Chapter 12
Amara
Dylan jerked away from me for a moment, wild eyes flashing like she couldn’t quite believe this was reality. I watched her closely and ran my tongue over my lips that tingled and burned like I’d been branded. I wondered if I took it too far, if she might push me away. She looked horrified, terrified… and hungry.
Like floodgates giving way, Dylan wrapped a hand around the back of my neck and surged forward, pressing her lips to mine in a hot, demanding kiss.
There was nothing graceful or delicate about it. It was desperate, insatiable, the inevitable crescendo to the tension that had been building between us since the beginning. It was reckless, and we were both well aware of that – two deceivers with a debilitating craving for each other. That only made the need more dire, more intense. I thought irrationally that if I could just do it fast enough, kiss her hard enough, maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe this moment would exist outside of time, untethered to the rest of the world and the web of lies that tied us together.
Dylan's tongue probed between my lips and I moaned, the sliding of her tongue robbing my knees of their last bit of strength. I turned my head for a breath of air but Dylan couldn’t stand to leave my mouth for a moment. She gripped my hip with one hand, the other sliding up my side, my throat, and eventually fisting in my hair at the nape of my neck. She tugged at it and I gasped, and Dylan used it to her advantage, her open-mouthed kiss stealing the air from my lungs.
The kiss was urgent and frantic, demanding all of me in a single bite and I responded in kind. I wove my arms around her neck, pulling her closer while my back arched against the wall behind me. I kissed her back with equal force, palms flat against her chest, and moaned when she wedged her knee between my legs. When she broke the fierce contact of our lips I sucked in a rattling breath and leaned my head back against the wall to catch my bearings, only to feel the warmth of her breath at my neck.
I quivered under her touch, moaning at the tantalizing brush of her lips over my throat. Dylan kissed along the juncture of my neck and I ran my hands down her body, coiling my arms around her waist as she flattened me to the wall. Dylan's teeth grazed the soft flesh of my throat and I shuddered, digging dull nails into her back at the sensation. I didn’t care about consequences, I didn’t care how quickly Dylan had me wet and weak-kneed at her touch. I wanted this delirious entanglement to go on forever.
Hazy-eyed and hungry too, I sought out her mouth again, biting down on her bottom lip. Dylan moaned at the slight nip and I felt the vibration of it. Driven by desire I hooked a leg around her waist and Dylan dropped a hand to my thigh to brace me, pressing fierce, bruising kisses to my open mouth.
A sudden prick on my bottom lip, sharp and unmistakable, had me stiffening abruptly. Startled, I pulled my head back and touched a finger to my lips. It came away bloodied, and I tasted the metallic tinge of blood on my tongue. My eyes widened and I glanced up at Dylan.
Her face was a mask of horror, her canines startlingly prominent beneath her lips. I felt her body tense up, every muscle suddenly on high alert. Dylan clamped a hand over her mouth, wrenching herself away from me and staggering backward. She grew progressively paler, an expression like regret crumpling her features as she backed away from me.
My lips shaped her name and I reached for her, but she disappeared before my eyes. It was as if she’d drawn a veil of shadows over herself, a cover of darkness that swallowed her whole. For a moment I just stood there, my heart pounding in my chest, hoping she’d come back.
But Dylan was gone. And I was left standing alone in the apartment with my hand outstretched, choking on all the words I could not speak.
The events of the previous night played on a loop in my mind as I made my way to my father’s home. Don had texted me earlier that day, demanding I get to the mansion for a debriefing. I had declined a lift from Carlo this time, choosing instead to brave the streets and taxi cabs. Choosing anything to distract me from the thousand and one thoughts that crowded my head.
My bottom lip ached where Dylan’s canine had nicked me, and my mouth felt bruised where she had pressed punishing kisses the night before. I found my fingers absently drifting to my lips, trailing the path hers had followed. We had crossed a line – more specifically, I dove head-first across the line and dragged Dylan along with me. And now I had no idea where we stood.
Above all else, Dylan’s absence stung more than I cared to admit. She hadn’t come home by the next morning, dooming me to my dread and confusion, and leaving me to fend for myself in a maelstrom of emotions.
Don’s mansion loomed into view and I dragged myself up the cobbled steps, letting myself in the back door with a spare key. I had a bone to pick with my father.
Dylan and her partner had run into trouble at the docks. Dylan was sure it was a setup, and so was I. Don had promised me that no harm would come to her, that nothing would occur that could blow my cover. He told me he just needed information and that he wasn’t going to act on it yet. And so, I’d given him Dylan’s note.
My chest caved in at the guilt. Whatever Dylan thought of me, it would be justified. Whatever happened from here… I probably deserved it. I angrily blinked tears from my eyes, slamming the door shut behind me and kicking it for good measure. My sneakers offered little padding and a bolt of pain shot through my foot on impact. Finding slight comfort in the ache, I did it again. And again, slamming my foot at the door until it felt like the wood might splinter and my ankle would break.
When I finally calmed down I hobbled through the hallways, heading for my father’s study. Don wasn’t around yet, and I settled in a leather-clad chair opposite his desk. It was a massive, expensive-looking piece of furniture, dominating one half of the sterile office. I stared at his empty chair, a visceral anger bubbling in my chest.
A little over a month ago this mission made sense. It sounded easy enough, despite the fact that I was expected to mingle with a member of one of Don’s enemies. I had planned to be careful, clinical in my deconstruction of Dylan – get the necessary information and get it to Don. Rinse and repeat until my agent finally got back to me with good news.
But the lines between duty and desire had blurred, and there was no taking it back. With nothing to do but think, I hunkered down and got to drowning in a sea of regret.
Time dragged on and my throat constricted with each passing minute. Eventually, after two hours of musing, I was startled when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I flicked the screen on and scanned my messages, my mood souring further when I read the text from my father.
Busy today. Don’t bother coming around.
I swallowed my irritation and typed out my agent's number from memory, daring a text despite my father’s hovering shadow, begging her for some good news about the TV show adaptation. Or even just a little reassurance. Anything.
But her response was equally discouraging: Nothing yet. All we can do now is be patient.
Frustration coaxed hot tears from my eyes, and for once I let them fall. I dropped my head in my lap, letting the raking sobs roll through my body like cresting waves. I was tired of waiting, tired of being pushed around, tired of the uncertainty. I had told myself I just had to hold out a little longer, keep my father happy, and then this would all be over. But holding out was proving impossible. I wasn’t coping with any of it, especially not my conflicting feelings toward Dylan.
I still wasn’t entirely sure what had driven her away last night. Our collision and her later disappearance felt unreal, like I’d dreamed it, or my sleep-deprived mind had exaggerated the details overnight. Was it the fact that she hurt me? Or had she just woken up to what she was doing and with whom?
I wrapped my arms around myself, burying my head under the weight of it all. What did she think of me now?
When my tears ran dry a few minutes later, I sucked in a breath and pulled myself together. I left out the back door, not bothering to lock it behind me, and traipsed back down the winding stairs. With my eyes on the ground I didn’t see the figure in front of me until I collided with their back. I quickly jumped away, memories of earlier run-ins with my father’s men screaming through my mind in a rush.
The woman before me looked unbothered, strange dark eyes raking up and down my body like a snake measuring its next meal. I shrank away from her gaze, eyeing her with suspicion. Her waist length hair was so blonde it was almost white, glistening like fine silk in the sunshine. Despite the relatively warm weather, she was wrapped in a fur coat that trailed down to her ankles.
Sign language never seemed to work with anyone who wasn’t deaf too, but I tried anyway, briefly forming an L shape with my index and my thumb on my chin and then pointing at her. My version of “Who are you?”
The woman cocked her head to the side and knit her brows, pursed lips moving distinctly. “You must be Don’s daughter, Amara.”
I took a cautionary step back and the woman smiled coldly. “Don’t be afraid, dear.”
She extended a thin, sinewy hand and gripped my chin between taloned fingers. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I froze as she scanned my tear-streaked face, her eyes like black pebbles in clear pools. She was silent for a moment, her expression somewhat melancholy, and then she withdrew her hand. “You are to be someone else’s prey.”
The woman watched me for a moment longer, then turned and walked toward a sleek silver car parked on the curb. She got in the passenger seat, speaking to a driver with equally snowy hair, and I sidled up beside them as the car started up.
Before it could speed off I acted on impulse. I pretended to rifle in my tote bag and simultaneously dropped my phone on the tarmac. I swiftly crouched down as if to grab it and stuck a small tracking device against the back wheel of the vehicle before the car pulled away from the curb.
Straightening up again, I watched it disappear down the street.
My curiosity was piqued, but so was my anxiety. The encounter had shaken me, but it had also given me a new mission. If Don was ready to put my life on the line by exposing my espionage, I wanted to find out more about who my father was mingling with.
With my heart still pounding, I turned and walked away from the mansion, the tracking device’s signal blinking on my phone.