“When I see him… I’m going to kill him.” Layla spoke softly, feeling something far more than wrath slide through her. The heat scorching off her body made a shimmer of golden fire break through the air – real fire this time just like she’d produced down in the fight-hall, not the scintillating ether of her passions. Lifting one dark eyebrow, Dusk moved a hand through that simmering aura, but it didn’t burn him. It writhed around Layla, singeing the nearby plants, but it didn’t hurt either her or Dusk.
That fire wasn’t meant for him.
“Who are you going to kill?” Dusk asked, his fingertips dancing through her curls of flame as he admired their vicious beauty.
“Hunter.” Layla’s gaze found Dusk’s and she saw him take a long, slow breath. Reaching out, he cupped her face with one hand, brushing his thumb over her cheek.
“Your eyes look like his…” Dusk murmured sadly.
“Whose?”
“Hunter’s. Adam’s.” Dusk gave a small, awful smile. “His eyes would go this same deep green color when he was angry. So dark they’d nearly become black; just like yours now. The look of a hunter in the darkness – the look of a killer.”
Layla’s breath caught. Something within her screamed, feeling a precarious balance tipping inside her. As if she might fall into a terrible pit, which would turn the Dragon inside her utterly black, Layla felt how far Hunter had pushed her. She felt how deeply he’d manipulated her with Sylvania’s death and Adrian’s framing.
And how dark the road of retribution could be.
“Don’t let me go bad over this, Dusk.” She breathed softly, fear racing through her veins and cooling the simmering fire around her, making it curl out to nothing.
“Never.” He spoke, stepping in and catching her close. She could smell him, his calm river-water energy easing out around her. As his strong hands held her close, one hand stole up to rub the back of her neck. With a sigh, Layla abandoned herself to it; her head relaxing to his shoulder. Breathing at his collarbones, Layla moved her nose beneath the open collar of his tux shirt, smelling him. Smelling steadiness, calm depth, and support.
“There’s still a ring of gold around your eyes, Layla.” Dusk murmured softly as her arms came up around his waist. “We can fight this. Hunter fights alone but we fight together. You, me, Adrian – and everyone else we love.”
“What if I can’t fight going dark like the rest of my Lineage?” She breathed. “What if my talisman was the only thing keeping me safe from that? What if Hunter keeps pushing me… keeps killing people I love to make me fall over that dark edge…”
“That’s why you have me,” Dusk spoke in her ear, gentle. “To keep reminding you what love feels like no matter what. And Adrian.”
“Adrian’s in prison!” Layla’s throat choked as her hands gripped Dusk’s shirt.
“He won’t stay there.” Dusk murmured. “If I know one thing about Adrian Rhakvir, he’s got more outs from sticky situations than a cat greased in butter. His business dealings are shady, Layla, but he makes sure to stay clean of anything the Intercessoria can actually pin him with. He’s stayed out of their clutches for a hundred and fifty years, though he’s been brought in for questioning numerous times. Even though the evidence against him looks bad right now, there are too many anomalies surrounding Sylvania’s death that Heathren Merkami is going to chew on like a terrier. They questioned the grooms at the barn: Adrian has an alibi and it’s solid. The only reason Heathren’s holding Adrian right now is to put pressure on us to cooperate.”
A beam of light poured through the darkness in Layla’s heart, Dusk’s problem-solving words giving her hope. Looking up, Layla met his gaze. “If that’s the case, then what do we do?”
“I have an idea.” Dusk’s eyes held a glint of devious planning – of course he’d been thinking through the tangle while she’d been questioned by the Intercessoria. “But we need sleep first. Come on. Adrian’s not going anywhere for now; we can use that time to rest and address this fresh in the morning.”
Stepping back, Dusk gave Layla a gentle tug at the hand. She came, following him to the massive four-post ebony bed with the crushed amethyst pad beneath the sheets. But when he reached down to gather up her tank top, Layla stopped his hands.
“Just sleep.” She murmured, exhausted.
“Just sleep.” He echoed, pressing his lips to hers in a sweet kiss.
CHAPTER 11 – DAMAGE
Dusk and Layla slept through the night and long past their usual wake-up the next morning. A fancy alarm by Dusk’s bed went off with copper chimes at five a.m., but he merely whacked it and rolled over, tucking Layla closer to his warm body. They drifted off again and when they finally woke, the winter morning was fully light and swaddled in snow. Overnight, the Red Letter Hotel Paris had transformed from a barren tableau of topiaries to a shrouded garden of benevolence in the high morning. Stretching as she sat up in Dusk’s bed, Layla marveled at it through the vaulted windows. From the fourth floor, everything looked like a fairy dreamworld, soft and bright.
Layla didn’t feel bright this morning, but it couldn’t be helped. Sliding out from underneath the covers, she padded to Dusk’s walk-in closet and found a spare silk robe in striped taupe and grey. Slinging it on to prevent a chill, the fire in the fireplace long gone out and the radiators not on, Layla moved to the dining table, pouring a fresh mug of hot coffee from the new French press that Catering had brought while they slept.
She slid back into bed with her coffee and blew on it, watching steam curl up into the chilly air. Beside her, Dusk stirred, rolling to his front and throwing an arm across her lap, snugging her hips close. He buried his face in her hip, breathing deeply. Layla admired the midnight ridges outlining the musculature of his strong back as he breathed. Dusk was built like some ancient god, deliciously robust but lean. A small smile quirked his lips and Layla knew he was awake, but he just laid there, breathing her scent and smiling into her hip.
“I know you’re awake.” Layla spoke, blowing on her coffee and taking a sip.
“I know you know I’m awake.” He growled, giving her a rumble of pleasure from his lower-than-sound vibrations. “But I like it when you watch me.”
“What can I say? You’re hot. You know it.”
“Hottest man I know.” He rumbled cheekily.
“And so modest.” Layla closed her eyes, enjoying his vibrations as she remembered two nights ago when they had been together in the crystal bath-house. A smile blossomed in her as she opened her eyes, leaning back in the pillows as Dusk pushed up to sitting beside her, the muscles in his arms rippling in a powerful movement. As he sat up, a flash of midnight iridescence passed through his sleep-mussed yet still surprisingly stylish dark hair.
