When Darkness Falls(43)

He paused. Haley. She had a scent, sweet and musky, a mix of her shampoo and skin lotion and perfume and it was in this house. His stomach dropped in both fear and excitement. Here. She’s here. He shoved open the guestroom door. Empty. He flew down the hall to Lydia’s room.

Devon kicked the bedroom door open and it banged against the wall. Lydia was bending over Haley.

“Get away from her,” he said.

Haley lay on her back on the bed, eyes shut. Not bleeding that Devon could see, thank God. He pressed his lips together, remembering the blood trails across her back.

Haley’s eyes fluttered.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Lydia had straightened, but her hand still rested on Haley’s pillow, a centimeter from Haley’s hair. “I came in to see if your wife needed anything.”

Devon shoved Lydia out of the way, not caring that she slammed against the chest of drawers. He needed to put himself between her and Haley.

Haley stirred and sat, blinking, and Devon grabbed her by the shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

She pushed his hands off of her. “I came after you. What happened? I was sitting at the table—”

“You fell asleep.” Lydia rubbed her arm where it had hit the chest of drawers, but Devon saw no hint of a bruise.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Devon pulled Haley to her feet.

Haley twisted away from him. “You shouldn’t either.”

Devon knew he needed to explain, but he could not keep his eyes off Haley’s lips, the curve of her neck, the pale skin that showed between her jeans and the bottom of her tank top when she moved. He glanced at Lydia. Her lips were parted, her eyes glittered, she looked the way she had when he had visited her before, when they’d slept together, but now she gazed at Haley.

Devon grabbed Haley’s arm and dragged her out of the room.

“What are you doing?” Haley said.

“I’ll explain, but not here,” he said. “Don’t come here again. Ever.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I don’t want you here.” Devon saw the hurt in her eyes, and the flash of anger, but he ignored it.

Lydia followed them into the living room, hovered an arm’s-length from Haley.

Haley faced him. “You don’t want me here.”

Devon focused on her eyes, refusing to look at her mouth or any exposed skin. He had to get her out of here, but it took all his will not to lunge at her.

“No, I don’t, I mean—look, this isn’t, it’s not a good place for us to talk.”

“Okay. Come back to the hotel,” Haley said.

“I can’t.” Devon gestured toward the window. The sun had risen and light seeped in through the blinds. Though they were closed, he kept a healthy distance, and noticed Lydia did the same. Not that he would have trusted himself to be alone with Haley anyway.

Haley glared at him, hands on her hips. “You won’t come back with me?”

Lydia drifted closer, angling so the three formed a triangle. “He can’t go out in the sun, darling. You must know that by now.”

Devon moved between Lydia and Haley again, but it brought him closer to Haley. Her scent filled his nostrils. He suspected that was Lydia’s intent.

“I’ll pull the car right to the door,” Haley said. “You’ll only be out for a minute. You were out walking anyway.”

Haley touched his arm. An image of their last time together flashed before him, her on her knees against the sofa. He felt her warm skin under his hands, smelled the coppery scent of her blood.

He jerked away. “I can’t.”

“Why don’t you go, Devon,” Lydia said. “After all, you’re sure the sunlight won’t actually kill you, aren’t you?”

Both women stared at him, and he stood between them, angry at both. Haley for not understanding why he couldn’t, Lydia for understanding perfectly well.

“I can’t,” he said again.

Haley took keys from her purse, lower lip trembling. “Fine. I’m at the Best Western on Riverside Drive.”

The door shut behind her, and Devon sagged into a wicker armchair.





Chapter Twenty-One


“You saved her because you didn’t want to share her,” Lydia said. “You wanted the same thing from her as I do.”

“I would never hurt her.”

Liar, a voice in his head said.

“If you say so. She told me you were afraid you would. And you should be.” Lydia touched his shoulder, not in a sexual way this time, more like she’d done a million times when they were in grade school, struggling to get through each day. “Send her back to Chicago, Devon. For her own good, because you aren’t going to be able to stay away from her.”

Devon put his face in his hands. “Lydia, what’s really going on? What’s wrong with me?”

“I told you, but you don’t want to hear it.” Lydia dragged a chair in from the kitchen and sat next to him, not touching. “You’ve changed. Your body’s changed. You live on passion, violence. Pain. Other people’s more than your own. You don’t need anything else. Don’t need to eat—”

“I get hungry.”

Devon no longer felt surprised by the twists and turns of the conversation. He’d finally accepted that he’d left normalcy, to the extent there’d been any of it left in his life, in Chicago.