Verum (The Nocte Trilogy, #2)(48)
Tears streak my cheeks and he grabs me, turning his back on Ashley.
“You’re not a monster,” I whisper. “You’re not.”
Without looking back, he leads me away,
Out of the ballroom,
Away from all of the watchful eyes.
“I saw what happened,” I whisper, and I turn into his tuxedo jacket, hiding my face. “Am I crazy? I saw what you did. I know your mom isn’t dead.”
“You’re not crazy,” his words are gentle, and it’s a soft tone I haven’t heard from him in awhile. My walls come crumbling down, and I cry.
The next few minutes are a blur.
I reach for him,
he pulls me close.
His breath is sweet,
his shirt is starchy and smells of rain,
musk,
and man.
His hands are everywhere,
Firm,
Strong,
And perfect.
His lips are full,
Yet
Soft.
His tongue finds mine,
Moist,
Minty.
His heart beats hard,
The sound harsh in the dark,
And I cling to his chest,
Whispering his name.
“Dare, I…”
“Let’s leave this room,” he suggests. “Let’s leave it all behind.”
So we do.
Chapter 23
He takes my hand and I follow him, Because I’d follow him to the ends of the earth.
I know that now, and I tell him.
He turns to me, his eyes so stormy and dark.
He scoops me up in my red silk dress, and he’s striding through the hallways of Whitley.
His room is dark and masculine, the bed looming against the wall. We tumble into it, and his hand is behind my head as I fall into the pillow.
Our clothing is stripped away and our skin is hot and flushed and alive.
I’m alive.
Dare lives free.
We breathe that freedom in, and he strokes his fingers against me, into me, deep inside and I gasp and sigh and quiver.
“I… yes.” I murmur into his ear.
Consequences can be damned.
I don’t care who he is.
I don’t care what he’s done.
He’s here.
He makes me feel.
I want him.
He wants me.
So he takes me.
There is no pain.
He’s inside and fills me, and his hands…
work magic.
His lips…
breathe life into me,
Filling me,
Creating me.
I call his name.
He calls mine.
I’m intoxicated by the sound, by the cadence, by the beat.
His heart matches, in firm rhythm.
We’re so very alive,
And together.
Our arms and legs tangle.
Our eyes meet and hold.
His stare into mine as he slides inside, Then out.
I clutch his shoulders, To hold him close.
He shudders,
The moonlight spills from the window, Onto my skin,
And his.
His eyes, framed by thick black lashes, close.
He sleeps.
But he wakes in the night and we’re together again, and again and again.
Each time it’s new,
Each time is reverent and raw and amazing.
In the morning, as he is bathed in sunlight, Dare finally looks away. Shame in his eyes, guilt in his heart.
“She’s dead now,” Dare tells me when I ask again about his mom. “But she didn’t die with Richard.”
I don’t ask about Richard, I don’t ask Dare to confirm what I know.
He killed his step-father, And it made his mother crazy.
“Do you see now why I don’t deserve you?” he asks, and his voice is almost fragile.
You’re better than I deserve.
He’s said it before, over and over, and I never knew what he meant.
I know it now, but it’s still not true. I’m not better than he deserves, not by a long shot, not ever.
He sits straight up in bed.
“Come with me,” he says suddenly. “Let’s leave this place behind. You don’t need to be here to recover. We can find peace and quiet anywhere. We go can together, Calla.”
But I pause and my hesitancy is answer enough, and Dare’s face falls.
“You’re not ready to leave,” he realizes.
“It’s not that,” I say slowly. “I’ll go… if there’s nothing else I need to know. Was this your only secret, Dare?” My hands trail along his chest, feeling his heart where it beats just for me. “Was this what you didn’t want me to know?”
He shakes his head.
“No.”
“There’s more?”
He nods.
The room swirls again and again, and I hold my hands out.
I’m falling,
Falling,
Falling, and I don’t know where I’ll land.
The world is a stage and we all act falsely upon it.
The die has been cast, Has been cast,
Has been cast.
I feel it,
The truth.
It’s coming,
And it’s dark,
And I won’t like it.