Текст книги "Night Fury: First Act"

Автор книги: Belle Aurora

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 7 страниц)

Chapter Eight

The car doors creak and I jerk awake. My heart pounds in my chest. It takes me a moment to gather my bearings and figure out my setting. We’re back in the barn.

Clark holds out a hand to me, smiling. He wears no judgement on his handsome face. He understands me. He is the type of person everyone needs in their life. His common view of all things life is ‘It is what it is.’

By God. I love that.

I think I may have adapted that saying to my life not two hours ago.

A sense of freedom does wonders for the soul.

I place my hand in his. He gently pulls me out of the car and towards him. I’m encased in a firm hug. He whispers by my ear, “You did it, Cat.”

Still holding my hand, he leads me as Ari follows close behind. He keys in his code, and as soon as the security door opens, a cheer breaks out. The loud yells frighten me, and my body jolts. I look down to the ground floor of Mirage, and what I see makes me beam.

A laughing Frankie, a grinning Bob and a smiling Marco wait for me, Ari and Clark to join them. Bottles of communion wine are uncorked, and written on one of the whiteboards in black is ‘Congratulations, Cat!’ with balloons around it drawn in red marker.

Smiling like a fool, flushing bright red and shaking my head in disbelief, I make a slow descent down the steps to join them. It’s a nice gesture, but it’s close to four a.m. and I’m too tired for this shit.

Bob is the first to approach me. His arms come around me as he chuckles. His grip on me is tight, and I squeak as he lifts me in an excited embrace. “I knew you could do it, girl. I’m so proud of you. So very proud.”

Okay, maybe not that tired.

Frankie kisses my cheek, squeezes my shoulder and places a coffee mug of wine into my hand. Clark winks at me from across the room. I watch as Ari acts out the kill scene to Bob, who follows every move in wide-eyed awe. And Marco...

Marco watches me with little more than a small smile.

And that smile...

It’s sad. And almost disappointed.

My eyes hold his.

I don’t understand it.

Suddenly, Ari—still wearing her war paint proudly—clears her throat loud enough for her to gain immediate silence. Holding her coffee mug of wine, she begins to speak. “Tonight was a very important night for our Catarina.” Bob nods in agreement. Ari adds, “Tonight, Cat was initiated into Mirage and is now a full-fledged member. She took initiative, and what she achieved tonight, no one can take away from her.”

The way she says this is not prideful, but menacing. And my chest aches. This is her way of warning the others to let what happened in the past stay in the past. It makes me want to simultaneously kiss her and burst into tears.

Stepping forward, she holds out her hand to me. I take it with a small smile. She pulls me to sit in an office chair, and by the secret grins on the others’ faces, nervousness washes over me.

I stumble over my words and laugh uneasily, “Wh-what’s going on, guys?”

Bob’s soft smile soothes me. “It’s tradition. Just go with it.”

Frankie steps forward with a dagger, and when Ari holds out her hand for it, Frankie scowls, “I’m the best friend, so I get to go first!”

My eyes widen as Frankie steps closer to me, dagger in-hand.

When she takes the tip of the dagger and pierces her own fingertip with it, my brain stops trying to understand and shuts off for the night.

Holding the dagger by her side, she takes her bloodied fingertip and puts it to my forehead. I feel her press a pattern in her own blood onto my skin, and it’s almost alarming how at peace I feel at this very moment.

My breathing steadies and I close my eyes a moment, just wanting to feel.

Suddenly, I’m surrounded. Bob is next and paints one cheek. Ari decorates the other cheek with her blood, while a sweetly smiling Clark presses a single dot of his blood between my brows. Finally, Marco approaches, and without looking away from me, he holds out a hand for the dagger.

When he pierces the tip of his finger for much longer than necessary, my face flushes and my heart rate elevates.

He steps forward, lifts his finger and does a slow swipe from the bridge of my nose, down to my lips and chin, marking me with his blood.

Pulling back, he watches me a moment, taking in his handiwork. Having lost control of my body for a split second, my tongue darts out to taste it.

As soon as I taste the metallic tang of his blood, I squeeze my legs together tightly and fight tooth-and-nail to stop myself from tasting him a second time.

The reactions this man pulls from me...

It’s frightening.

Marco steps back and Bob takes his place, putting his hands on my shoulders. He explains, “You have to sleep with the war paint. You can wash it off in the morning.”

“Okay.”

Bob steps by my side and announces, “I’m pleased to accept Night Fury into our family—not that she wasn’t before. Only now, she’ll be working with us.”

More cheers break out, cups are refilled and before I know it, I fall asleep in an office chair, head resting on a filing cabinet.

And I fall asleep smiling.

***

My eyes remain shut, but I hear the sound of hard footfalls.

Strong arms hold my limp body. I quickly realise I’m being carried back to my room.

Caught somewhere between asleep and awake, I bury my nose into the unknown male and sigh.

This male is not Clark. I can’t smell the familiar zesty citrus scent of him. This scent is woodsy and fresh. And this body is larger than Clark’s.

A lot larger.

Bob.

This is Bob.

I whisper against the bare skin of his neck, “I did it, Father.”

He shushes me and continues to carry me along in silence.

Finally, we stop and he opens the door to my room. Placing me down on the soft bed, I exhale and bury myself in the covers. But I don’t have a double bed. I have a cot.

My eyes snap open to find Marco eyeing me from the edge of his bed. In his room. Or at least, I assume we’re in his room. It looks like it would be his room. Dark bed covers, bare walls, a small closet, mirror, an open laptop and a television, complete with game station.

I sit up, crossing my legs in the middle of his bed. Sleep has made my voice croaky. “Hey.”

He tips his chin at me.

“Why...” I’m stuck on my question, already knowing the answer. I try again. “Why am I here, Marco?”

“You told me to take you to bed.”

A fog settles over my already-unclear mind. That doesn’t sound like me.

He smirks. “You didn’t say which bed.”

I remain silent, feeling the need for something I dare not ask for. He watches me closely, his eyes searching me for a sign.

Something.

Anything.

“I know what it feels like,” he utters. “The rush. The bloodlust.” His knee settles on the bed, and he adds quietly, “The need for release after a mission.” The second knee joins the first. He creeps over to me, much like a cougar stalking its prey. “You feel it, don’t you?”

My head jerks fitfully. I swallow hard.

I do feel it.

“How do I make it stop?” I breathe.

Crawling over to me, forcing me further up the bed, he whispers, “You fuck it out, Cat.”

My breathing quickens and shallows.

“You want that, don’t you?”

Yes.

Yes, I do.

His fingers graze my hip and I gasp at the contact. “My skin is crawling.”

His warm lips gently kiss my cheek. “Let me help you. I’ll make the itch stop.”

My hand reaches out to grip his head, his buzzed hair prickling my palms. My cheeks heat in shame as I answer on a whisper, “Okay.”

My logic on this is simple. After tonight, after what I did, I don’t feel as if I have a right to remain pure. I want to be tainted, to be as imperfect as my job. I need to be dirtied, and Marco can do that for me.

In fact, I need Marco to be the one to do this for me.

His face hovers above mine, waiting for me to make the first move. I lift my face an inch and brush my lips across his in a weak and extremely nervous kiss.

The first and last man I kissed was James. And that didn’t turn out so great.

Marco scoffs, his breath warming me. “You gotta do better than that, kitty Cat.”

Placing a hand on my shoulder, he pushes me down gently. My back meets the soft covers of the bed. Framing my face with his strong arms, he looks down at me, face unyielding. “What do you want, Cat? We can stop, but you need to tell me to stop now, because my cock—hard as it is—will not be happy about stopping later on.”

Oh, shit.

Those nasty words fuel me and cement my decision. I reach up with a shaking hand, curving it at the back of his neck. I pull his mouth down to mine and say against his warm lips, “Make it stop.”

His eyes flash and his kiss—oh, my—so hard and harsh; it’s exactly what I need right now. I need this act to be as violent as the one I committed myself. His tongue brushes mine, and instinctively, my legs tighten, as if the arousal will escape me in a heavy whoosh if I don’t.

Marco doesn’t like this.

Sliding his hand down my neck and over my chest, his thumb counts my ribs before the palm of his hand heats my thigh through my tights. Gripping the back of my knee, he hoists my leg up and over his hip in a violent jerk.

My moan sounds into his mouth.

He answers with a low growl.

We waste no time undressing each other.

I reach down to the hem of his tee, lifting it over his head. As he does the same to me, I work on loosening his belt. His belt unbuckled, I reach further down to unzip his jeans and come into contact with his hot, covered erection.

Uncertainty has my hand rearing away.

Marco snarls, takes hold of my hand and places it directly over the bulge in his pants. “Fuck. Don’t do that. Touch me.”

Eyes lowered, I whisper, “Okay.”

My hands begin a firm rubbing motion over the seam of his pants. He hisses, “Oh, yeah, just like that.”

Courage blooms inside of me. With the sounds of heavy breathing bouncing off the walls, my pupils dilate with pleasure as his hands knead my hips. His mouth presses firm, wet kisses to my mouth as he runs his fingers along the underside of my bra. “I want to touch you too.”

Not thinking at all, I reach behind me and unfasten my bra, pulling it up my arms.

Silent permission.

His eyes flare with heat as they rake over my naked torso.

This is the farthest I’ve ever been sexually. It’s remarkable how good it feels.

He covers my left breast with a warm palm and begins to knead gently. I feel that motion all the way to my soaking wet mound. It pulses in time with every movement of Marco’s hand.

It’s wonderful.

Why would God forbid such pleasure?

It doesn’t seem right to me at this very moment.

My eyes flutter and I tilt my head back, exposing my neck. When wet warmth covers my nipple, my back jerks and contorts, curving off the bed. Marco’s mouth flicks and sucks at the taut bud, while his other hand works off my pants. I don’t remember to feel disgrace when I lift my hips, giving him better access to my most private area.

Now dressed in only my white, girlish panties, I groan when his hand plays with the seam. My hand darts out to his, and I place it where I crave it most.

He cups me, rubbing softly, slowly, as if he savours the feel of me. Pleasure floods my hot, needy body.

His mouth releases my nipple with a pop as he grunts, “You’re soaked.”

Wasting no time, he tears my panties down my legs. He quickly kicks his jeans off, his boxers following. “You want this sweet?”

My eyes snap open, and I look up to meet his heated stare. “Fuck, no.”

The smile that appears on his face is glorious. Beauty defined.

“Get on your hands and knees. Face the end of the bed.”

Breathing shakily, I quickly turn over onto my hands and knees. I crawl to face the foot of the bed. And my heart skips a beat.

I can see myself. I can see a very naked, very built, very aroused Marco.

A wall-length mirror faces us. My war-painted face and stunned gaze meets Marco’s in the mirror.

We look feral. We look like a pair of animals. Barely human.

He smirks.

I bite my lip to contain my whimper. My head spins. The room goes fuzzy. A sudden flashback of Ari confronting Marcel greets me. My chest seizes.

Marco positions himself behind me. Reaching down, his fingers lightly graze my slit.

My vision swirls. Another flashback. Marcel on his knees praying for mercy.

The reflection in the mirror shows Marco fisting himself. The tip of his cock kisses my entrance. He runs himself up and down slowly, coating himself in my arousal.

Pleasure assaults me.

My heart stops.

Pressure builds in my ears as a final flashback appears right before my eyes. Marcel’s shuddering body being held up by the neck. Koneko piercing his throat.

Without warning, Marco thrusts into me harshly. As my maidenhead tears, I lift my head to the ceiling and let out a miserable cry, pain throbbing violently between my legs.

Marco stills.

Panting, I lower my head and open my eyes to look beneath my body where we are joined.

Gently pulling out of me, he reaches down to gently stroke my sore pussy. For a moment, my mind plays tricks on me when I look up to the mirror. Marco’s face is replaced with Marcel’s.

With Marcel’s face on Marco’s body, Marco’s voice fills the room. “You let me mark you. It’s my turn to be marked.”

Reaching up, he smears my virginity onto Marcel’s face, covering both cheeks.

My heart races, so much that I feel like I’m about to pass out. My body trembles. I begin to sweat.

I’m frightened.

Marco’s hand is lifted to Marcel’s lips, where Marcel pokes out his tongue and tastes me.

That’s about the time I wake up.

Chapter Nine

I wake with a gasp, mind scrambled and chest heaving in my cot. Eyes wide, I sit up and shake my head¸ trying in vain to clear it. What the fuck was that dream?

Dream? More like nightmare.

Clutching the covers to my chest, I sit trembling, waiting for myself to calm down. I run a hand down my damp face and shake my head once more.

Really. What in the ever-loving fuck was that dream?

***

The garden called my name from the moment I woke a second time this morning. After last night’s psycho dream, I tossed and turned until my mind was sick of fighting my weary body and I fell back asleep. It was a fretful sleep, but it was still sleep.

Regardless, today I feel as though a bus ran me over. Then stopped and reversed.

The second time I woke, it was well past ten a.m. Too late for me to do kitchen duties, too late for me to take on any of the day’s rostered duties, but the garden needed tending. The garden always needs tending. And that’s why I love the garden.

It needs me as much as I need it. I provide it love and care, and it provides me a place to get away.

Having picked all the ripe rewards from the bountiful vegetable patch, I decide it’s time to weed. One of my most hated garden jobs. Alas, it needs to be done, and if anyone else comes close to my garden, I start to hyperventilate.

Bob caught me on the way out this morning. He was sipping coffee in the kitchen when I came bounding in searching for bread to nibble on before I started my day. As soon as he saw me, a look of pride covered his features.

I’ll admit it—it was nice. It felt good.

I lost that look for two whole years, and I’ll be damned if it’s taken away from me again.

Smiling, I cut a piece of bread and half-filled a mug of coffee. Bob watched as I added three sugars and vanilla creamer to it. He winced, although smiling, and asked, “How you doing this morning, Cat?”

I knew he has referring to the night before and what I’d done, but truthfully, I hadn’t thought about it until that very moment, having been distracted by my fitful night’s sleep.

Wow. Are you so cold that you don’t even take a second to think about committing murder?

I lifted my head in thought, and mentally responded to myself with, Call me an ice queen, brain, ‘cause my care factor is zero.

And that was the absolute truth.

Marcel was a bad man doing horrifying things. If I hadn’t stopped him, who would? With a wife too scared to speak out, and a son who had been threatened with death on multiple occasions, chances were, Marcel would’ve been active in his crimes for years to come. The likely people who would’ve stopped him eventually would’ve been his wife or son, and quite frankly, I’m glad it was me, rather than one of them. I prefer to take this responsibility than have either of them pay for vengeance on a man who had it coming.

Chances are being responsible for his death may have haunted them. And I couldn’t care less about Marcel Dupont.

The only time he’ll be missed is when he isn’t there to help Father Robert with Sunday Mass by handing out Holy Communion and collecting donations to the church.

Marcel Dupont: parishioner by day, demon by night.

Trudging out of my heavy thoughts, I answered Bob truthfully with a small shrug, “I’m fine.”

His eyes trained on my face a long time, searching for deceit before he smiled again. “Good girl. Proud of you, Cat.”

On his way out of the kitchen, he hooked his hand behind my neck and pulled me forward to plant a fatherly kiss on my forehead.

The loud rumbling of an engine pulls me from my thoughts. Standing, I remove my gardening gloves and place a hand above my eyes to block out the midday sun. My brow furrows as I realise the thundering noise is coming from the barn.

Surely, there isn’t a job during the day. We never do jobs in daylight.

The large barn doors open, and out speeds a sleek, black, sporty motorbike. Even though I can’t see the driver’s face due to it being covered by a helmet, I don’t have to guess to know it’s Marco.

That body was in my dreams last night. It’s hard to forget. I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to.

My eye roll is subtle.

Of course, he has a motorbike.

The bike speeds up, and I expect it to careen past me, but instead, it slows.

Marco slows to a stop a few feet away from me, letting the engine of the bike idle. He slides the front of the helmet up, allowing me the view of his handsome face, and says loudly in way of greeting, “Pussy cat.”

My feet shuffle forward a step. “Afternoon, Marco.” My curiosity gets the best of me. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

His face bunches and his hand flies to his ear, letting me know he can’t hear me. I step forward, closer to him. Almost foot-to-bike, I ask again, “Where are you headed?”

Marco smirks. “I could hear you fine before, just wanted to ask if you wanted to head into town without yelling at you.”

Head into town?

With him?

I’m confused.

“Head into town...with you?” His expression doesn’t change at all, so I add, “On your bike?”

It’s then that he grins, and I have confirmation to my questions.

I quickly utter, “I’d better not.”

A flashback of last night’s dream assaults me hard and fast.

“Get on your hands and knees. Face the end of the bed.”

I fight a gasp as my cheeks flame. My shaking hand flies to my now-heaving chest.

Marco—still seated on his bike—leans closer to me. “That wasn’t a no.”

My feet step away from him in silent answer.

You killed a guy last night, but you’re scared of a man you work with because you had a hot dream about him? A dream he doesn’t even know about?

For once, my brain makes a good point. Standing taller, I step towards the bike again and announce, “Actually, I’d like to go to the library, if it’s not out of your way.”

Marco makes a stern thinking face before breaking out into a beaming smile. “Tell you what—I’ll drop you off at the library, do what I need to do, then I’ll come meet you there and we’ll get something to eat.”

“Okay. Sure.”

He stands from his still-idling bike, lifts the seat, and hands me the spare helmet. Robotically, I place the helmet on my head and climb on behind him, wrapping my arms around him. We speed away, and a final thought chills me to the bone.

Bob is going to kill me.

***

Never having ridden on a motorbike before, I silently curse myself for not wearing something warmer. Even though today is a nice day, I’m still freezing my butt off as Marco speeds along the dirt road to get to town.

Doing my best not to think about my arms wrapped around his taut stomach, I almost shriek in surprise when I hear a voice sound in my helmet, “Thanks for coming with me. I need an alibi for today.”

Oh, so that’s why he asked me to come with him.

Urging down the disappointment clenching my heart, I answer cheerfully, “No problem. I love the library.”

We spend the rest of the ride in a comfortable silence, and without thinking, I close my eyes and lean my helmet-covered forehead against his back. I haven’t noticed I’ve fallen asleep until Marco gently runs his thumb over the hand that grips his stomach. “Wakey, wakey, sleeping beauty.”

My body—not quite wanting to separate from my portable hot water bottle—squeezes his waist tighter as I snuggle deeper into his back.

My senses finally come to me as Marco’s rough chuckle rumbles in my ear. His chuckle stops suddenly, and his body stiffens. As I begin to unwrap myself from him, he grips my hand tight. “Shit. I’m sorry, Cat. You had a rough night. I should take you back. You need rest.”

I respond a little too quickly. “No!” Realising a second too late my shout probably burst his eardrum, I ignore his subtle flinch and utter quietly, “No need for that, really. I’m fine.”

He counters with, “You can barely keep your eyes open.”

I fire back, “That’s just because you’re so big and warm.”

His body shakes in silent laughter. As soon as it dawns on me what I said, I quickly step off his bike, remove the helmet and hand it to him. Averting my eyes, I mutter, “I might’ve drooled in your helmet. Sorry.”

Without looking back, I turn and head for the entrance to the library.

I hear Marco shout, “I’ll be about an hour.”

With my back to him, I lift my hand in a wordless wave to confirm I heard him. The bike’s engine rumbles away, and rolling my eyes at my behaviour, I make my way inside.