Dark Protector (Dark Lords Book 1) Page 3

  “I’m sorry I startled you.”

  “Do I appear startled?” I hoped the line would cover my embarrassment, especially after what had happened in bed earlier.

  He looked down at me with eyes so striking that a shiver coursed down my spine. “More like a kid playing ostrich in the snow.”

  A kid. That’s what I am to you, too, then. I clenched my teeth and didn’t reply.

  “Leona said something about sacrifices,” he mused after a short pause. He sounded as interested as anyone ever got.

  “Leona spoke without thinking.”

  “And without your consent. Still, I think she acted out of admiration.”

  “And that puzzles you, I gather?”

  “It intrigues me.”

  “Of course it does.” I snorted, bitterness searing the tip of my tongue. “I didn’t discover insulin or appear on the cover of Sports Illustrated, so you don’t think I deserve admiration.”

  “Is that a statement or a question?” His eyes glinted like pale emerald. I turned away, gazing in the distance and faking cold indifference to his looks.

  “All right then, here it is,” I said. The mountainous landscape with its winter charm made for a confessional state of mind, and I’d already made a fool of myself, so it couldn’t get any worse than that. “My dad is a man of wealth and influence, but I guess his name already told you that. But a parent’s success can weigh heavy on the kid’s shoulders, you know? Everybody expects so much of you. I could live with it up to a certain point but then, one night, my ex got drunk and told his friends that he intended to marry me for my money. I heard about it, so I decided to have myself removed from my father’s will as well as from his list of heirs, to prove to everybody that Tony wasn’t a jackass. The only thing I kept was my last name, certain it would soon change anyway. But Tony left me after all.” I coughed out the last words and grimaced at the pain in my chest.

  “So you gave up your inheritance to clear his honor, and he betrayed you?”

  “You make it sound like I’m the hero.”

  “That’s clearly Leona’s point of view.”

  “Leona and I have known each other for some years now, since before I flashed my heroic qualities at the world.”

  “So she didn’t need reasons to like you.”

  “No. She didn’t.” I turned and stared at him, surprised at his finesse, and drawn ever deeper into his scrutinizing gaze. Just yesterday I would’ve done anything for such an opportunity to spend time alone with him, but I didn’t like talking about this—feeling so exposed. Not to mention, I must’ve looked a complete mess huddled in two dirty coats, with crazy hair, knotting my skeletal fingers like some kooky witch.

  “How about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “What’s your story? I mean . . . truth be told, you’re quite popular, yet few people know anything about you.”

  He smiled that weird, animal smile of his. “Have you inquired and been left wanting?”

  “Oh, you have a way of putting things . . .”

  He took a step closer, his eyes steady on my face. “This Tony guy, you must’ve really loved him to sacrifice everything you did.”

  “Is that a statement or a question?” I muttered.

  “And if it were a question?” he continued softly, as if he wanted to seduce the answer out of me.

  “I’d withhold the answer.”

  “You don’t want to go there?” he whispered.

  “Is this an interrogation?”

  “Does it feel like such?”

  “It feels shrinky.”

  “Oh, that’s by no means what I intended.”

  “Do you have a problem with shrinky?”

  “Are we changing parts, with you as the inquisitor?”

  “We are.” Boy, am I tough. I felt suddenly proud of myself. But something told me Damian Novac would by no means put up with my inversing poles, therefore I waited for him to crush my will. The prospect was thrilling, but the blow never came. He indulged me.

  “As long as it satisfies you.”

  Satisfies . . . “So? Is it contempt for doctors that I sensed in your words?”

  “I’m a step away from the Hippocratic Oath, Alice, so no, I hold no contempt for doctors. It just wasn’t my intention to analyze on you. You probably don’t need that.”

  “What do you think I need?”

  “I don’t presume to know. That’s why I’m asking questions.”

  My heart skipped a beat. The handsome barbarian who’d followed me to the porch turned out to be a shrewd scholar who messed with my head – an irresistible combination that shouldn’t exist.

  “Asking questions is a shrink’s job,” I whispered. His towering closeness heated up my blood so much that the cold winter’s night seemed to have lost its effect. I felt cornered by this wild beast. But the mood broke when the front door swung open, and Svetlana appeared in the frame, wrapped in a shabby quilt that did nothing to reduce her attractiveness.

  Her hair flowed platinum down the front of her shoulders, her catlike eyes glimmering under thick lashes. She extended her arm to offer Damian the clothing that was slung over it.

  “I thought I’d bring you your coat,” she addressed him without even throwing me a glance. “You’ll need it, if you plan on staying out here long.” There was a drop of scorn in her voice. Maybe she did have a claim on Damian after all. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat at the idea.

  “Thank you,” Damian said, retrieving the coat. “You shouldn’t have, though. I was just bringing the girl back in.”

  The girl.

  “You go ahead,” I said. Damian had already turned his tall, V-shaped back around and taken a few steps to the door. Anger and defiance fired up in the pit of my stomach. If he thought I was going to follow like some insignificant, nameless slave, he had another thing coming. “I’ll stay here a while, enjoy the quiet.”

  Damian made a half-spin and looked down at me, a glint of surprise in his eyes.

  “The wind’s taking up. There’s a blizzard coming,” he insisted.

  A defiant grin curled my mouth. “The door’s not that far away. I’ll make it through before anything sweeps me off my feet.”

  Damian seemed to get the hint. He frowned and shook his head, just slightly like at an errant child as he held the door for Svetlana and followed her in.

  I stood once again alone on the porch. The wind blew sharply through my hair indeed, the cold penetrating my bones. Maybe it had moments before too, but Damian’s presence kept me from noticing. I looked out in the distance, shivering at the void that had built up inside me as strings of white fell from the sky faster and faster, hatching across the dark horizon. As the wheezing intensified I had this sudden feeling that something was terribly wrong. I braced myself and hurried inside.

  Damian stood in the candlelit, lukewarm main room with his group of boisterous friends, keeping a reserved smile in place as they laughed and tempted him with liquor. He looked at me just once, which was hardly a surprise, given my competition, namely Svetlana. She danced like a sexy snake circling the bearded singer as he played and in and out of Damian’s field of vision, probably spurred by vodka and scotch.

  Her grin stretched wide and defiant as she saw me. The sight punched me in the stomach, and I had to look away.

  I spotted Leona and George on a sheepskin, and sat by them.

  “Here, sista,” George stammered. “Wash down the jealousy before it combusts.” He offered me a plastic cup of white wine thinned with snow – maybe Cotnari, but the label had been peeled off, so I couldn’t tell for sure. I gulped it down, grimaced at the taste of vinegar it left on my tongue, and handed it over for a refill.

  “Keep it coming,” I encouraged a grinning and complying George. I hope it numbs me fast.

  “So, who you planning to bed tonight if Damian Novac’s not available?” George inquired.

  I choked on the liquor, and coughed so hard I thought I’d spit ou
t bits of my lungs.

  “You’re being a jerk!” Leona slapped the back of George’s head. Any other guy would’ve probably snapped at her, but not George. He grabbed the nape of her neck and planted a drunken smooch on her lips.

  I redirected my gaze, my eyes darting from Damian to Svetlana.

  Freaking wine gave me a headache that intensified as Svetlana’s dance took ever more sensual turns. Other girls accompanied her, their lids heavy from drinking, and their moves erratic and ridiculous. But Svetlana . . . she danced like a professional ballerina in elastic jeans and tight wool top, throwing her platinum hair back with lascivious moves, spinning and stretching to the bearded singer’s guitar and voice. You can leave your hat on, Joe Cocker. Couldn’t be better. All that training with the mobster sure gave results.

  Probably too controlled to watch with a hanging tongue like the others, Damian resorted to throwing her glances once in a while, sipping from his own plastic cup. She kept looking at him, smiling and winking every time she caught his eye, but he knitted his brows, as if something grew heavier on his mind with every minute. The blizzard began raging, and he made his way to the window, apparently focused on something outside. His jaw hardened. Good God, was he handsome . . .

  I drank cup after cup of sour wine, switching my attention to the bets George and Leona placed on who was going to crack and touch Svetlana first. I flinched as George slapped a banknote on a loose wooden floorboard, right by the bottle. It unbalanced dangerously.

  “Here, all in,” he stammered. “It’s gonna be the biker, that’s who it’s gonna be. He can’t keep his hands to himself for long, he’ll grope her.”

  It took only a glance in the direction of his not too discretely pointed finger to realize he talked about the older guy with wiry curls who’d brought up my dad’s name earlier, and who now sat drinking and grinning a lecherous grin too close to Svetlana’s dancing legs.

  “I don’t have any money, but I’ll bet ya a whole bottle it’ll be Hector,” Leona said, gesturing to the bearded singer with her plastic cup.

  “And what would you do with a bottle, my love?” George mocked, slipping a skinny arm around her shoulders.

  I couldn’t help a smile. They looked like a freckled frog and a fiery princess in love. Leona was toned and sinewy, her olive skin healthy and smooth. The firm buns and boobs, the high cheekbones and bad girl eyebrows made her crazy sexy, while her long-lashed, chocolate eyes exuded mysterious wit. I often compared her to the fiery gypsy Carmen, enhanced with the brains of Virginia Wolf.

  “You’re underestimating me, Georgey,” she retorted in a seductive mock-tone. “I’m afraid it’ll be you singing naked in the snow if you take just another sip.”

  Truth be told, George did already have some difficulty rounding his words, and his gaze was foggy, his eyes deep-set in his long, narrow face. The sandy hair looked like a mop on top of his head, disheveled as if he hadn’t combed it in weeks. Welcome to the club.

  “We’re both too impaired for activities as extreme as betting,” he said with a peace-making wave of his hand. “Let’s stick to black runs.”

  Joke aside he kissed her, taking her lips between his thirstily. I tried to look away, but it’d been almost a year since my own lips had been touched, and longing kept me staring and feeling like a pervert. I cleared my voice, and George drew away with a crooked grin and an apologetic shrug.

  “Besides,” he said, “Svetlana only has eyes for Novac.”

  No shit.

  I decided to call it a night and headed to the small chamber we called the bedroom, straining not to glance at Damian.

  The leftovers of some candles lay around in pooled wax. Only now did I notice the beds – four of them – were mere bunks, probably with straw under the grey, dirty sheets. Maybe they’d served for construction workers until late autumn. But since the place had been abandoned over the winter, humidity had infested it with the smell of mold. The cinder was weak in the terracotta stove.

  I dropped onto the same bunk where I’d curled up next to Damian before, sniffing for his scent and wishing for the old Russian novel that I’d lost on the train. It had the power to make me forget my situation.

  I closed my eyes, and sleep came in spurts and then fled completely as people trickled into the room. I counted eight from under half-closed eyelids – still better than counting sheep. Then more followed.

  A woman cuddled behind me, stepping on my legs when I resisted her siege and stiffly held on to my position by the edge. She stank of alcohol, and I eventually recognized her as one of the “outsiders” – people from the train who’d come to the same shelter, but weren’t part of our group, like the biker who’d exposed my connection to Tiberius Preda.

  The other bunks were quickly taken, and the rest huddled on jackets and sheepskins on the floor. None of them thought of feeding the fire, relying on the body heat of their partners or friends to keep warm, as I relied on the lady’s who now snored charmingly by my side. The blizzard intensified, whipping against the window. It was a steady roar that mingled with drunken moaning – mostly from the couple who were doing it on the floor.

  “Stop!” the girl said, loud enough for me and everyone else in the room to hear if they were awake. She sounded familiar, but not familiar enough for me to identify her.

  “Aw, you like it rough, then?” The man’s voice was not only too thick, but also feverish, matching his snogging on her skin.

  “Get off me, you fuckin’ dog!”

  My eyes snapped wide open, searching for the scene. All I could see were the girl’s white arms and long denim legs moving, my brain editing the meaning of it – she was trying to protect herself. A few others sprang from their sleeping places, while some mumbled groggy-headed.

  A guy managed to light a candle after repeated attempts – I could tell by the lighter sparks and cusses – and, as he brought it close to the screaming girl, I gaped in smitten disbelief.

  Svetlana’s face was drawn with fear. The rings around her now bulb-like eyes were deep trenches and her top was torn, revealing small, white breasts with pointy nipples.

  Others from the main room burst in. I took a few shy steps toward the scene when a man ripped from the bundle, using the confusion to walk casually to the door. His contour was big – maybe a fleshy person, yet not exactly fat – and I knew on the spot it was the biker who’d watched Svetlana dance. The same man who’d spoken up my father’s name. As I knew he was her aggressor. With a cry I drew attention and pointed at him, but what followed left me stunned and sweating.

  Chapter Three

  Two guys rushed to him, head first like angry bulls, but the man spun round and slammed his fists into their faces – right first, left second.

  One of the boys stopped, but the thinner one attacked again. Another punch sent him flat on his back. Before the others could react, the biker sprinted for the door, bumping hard into a tall frame like a ball against a mound.

  Damian.

  In the light of an oil lamp the bearded singer held beside him, he glared icy daggers at the biker, blocking his way out. After only a few seconds of hesitation, the biker bent from his waist and thrust himself at Damian, who moved out of the way and caught him by the jacket, pulling him up straight. He slammed the bastard’s face into the doorframe, and I heard wood cracking – or maybe it was the man’s bones. The biker groaned, and his body turned to jelly.

  Damian turned him around and faced him, keeping a grip on his jaw. “In a hurry?”

  A streak of blood trickled from the biker’s temple down his cheek, and he struggled to stand on his feet. Damian’s muscles snaked under the pullover as he slammed the biker’s back into the doorframe again.

  “I see you’re big on brawling,” he hissed, glancing at the two boys who were now supported by their friends on each arm. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

  The biker’s mouth curled—the grin of a nutcase who enjoyed pain. “I might ask you the same thing.” />
  “Why do you pick fights, Rocky?”

  The man didn’t reply, yet voices rose in chaotic explanations that said everything and yet nothing. “Attempted rape” and “Svetlana” made it to my ears though, and certainly also to Damian’s. But, to my surprise, it didn’t seem to anger him. On the contrary, his arms fell off the biker, and his glare softened a little.

  “You’ve had too much to drink. We’ll deal with this when you’re sober.”

  “That’s no justification.” I stepped in out of sheer instinct. “This guy’s a potential rapist. I’m sure this wasn’t his first time and it won’t be the last, especially if we let him off the hook.”

  Damian’s eyes fell on me with a flash.

  “You’re quick to judge, Alice.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. He couldn’t be that thick. “Quick to judge? Look at her, Damian.” I pointed at the group behind me, assuming from the calming whispers that Svetlana was still among them. “She’ll be traumatized, whether this asshole went the whole way or not. What he did leaves scars, ugly scars.”

  He didn’t follow the direction I pointed in, but kept staring at me.

  “I wasn’t talking about Rocky here,” he said. “I was talking about me. You’re quick to judge me.”

  I stopped breathing.

  “I wouldn’t let this asshole off the hook in a million years,” Damian went on. “But I won’t smash his face while he’s drunk either. That would be unfair, don’t you think?”

  He took a few steps closer, and blood flooded my cheeks.

  “If you’d given me the chance,” he continued, “I would’ve said Hector and I would take our friend to the attic and tie him up until his mind clears. And when we get out of here, we’ll turn him in.”

  The nasty biker laughed, but there was no amusement in it. Rather madness.

  “Turn me in . . . And to whom, Executioner? To the cops, or your friends at BioDhrome, along with the rest of these rats?”

  Who? What?

  Damian blinked, as if recovering from a blow he hadn’t seen coming. He turned to the man and stared at him, while the others behind me shuffled and whispered. My eyes darted from him to the man in leather.