things, and my heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest. I wanted to tilt my head up and gaze at his face, but I couldn’t.

Instead, I kept my eyes down. I glanced at his strong but slim legs, encased in black pants, the strip of dark leather winding through the loops of his waistband. Gripping his shoulders, I slowly examined him, making note of the navy-blue dress shirt, before I focused on the base of his neck where the fabric was unbuttoned, and lightly tanned skin with a silver chain peeked through.

I just couldn’t do it.

Emotions crashed through me, a sea of deep longing and a wide ocean of regret. Had I crossed a line, forcing my way out of his spell? Would he leave and never come back?

Resting my head in the crook of his neck, I tried to relax. He smelled like a candle I’d once found in a shop back in Connecticut and loved, called Weathered Wood. Distinctly, I remembered scenting it and wishing I had a man who smelled just like the jar of wax. I remembered laughing at myself, highly amused over the fanciful thought. I had burned that candle right down to the base of the wick and never had the chance to replace it.

My lips connected with his skin, and I shivered. Finally, he moved, shifting below me and then grasping the back of my neck. “You’re a little fighter,” he said, his jaw moving against my hair. “Whatever will we do with you?” He sounded amused.

“All that struggle to see me and you’re clinging to me, refusing to look me in the eye,” he paused. “I certainly hope, when your bravery returns, that what you see is to your liking.”

To your liking . I’d heard that phrase recently. It’d stood out because nobody spoke like that, hardly anyone used that combination of words—at least not anyone I knew. My grip faltered as I began to tremble. There was only one person that came to mind.

Moving my head, I peeked at my shoulder and searched for his hand. His fingers were hidden on my back, so I reached up and grabbed him, taking his palm in my own.

A short gasp escaped me as I peered down at the glassy nails and then the silver and gold rings encrusted with gemstones.

Holy fuck.