Page 4 of A Wicked Dance of Obsidian and Light (Echoes of Darkness #1)
Darkness consumes me. I keep telling myself to open my eyes, but despite my best efforts, I’m not able to make my muscles listen to me. I still feel like my organs are incinerating themselves from the inside out while the smell of sulfur is stuck to my skin and burns the back of my throat. The loud ringing in my ears progressively dims as two voices I don’t recognize argue in the background.
“Get the fuck out, Maeve! I’m not kidding. I will snap your neck in two if you as much as breathe too close to her,” the deep, manly voice demands with anger.
“Are you out of your fucking mind, Kaiden? She’s a hellseeker! Why the fuck did you save her? You’ve never even fucked me in your apartment, but you brought her here?! You put her on your bed? HER? This bitch deserves to die!” a very pissed-off and high-pitched woman’s voice replies.
“Dominic, get her the hell out of here, or I swear I’m going to kill her. And call Malik, tell him to hurry. If he doesn’t get here in the next five minutes, I’m going to fucking kill him too,” the angry man belts out with urgency.
Oddly, even if the manly voice is dripping with ire, I can’t help but feel soothed by it, like a tiny part of my soul recognizes it, and I don’t feel in danger at all. The sounds abruptly fade into nothingness as bone-deep tiredness washes over me. I let it pull me in like a tidal wave taking me under an infinite sea of oblivion.
My eyes snap open, and I blink a few times to clear my vision. A military parade has taken residence in my skull and is stomping all over my brain as the room spins with me. At least, that’s how I feel—like I’ve spent hours banging my head against the wall. I also must have swallowed a bag full of cotton because ittakes a few tries until I finally manage to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
Ugh.
The room finally stops spinning after a few minutes, and I look around, trying to make out my surroundings. I’m lying on a four-poster bed in the center of a room decorated in various shades of gray, white, and black. The room is sleek, modern, classy, and screams money.
Soft, warm light filters through the thick fabric of the drapes, covering what I assume are floor-to-ceiling windows. I wonder what time it is. The sheets are black, made out of the softest Egyptian cotton and their smell clings to my skin, spicy and warm. I suppress the urge to burrow my nose in them and inhale deeply. I feel weirdly naked under them. Grabbing the edge of the thin sheet that covers me, I lift it.
Dafuq?
I really am naked. I only have a pair of lacy panties and my amethyst necklace on. I mean, this is how I usually sleep; I often wake up in the middle of the night from night terrors that I never remember, drenched in sweat, tears in my eyes, and screaming until my throat is raw.
My best guess is the dreams are from my life before, from the accident when I lost my mother and all of my memories. I ruined so many pjs that I just stopped wearing anything. Being naked in my own bed is entirely different, though, from being naked in a stranger’s bed in a room I don’t recognize and wearing underwear that definitely isn’t mine. I hope the panties are new, at least. Because if not…eww.
Blinking a few times, I realize I’m completely healed; my ankle doesn’t hurt anymore, and my shoulder is back in its socket. I roll it a few times in a circle to see if I have full range of motion, and I do. Panic seizes my chest as I remember the white-hot pain caused by the touch of the mysterious shadowy demon.
There’s a glass of water on the nightstand and a bottle of Tylenol. I pop two pills into my mouth and take small sips from the glass, trying not to upset my stomach.
The sound of water being turned off in the shower reaches my ears, and I realize there must be an en suite bathroom through the door at my right, and someone is in there.
Shit.
I look at the door and quickly grab the thin sheet, wrapping it around me as best as I can. I freeze, and my heart skips a beat as the door opens and the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes upon steps out of the bathroom and stops at the threshold.
Fuck me.
Beautiful not in the traditional way, where beauty means everything that is good and light. But in the promises of a fallen angel whispered in the middle of the night, where all of your darkest fantasies come alive and bathe you in sin and moonlight. He’s tall, sculpted, and hard, every ridge and sinewy muscle defined, wearing only a towel hanging deliciously low from his hips.
Droplets of water are sticking to his sun-kissed skin, covered in artful tattoos all over his chest, arms, and thighs. Even his knuckles and throat are tattooed. The only spot untouched by the needle is that right above his heart. I have never felt an attraction to guys with tattoos before. I mean, sure, I always appreciated the artistry behind the craft. But his are so intricate and unique, they stir something inside me.
I’m clearly having a stroke because I’m not able to look away from this walking wet dream of a man.
Ha, who am I kidding? I’m not just looking; I’m blatantly gawking like a weirdo. I’m afraid if I touch the corner of my lips, I will surely find some drool there, too.
Obsidian eyes streaked with gold and crimson ensnare mine. They burn a fire trail straight to my soul. “Like what you see, angel?” He winks and smirks while crossing his arms over his chest, his deep, rough voice rolling over me like molasses. Something about his posture is predatory—like a lion waiting to strike at any minute and sink its sharp teeth into its prey.
My face feels hot, and I know without having to look in a mirror that it must be as red as an overripe tomato in this moment. I want to kick myself for being so blatantly obvious.
“I wouldn’t flatter myself too much if I were you. My neurons have probably been fried by that wannabe Dementor in the woods. And who told you, you could call me angel?” I fire back while squinting my eyes in annoyance, mostly at myself but also at how stupidly hot he is.
Ugh.
He sucks on his teeth before his gaze locks with mine. “And if I were you , I wouldn’t joke about the umbra demons.” The tips of his raven black hair are touching his shoulders, still wet from the shower, a few droplets of water falling from them and cascading through the rivulets of muscles. Keeping eye contact is proving to be quite difficult. I swear my eyeballs have a mind of their own. Just like Sisyphus, they roll back down the muscle—ahem, hill.
Shit. Focus, you dumbass.
“And how do you know that?” I have never seen or heard about this type of demon before, and I’ve been with the Order for eight years now. “Who are you, and why did you bring me here?” I demand with urgency.
He cocks an eyebrow at me while resting his right hip on the door frame, crossing his legs at the ankles in a faux-relaxed way. I can feel his rapacious gaze, though, and there is nothing relaxed or comforting about it.
“Before you start with the third degree, you should probably thank me. You know, for saving your life,” he drawls, annoyance dripping from his tone. He then strides toward another door at my left and disappears through it.
I quickly get up after I pull the sheet around me like a makeshift black dress. Stumbling a bit through the dizziness caused by my sudden movement, I try to keep my legs steady and follow him through the door. “Don’t you dare walk away from me! I want answers, and I want them now!” I yell after him while entering what seems to be a dressing room and…
WHOA!
He’s naked with his back facing me, pulling on a pair of distressed jeans over black boxers, his muscles dancing deliciously with the movement, the towel resting on the floor at his feet. I stare at his naked backside, feeling like my skin is pulled too tight over my bones, and tiny electric shocks take over my body.
His back is spectacular, adorned by a massive tattoo of black wings. As I take a few steps in his direction, I see that it’s actually a fallen angel bowing on one leg, its head resting on its forearm, as if in regret. The image is beautiful and soul-wrenching.
Damn, I feel like such a pervert. I need to get laid. I mean, for the first time ever since I haven’t lost my virginity yet. It wasn’t from the lack of trying, trust me. But every guy I went out with either bored me to death or made me want to drive a fork through their eyeballs. I would rather get myself off than let clean-cut Clive fuck me missionary style for about two minutes before he comes, thank you very much. Also, I always thought it would be Noah I would have my first time with, and maybe we could become more later as time passed. But he left the Order in Ashville to join the Order in another city with his parents when I turned eighteen. I haven’t seen or heard from him since.
My mysterious savior spins on his heel and looks into my eyes, a devious smile tugging at his mouth. He can obviously tell I was ogling him again.
“Aren’t you going to put a shirt on? And where are my clothes? My weapons?” I ask as I unsuccessfully try not to stare at his perfectly chiseled chest.
“So demanding and feisty,” he says, approaching me with a predatory gait. “Do I need to remind you you’re in my home? I had to throw out your clothes; they were torn and covered in demon blood. And for your weapons, I don’t know. I think the umbra disintegrated them when it touched you.” He pauses, lifts an eyebrow, and says, “My name’s Kaiden Black.”
What. The. Fuck.
“That thing disintegrated the rest of my weapons, too?” I ask in disbelief, mostly to myself. “Is that even possible? The weapons sanctified by the archangels? You have got to be kidding me. How powerful are these demons?” I rack my brain, trying to remember where I heard his name. It sounds so familiar, and I know for sure I’ve heard it before…I just don’t know where.
The realization slams into me with the feeling of being thrown into a pool of ice-cold water.
I can’t believe I’m stupid enough to not notice until now the Sigil of Baphomet inked on his right shoulder, the head of a goat in the center of a reversed pentagram, marking him as a member of the Obsidian Conclave. In my defense, though, he has so many tattoos that it got lost, blending perfectly with his full sleeve. And who am I kidding? I was too busy ogling him to notice.
“You’re Kaiden Black, as in Kaiden Black, the head of the Obsidian Conclave?”
An Elite demon saved me—a very powerful Elite demon.
Fuck my life.
I have to get out of here!
NOW!