Into the Darkness (Darkness #1)(21)

“I need to screw, Sasha,” he whined, breaking down before my eyes in fear and self-loathing.

Guilt shriveled my gut even more, but anger fueled whatever new power coursed through my midsection. I throbbed with it, a weird sort of fire pounding in my head and pulsating down my limbs.

As Jared tried to stand, Jonas was on me again, his face a mask of violent brutality. The game had ended for him when the first gush of blood pumped out of the new hole in his chest.

He grabbed my arm and flung me, his hand once again flinching back from my skin as if burned, but not before I was airborne. I hit the wall with a thud, my head banging painfully, making Jonas sparkle within my vision. I fell to the ground, needing a second for the stars to dissipate.

Before Jonas could pounce on my prone frame, I jumped up as if my legs were made from a pogo-stick and dove for the letter opener that had fallen when my body hit the wall. Crouched once more, dull “knife” at the ready, I squared off, waiting for that blur of movement I knew would come; but this time, I let my sixth sense feel for it.

Sure enough, my warning butt tingle had me moving a fraction of a second before he launched, slipping out of the way then stabbing down, slicing a red gash across his back with my, once again, crimson glowing blade. It was the first time I was happy he was naked.

Jonas howled and rounded on me.

“Can someone stop stroking their damn penis and help me out?” I yelled. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Ever heard of a do-gooder?”

My “knife” strikes were doing no good, and I was tired. Worse, Jonas wasn’t. I wouldn’t be able to do enough damage to escape before I passed out from fatigue. If one of these yuck-ups would give me a little distracted cover, I could probably salvage the situation.

Unfortunately, no one even so much as slowed in their personal hand-combat.

These freaking people had something seriously wrong with them!

This time, the butt tingle had me staying still, somehow knowing Jonas would anticipate my movement to the side. I stabbed, poking another shallow hole in his body, before sprinting across the room.

He caught me by the hair and yanked me back. My upper body fell toward the floor, my legs swept out and useless. Jonas pinned me to the ground with a hand on my throat before flinching back again, shaking the hand and squatting over me, intent to do me harm, but confused why he couldn’t.

“Enough.”

A spatter of titillated laughter sounded from the peanut gallery. Jonas, his eyes full of hate, straightened up slowly, regret that his retribution was called off. His body bled from three different gashes, but he seemed unperturbed.

On the other hand, my head pounded, my scalp hurt, I was exhausted, my muscles were sore, and, oh yeah, I was freaked out of my face because Jonas wanted to kill me slowly and with much pain. I’d just made an extremely violent enemy that melted into the night like butter onto hot bread. I had a sickening feeling I’d just waved goodbye to safety.

All eyes turned to the speaker, one of two clothed people in the room, me being the other, standing just inside the invisible door, staring at me with an unreadable expression.

The Boss had followed my trail. I was suddenly glad I had stopped to listen to my inner guide, however gross.

“Jonas,” the Boss said, eyes lazily sliding from me to him, “you are on probation and banned from this house and duty. I will be going over your conduct with the council. Dismissed.”

Jonas flexed, his eyebrows drooping dangerously. He stepped toward the Boss, coiling. It looked like he planned to take out his vengeance on the Boss.

The Boss continued to stare, but did not change his relaxed posture in any way. He seemed unconcerned.

After a tense stare-off, Jonas dropped his eyes and spit—narrowly missing my head—and walked out.

I wanted to go home.

Chapter Ten

“Sit.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I sunk into a velvet upholstered couch in a decked out master bedroom. The 1900’s Victorian style carried through to this room, with a lovely chandelier twinkling in the middle, electric candles instead of wax, cream painted wood paneling up to the high ceilings, drapes, rugs, and the lot. It was beautiful. I was almost too tired to appreciate it.

The Boss had taken a seat to my right in a chair, his legs up on a footstool and his fingers intertwined on his lap. Since Jared was being stitched up and calmed down somewhere within the house, there wasn’t much I could do but wait. I had decided to trade the Boss for answers, mostly because I didn’t have much choice, but also because he seemed to think I had leverage.

“How did you find this place?” he asked in a deep, calm voice.

“I thought I got the first question?”

That perfect face beheld me for a second, utterly patient. “Very well.”

He was humoring me. I was too tired to be indignant. “What are you?”

“To your kind, I am a fable, for the most part. A myth. A representation of me exists in stories and ballads, in histories, and within popular culture.”

I sighed tiredly. “I hate riddles—I can never figure them out. Can you just tell me like you’re talking to a five-year-old?”

“You’ve heard of vampires?”

I scoffed. “You’re saying you’re a vampire?”

His lips hinted at a smile. “No. Vampires aren’t real. I—my species—inspired the stories of vampires. We’re not unlike humans, very similar, actually; but yet, we’re not of the same race.”