Find Me In Pleasure

  Find Me in Pleasure

  A Dark Pleasures novella

  Mal & Christina (Part 2)

  By Julie Kenner

  Copyright © 2015 Julie Kenner

  Kobo Edition

  All rights reserved.

  juliekenner@gmail.com

  http://www.juliekenner.com

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Excerpt from Caress of Darkness

  JK’s Booklist

  About Julie

  Chapter 1

  ‡

  My mother killed herself when I was seventeen years old.

  Not softly with an overdose of pills and then a slide into sweet oblivion. No, she did it brutally. Wildly.

  She took a knife. She drew it across her own neck. She sliced her jugular.

  She died almost immediately.

  I found her about an hour later in the bathtub—her note said she didn’t want to stain the grout on the white tiled floor. And it was that one, small nod to propriety that made me cry the hardest.

  It takes a lot to slice your own throat. Determination. Strength. And a will of iron.

  My mother had all of those things, and I know that I have them, too.

  She was also certifiably insane, and my entire life I have feared that I inherited that from her as well.

  I fear it now, actually, as I huddle on the ground in a small passage beside my best friend’s tony building on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. I am wrapped tight in the arms of my lover, my mate. Malcolm. A man who I have known for only a few days. Or, perhaps, for over three thousand years.

  I am still reeling from a kidnap attempt by a rotund man who had flames where his face should have been.

  That man is no longer here in the alley with us. Instead, he is nothing more than a pile of dust on the ground, rendered that way by another man. Asher. A man who is supposed to be a friend, and yet who turned on me the moment flame-face was dead, then tried to kill me with a sword made of light. Why? Because there is a weapon inside me. Something dark. Something horrible.

  Something that could destroy the world.

  But Asher didn’t manage to kill me or to destroy the weapon. Instead, he was struck down by Mal, who rescued me with just seconds to spare, driving his own sword of light through Asher just in the nick of time.

  But Asher is not dead, either.

  Or, rather, he is dead. But his body now writhes in a ring of fire. Phoenix fire, to be specific, and it is restoring him to life even as I tremble in Mal’s embrace, soaking up his strength and telling myself over and over that I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry.

  It all sounds pretty damn crazy, doesn’t it? Like maybe I truly am my mother’s daughter.

  Like maybe I am insane and this is all one big psychotic break.

  Except it’s not.

  For all of my twenty-three years, I have been Jaynie Hart, the girl with the crazy mother. The girl who wants to be an actress. Who is only truly happy when she is playing a part.

  The girl who fantasizes about seeing her stage name in lights—Christina Hart.

  But it turns out, that’s not a random stage name. It’s who I am. Who I have always been.

  I’m Christina, and I have been for thousands of years.

  I’m Christina, and I’m immortal.

  And hundreds of times over the last few millennia, the man that I loved—the man who now holds me close in his arms—killed me again and again and again. Sacrificing me in order to save the world from the vile power that is buried inside me.

  But no more.

  He’s told me he can’t do it again. Can’t kill me anymore. Not when I finally know who I am. Not when I’ve finally, after so many lifetimes, remembered him.

  And so now it is up to me to keep the weapon deep and safe and buried.

  It’s up to me to protect the world from a violent power that is fighting to escape.

  Honestly, I don’t know that I can.

  Even with Mal at my side—even with his strength and his love to bolster me—I don’t know that I’m that strong.

  And, yes, I am scared.

  Chapter 2

  ‡

  “Christina. Christina.” From what seems a very long way away, I hear Mal’s voice. Harsh. Urgent.

  I blink as he turns me in his arms. And as I look at him, I feel my body go soft in his embrace, the tension and fear that had been building within me tamping down. I breathe deep and focus on his stormy gray eyes, so full of worry. I want to console him—hell, I just want to touch him—and so I reach out and cup my hand against his cheek and the line of his jaw.

  The stubble of his beard is rough against my skin as I stroke his face then slide my fingers through his silky mane of coal-black hair, enjoying the raw sensuality of the moment. The beauty of this warrior with the face of a god.

  “Christina.” His voice is tight and full of concern as he takes my hand and presses a soft kiss to my knuckles. “I need you to say something.”

  I nod, wanting to both console and reassure. “I’m fine. Really. I’m just overwhelmed.”

  “And afraid,” he says, and somehow the fact that he understands me so well takes the edge off of that fear.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “But when you hold me it’s better.”

  “I’ll never let go,” he promises. “But lover, we need to get out of here. There may be more of them coming.”

  He doesn’t have to explain to me who “them” are. He’s talking about the fuerie. More creatures like the flame-faced man that Asher killed.

  Of course, the fuerie don’t really have faces of flame. To regular humans, they appear perfectly normal and can pass through the world unnoticed. It is only those like me and Mal and the rest of the immortals who can see the fuerie as they manifest in this world. A malevolent energy that takes residence within the body of a mortal. A dark force determined to capture me and extract the weapon from me. And, then, of course, to use it.

  I draw in a breath and nod, because Mal is right. It’s time to get out of here.

  It’s funny how fast everything in your life can change.

  Less than two hours ago, I’d known nothing about the fuerie, nothing about immortality. Instead, I’d been a regular girl, more or less.

  I’d been having wild sex in the kitchen, omelette forgotten as I wrapped my legs around Malcolm Greer, the man I’d craved desperately from the first moment I’d seen him. A man who fascinated me. Excited me. Scared me.

  A man who two hours ago I hardly knew, but couldn’t resist.

  Now I know him well. Now, I remember. Not everything, but enough to know that I trust him.

  That he is mine. That I am his.

  And that I have been for a very, very long time.

  He stands, and as he helps me to my feet, I glance over at the circle of fire inside which Asher is being lashed about as if by a wild wind. Flames lick his body, mixing with his copper-colored hair, and it is obvious that he is almost fully regenerated.

  “Is he—? I mean, how much longer before he’s whole again?”

  I see the battle play out on Mal’s face. He wants to get me out of there—and yet despite what Asher did to me—despit
e the fact that he fully intended to kill me since Mal would not—Asher is still one of the Phoenix Brotherhood. And Mal will not leave a brother behind.

  “We wait,” I say, answering my own question.

  Mal meets my eyes, and I see the appreciation there. The acknowledgment that I understand him. It feels nice, this connection between us, and I sigh a little with satisfaction.

  One of Mal’s hands is twined in mine. The other is on the hilt of his fire sword, keeping it at the ready. We are both hyperaware of our surroundings. The buildings rising up on either side of us. The trash and recycle bins lining this small passageway. The street noise filtering in from the end of the alley.

  It is Sunday morning, and we are alone in this dank, shadowy place. But at the end of the alley, the world is coming to life, and we need to go. Because if the fuerie don’t find us soon, surely a mortal will.

  As if in echo of my thoughts, I hear the squeal of tires as a car screeches to a halt where the alley meets the street. Even from this distance, I can see that the car is large and black—and that someone is getting out.

  Beside me, Malcolm tenses, and I tighten my grip on his hand. Almost immediately, though, he relaxes, and I am just about to ask him what’s going on when I hear a familiar voice. “Now! Come on! There are two more coming—and they’re fucking near!”

  I see him clearly now, an exceptional man with dark blond hair swept back from his face, golden eyes, and the world’s broadest shoulders.

  “It’s okay,” Mal says, turning to me. “This is—”

  “Dante,” I say, releasing Mal to embrace my old friend. “I remember him.”

  “Christina?” Dante’s smile is like summer. “It’s true then? You really do remember everything?”

  I shake my head. “Not everything. But a lot.” I look at Mal and cannot help but smile. “I remember the most important things at least.”

  “Right now, the only important thing is getting you out of here.”

  “You sense more on the way?”

  “Sense?” I ask.

  “Dante can feel the fuerie,” Mal explains.

  “Only when they’re near,” Dante clarifies. “And they are.” He points to the car. “Come on. Dennis is at the wheel. We need to move.” He frowns toward the circle of fire. Within it, Asher is crouched down, his golden skin dusted with black soot, his back arched and his head bowed. Around him, the flames burn out, leaving only a charred mark on the ground.

  “If there are only two, should we take them out?” I ask. “There are four of us now.”

  “Take her,” Mal says to Dante, not even bothering to consider my words. I want to argue, but I don’t. Because I know as well as Mal does that fighting isn’t really an option. Not for me. Not yet. Not when passion and fear and other wild emotions draw the weapon from where it is buried inside of me. So, yes, I might manage to kill or injure one of the fuerie in a battle. But I might also destroy the entire world in the process.

  “Come on.” Dante grips my upper arm and starts to pull me away. But I have my eyes locked on Mal and am staying still.

  He’s taken a step toward Asher who is slowly rising, covered only by the thin layer of soot.

  Without warning, Mal lashes out, his fist connecting squarely with Asher’s jaw, knocking him back on his ass. I gasp, but neither man looks at me. Beside me, Dante’s grip on my arm tightens, and I realize that I’ve taken a step toward them.

  I watch, frozen fast by Dante’s iron grip, as Mal stands like an executioner before Asher. “That was for trying to kill my mate.” He bends down and grabs Asher’s arm and hauls the obviously still weak man to his feet. “This is because I won’t leave a brother behind. But Ash, this isn’t over.”

  For a moment, the air all around us seems to shimmer with tension and anticipation. Then Ash meets Mal’s eyes, nods, and lets Mal hook his arm around his waist for support.

  Despite this tentative détente, the air remains strained. But even that bursts completely when Dante growls, “Enough with the making nice. Can we get the fuck out of here?”

  “Go,” Mal says, his eyes on me as he starts toward the limo with Asher. “I’m right behind you.”

  I go, giving in to Dante’s demand that I move now, goddammit. But it’s already too late. All that has happened—Mal holding me, Ash rising, Dante’s arrival—has taken less than five minutes. And yet they are already here.

  The fuerie.

  As Dante warned, there are only two, but they are rushing at us, one on each side of the alley, so that in order to get to the limo, we have to get past them.

  Beside me, Dante already has his fire sword extended. And soon the two fuerie become five and the five become ten, as eight more fuerie rush in behind the originals, just as Dante predicted.

  Asher’s fire sword had fallen to the ground when he died, and now Mal retrieves it. He presses the weapon into Ash’s hand, and the two men lock eyes. “Keep her safe,” Mal says.

  A single beat passes between them, and then Ash nods. A second later, he is at my side. He puts his arm around my shoulders, and I realize that it is not in protection of me, but because he is still weak.

  “I’ll keep them off us,” Ash says, his voice low and raspy. I believe him. But I also realize that without my help, he will most likely not make it to the limo.

  I curse, but I don’t argue, and I start forward, the two of us stumbling together as Mal and Dante cover us on either side.

  The fuerie fight with knives and with a weapon that looks like a whip, but that I soon realize is made of some sort of wire. Even as Dante lashes out with his sword, one of the fuerie flicks his wrist and the wire flies out. But Dante’s sword slashes down, and as the fuerie falls, the wire shifts trajectory—and I scream in pain as it slices easily through both my shirt and my flesh.

  I fall to the ground, dragging Ash down beside me. My entire body is in agony, so much so that I barely notice the way that Mal has whipped around, his sword outthrust as he spins in a glorious acrobatic move, slicing the heads off of three of the fuerie as he does so.

  From what seems like a long distance away, I hear Mal’s voice as he shouts to Dante. “Get them! Hurry! I have to get to her before—”

  But then I hear nothing more except the rushing in my head.

  I feel nothing but the wild power building inside me.

  Red hot and bubbling. As if the pain of the wound across my belly and breast is alive and growing and—oh Christ, oh God—it’s going to explode out of me and I’m screaming for Mal and I’m trying, trying, trying so hard to hold it in. But I can feel the power building and building and the terror inside me growing and growing. And though I try to keep it down, I’m so scared and it’s so strong and—

  With a whoosh everything seems to spill out of me. I go limp, and it is as if there is nothing left inside. Nothing solid that the evil can press against. No purchase it can find inside me in order to climb out.

  I breathe deep, relieved and scared and exhausted and hurting all at the same time.

  Mal.

  I don’t understand how, but I know that Mal has calmed the weapon. Pushed it down. And as reality takes form around me again, I realize that I am once again in his arms. Asher stands naked beside him, like a magnificent dusty statue, one hand on Mal’s shoulder for support as he holds an extended fire sword in protection over us both.

  And Dante—oh, dear god—he is a wild thing, and as I watch he slices through the torsos of the final two fuerie. Their shrieks echo between the buildings, then rise to mix with the sound of traffic and the din of a city coming to life.

  Dante’s shirt is sliced across the back. Two long, thin strips now soaked with blood. Like me, he’d felt the sting of the fuerie’s wire whip, and seeing his wound now makes the deep slice down my own body throb with renewed pain.

  “We’ll get you both to Jessica,” Mal says. “She’ll tend to these wounds.”

  He looks up to meet Asher’s eyes. “Can you get to the limo on your own?�
��

  Ash nods. “Just take care of Christina. I can help Dante finish them off. We’re right behind you.”

  Mal nods, then scoops me up and cradles me against his chest. As he walks toward the limo that blocks and fills the entrance to the alleyway, I look back and see Dante and Asher stabbing each of the fallen fuerie through the heart—and as soon as they do, the fuerie turn to dust, leaving no evidence of the battle other than piles of ash and some blood staining the asphalt.

  I tremble in Mal’s arms.

  “Christina?”

  I hear the fear in his voice. “I’m okay,” I assure him as he puts me on my feet and helps me into the limo.

  He gets in beside me then presses a kiss to my forehead. “Rest now. Whatever questions you have can wait.”

  I nod, thinking about how little I know of this man despite the fact that I know him so well. Even now that my memories are coming back, I still do not have the full picture of him. Because for thousands of years I have not been with him. And a lot can happen in three millennia, even for creatures such as us, for whom time does not mean the same thing as it does to humans.

  I realize only when the limo starts to pull away that not only has someone closed the door, but that Dante and Asher aren’t with us. “Where—?”

  “They’re up front,” Mal says. “Just rest.”

  I do, leaning against him, breathing him in, and letting memories crash over me like waves. The way that we had left our home in another dimension to cross time and space as we chased the fuerie, on a mission to not only capture it, but to reclaim the weapon that it had stolen.

  The accident that had thrust both us and our quarry off-course, sending us hurtling across the void and into this dimension.

  The desperate need for form, because this world cannot support beings like us composed of pure, sentient energy.

  We’d merged then with willing humans—bonded with them and become flesh.

  I remember discovering the incredible sensations of touch. The indescribable beauty of taste. The experience of interpreting sound waves through a body. And oh, dear god, the wonder of looking upon the sensual, beautiful form of Mal’s human self.