24. Wrapped in Shadows
ELOISE
Eight hours later, I arrive back at Harcourt Manor, utterly exhausted. I”d forgotten how draining it is to teach art. From the sixth grader who was embarrassed when someone caught him painting his crush, to the twelfth grader who wanted my advice about majoring in graphic design, teaching is about far more than the subject itself. I like working with kids, and I’m proud of what I’ve done today. But I’m also tired as hell, and a small but insistent niggle at the back of my brain wonders what it would feel like to paint again. Paint like I used to before my parents died. Create from the depths of my soul rather than because I’m teaching someone else to paint.
I push the thought aside as I park my Jeep, check on Grams, then sink into one of the rockers on the wraparound porch out front with a hot cup of tea. October in Virginia carries in the scent of change, the air threatening a chill that doesn’t quite have teeth yet but will soon enough. As the sun sets, I appreciate it wrapped in a light but cozy blanket, sipping my chamomile. I think of nothing. Not the future. Not the past. Not when I have to go inside or what frozen casserole I’ll eat for dinner. Blissfully fatigued, I watch the shadows of the trees stretch toward me as the day melts into the river, leaving behind a blank canvas of darkness.
The moment the shadows reach the porch, Damien appears in the empty rocker beside me. I almost drop my teacup. “Damn it, Damien. I’m going to tie a bell around your neck! You scared me half to death. Again! Didn’t I tell you not to do that?”
He flashes a crooked grin. “You are far from half-dead, little bird. Your heart is fluttering as fast as always.” His smile fades, and he turns his head toward the door, his nostrils flaring like he smells something coming from the house, something that makes him grow somber. “How is your grandmother?”
I don’t like what I see pass behind his eyes. “She’s dying,” I say. “But she’s here now. Resting. And I think she’ll be here tomorrow.”
“It won’t be long now,” he says softly.
I glare at him but only find empathy where there once was cruelty. What I ask next comes out shaky. “How do you know?”
“I can smell it.” He looks toward the night sky. “It’s not a bad thing, death. At least, my people don’t believe it is. An honorable death brings comfort and freedom.”
I wonder at his words. So many people avoid talking about death. Even Maeve. It’s refreshing to have someone give it to me straight. I don’t know if I agree with his notion. Death certainly doesn’t bring comfort to those left behind. But I absolutely appreciate him not shying away from the topic.
“You haven’t eaten.” His brilliant silver eyes lock onto me again.
“I’m fine.”
“I can smell your hunger.” He frowns.
“I’ll eat later.”
“I won’t share what news I have with you if you don’t eat.”
“Seriously?” I sigh. Damien looks resolved, and I want to know what he’s come to tell me. I stand from the rocker and pick up the teacup, then lead him inside to the kitchen, where I pull out the fixings for a ham and cheese sandwich. “Okay. I’m making it. Tell me what you found.”
He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and withdraws a folded magazine.
Dropping the knife I’m holding into the mayo, I snatch it from his grip. “Echo Mills Today! Oh my God, Damien. Where did you find this?” He takes over making my sandwich while I flip through the magazine.
“After I left you last night, I went back to the warehouse. Ran into our friend on the side of the road. Turns out he had a copy where he’s sleeping. I traded him some shoes and a down blanket for it.”
Heart brimming with new hope, I inspect the pages. Stock photography of a mom with a kid graces the cover, FREE in small caps in the upper right-hand corner. “I’ve seen this magazine before. I think they give it away at the doctor’s office.”
Damien finishes constructing my ham and cheese, cuts it diagonally down the center, and places the plate in front of me. “Eat.”
“Why would Tony publish a free magazine?” I ask him.
He sits down in the chair across from me, lifts a half sandwich between his fingers, and holds it out to me. I bite and chew. Mmmm. Why does food prepared by someone else always taste better? And it doesn’t hurt that my monster is watching me eat it with the type of care commonly reserved for someone you like and respect.
“Most of the time, these types of periodicals make their money selling advertising space,” he says. “Look inside. It’s all ads.”
I open the magazine again and confirm as much. “This is weird. Don’t they usually also have articles in them?” The pages are solid advertisements. I notice one for my grandmother’s nail salon.
“That’s my understanding,” he concurs, feeding me another bite.
“So Tony is making money on the side selling ad space in a free magazine?” I swallow the bite in my mouth. “But where is the money going? Maeve has gone through all the accounts. There are no unaccounted-for deposits.”
“What exactly does Denardi Enterprises do?” Damien pops the last corner of the sandwich half into my mouth. Damn, I’m already on the other half. I must have been hungrier than I thought.
“What doesn’t it do? His family owns a string of car dealerships, a few restaurants, massage parlors, nail salons, mattress stores. He owns an entire strip mall in Richmond.”
“All places that deal in a lot of cash.”
I nod. “I guess, yeah.”
“Maybe he’s siphoning the ad sales through one of the cash-based businesses to hide the income and then pocketing the cash they take in.”
“Hmm, actually, that makes sense. He used to give me a weekly allowance in cash to buy groceries.”
Damien sneers. “Your husband gave you an allowance?”
I release a beleaguered sigh. “There’s a reason I’m not with him anymore.” I rub the back of my neck. “He always gave me cash, though. That supports your theory. But how do we prove it?”
Damien drums his fingers on the table. “That’s the problem. There’s nothing linking the magazine or the warehouse to Tony. We have a company. You and I know he runs it. Unfortunately, aside from your memory of that invoice, we have nothing to prove he has any connection to it.”
Damien holds the last bite of my sandwich between his fingers, and he’s watching me with such care it makes my chest feel warm. I’ve been starved for this type of attention. Part of me suspects he’s doing all this because of the candle. I don’t care. I’m soaking it up like the last bit of gravy at the bottom of the plate.
“I’m full.” I push his hand away.
He pops the remainder in his own mouth and chews.
“You eat regular food?”
“Often, although I prefer my meat rare.”
I file that away into things I didn’t know about shades and turn my attention back to the magazine in my hand. “So, without more proof, this doesn’t help us at all.”
“Unfortunately, no.”
A heavy black tangle forms deep within me. I hate Tony. I hate the legal system and the fact I’m probably going to lose this house. I’m so angry and frustrated I can’t think about it anymore. I fling Echo Mills Today across the kitchen.
Damien flashes me an empathetic look. “Little bird?”
“Are you ever going to call me by my real name?” I snap. His nickname for me hasn’t bothered me before, but after last night, I want more.
He wipes his hands on a napkin. “Do you want me to? Names are… personal.”
What an odd thing to think, but then I remember something. “Maeve told me they’ve always just called you the advocate.”
His chin bobs once.
“But you told me your name.”
“You asked, and I was obligated to respond to you as the bearer of the candle.”
My heart clenches. “Oh. So, you’d rather I call you the advocate.”
“No.” His expression grows serious. “I like when you call me Damien. Just you.”
I lean my elbows on the table. I want to hear him say my name, but I won’t force him. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do anymore, okay?”
“Okay.” His eyes tighten at the corners as if he finds this funny. I’m not trying to be funny.
“You have no choice, do you? Because of the curse.”
“Correct.”
“All right, then I command you to tell me if there’s something I ask you to do that you don’t want to do. That way, I can change what I ask you to do.”
This time his laugh is robust enough to show fang. “There’s no one like you, little bird.”
“You can leave if you want to,” I say. “Thank you for bringing me the magazine.” I wait. The clock on the wall ticks loudly enough that it reminds me of our first meeting. “You’re still here.”
“I want to be here.” His voice is so low and gritty I can barely make it out. His gaze drops to my throat, and I wonder if he’s hungry for my blood.
“Why didn’t you take my blood last night? You could have. I wouldn’t have stopped you.” I chuckle. “Honestly, you could have done anything to me last night, and I wouldn’t have stopped you.” My face heats at the admission.
He swallows, then reaches over to cup my chin in his big rough palm. “What I did with you last night was not part of our agreement. And I didn’t take your blood because I didn’t want you to think that what happened between us was… transactional. Understand? It wasn’t related to your promise to allow the candle to burn. I wanted you. I wanted to taste you, and I loved giving you pleasure.” He licks his bottom lip, his gaze settling on my mouth.
The air charges between us, and I feel his stare deep within me. I lick my lips. “Hold on to the sides of your chair and don’t remove your hands unless I tell you.”
His brow knits, but he does as I command. I stand, grip the back of his chair, and lean over him until our foreheads touch. His lips part, but when he moves to capture my mouth, I rock back and reach for his belt. Shadows flit behind his stormy gaze, then drift off him to swirl around me. Once the gathering darkness might have frightened me. Now, the cool brush against my hot skin stokes a deep ache in my core.
I make short work of the button and zipper on his fly. Underneath, he’s hard and enormous. A hiss flows through his teeth as I palm his massive cock. He may be a different species, but his anatomy is warm, male, and weeping for me. I drop to my knees in front of him.
“What are you doing?” he grits out.
“Exactly what I want to do. Tell me to stop if you object.”
He doesn’t say a word. I tug his pants lower and admire the size of him. I’ll have to unhinge my jaw like a snake to fit him in. But nothing is going to stop me from trying. I lean over and lick a drop of moisture from the tip, then circle my tongue along the ridge.
“Fuck,” he growls, his knuckles turning white where he grips the chair. I lock eyes with him before running the flat of my tongue along his length. He mumbles something in another language that sounds like a prayer, but he doesn’t tell me to stop. I suck him deep to the back of my throat.
His breath saws in and out of his lungs. I can hardly fit my lips around him and have to use my hand to accommodate his length, but I make up for it in enthusiasm. Swirling my tongue over the head of his cock, I revel in his moan and then take him deep again. I hollow my cheeks and pick up speed.
“Release my hands,” he growls, his voice cracking.
“You can let go,” I say between strokes.
He does, then grabs the back of my head and thrusts into my mouth again. I take him, all of him I can manage, my eyes starting to tear as he fucks my mouth in earnest, finding a tight, even rhythm. God, he tastes as good as he smells, his smoke and spice scent translating to a rich flavor I can’t get enough of. I reach between his legs and stroke the heavy weights there, all the time watching him watch me. And what I see is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. The want, the need, it’s raw and powerful.
His fangs are elongated, and he tugs on the back of my hair, but I only suck him deeper, scraping my teeth gently along his shaft. That’s all it takes. With a low growl and a jerk of his hips, he empties himself down my throat. I love the way he looks in this moment, hunched and vulnerable. I may be the one on my knees, but he regards me like I’m a goddess, like I’m something to worship.
I sit back on my heels, and he reaches down to gather me off the floor and into his arms. “Gods, Eloise. Please be who I think you are.”
I’m not sure what he means. I’m about to ask him when I realize what he’s done. “You called me Eloise.”
The kiss he gives me then makes me forget all about my questions. When he pulls back, I can tell he’s hungry, but when I draw my hair to the side to offer my neck, he shakes his head.
“No.” His expression is unreadable. “I need to go.”
He stands, taking me with him and setting me gently on my feet. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“I have some business to attend to, but I’ll be back in a few days. If there’s an emergency, use the candle to call me.”
I nod.
“I won’t give up, Eloise. I’ll follow Tony every moment of the night if I have to.” He flashes a wicked smile. “Or I could just kill him.”
I sigh. That option is becoming more and more tempting as the clock ticks down to my court date. “Not just yet.”
He kisses me again. The lights flicker. And then he’s gone.