Coveted

Page 23

As I stared out onto the crowded street I found myself falling in love with the vibrant city. There were all sorts of characters to be seen; it was like a Where’s Waldo book come to life. One man was dressed in all black with a skeleton mask covering his face while he posed for pictures with tourist. Another man was painted entirely silver, sitting on a milk crate against a restaurant wall. I smiled watching these two free spirits. They weren’t concerned with what the world thought of them and I loved that. Too many times society played a major role in making our decisions for us. In New Orleans, the residents were true to themselves. I could learn a thing or two from them.
Chapter Twelve
Morning came sooner than I wanted. I hadn’t gotten to sleep until around four. My face was plastered against Dorian’s leather sofa, a thin coating of drool on my lips. Sitting up, I wiped my arm across my mouth and grumbled at the bright sunlight streaming through the windows.
“Morning,” Dorian said from behind me. I turned, brushing my hair out of my eyes. Most of last night had been spent thinking about him and his houseguest, when I wasn’t thinking about Aiden and our bond. I could be the poster girl for chaos and drama.
Dorian’s hair was wet, his white t-shirt snug against his chest and two cups of coffee in his hands. I silently wondered if he was bringing her breakfast in bed. He answered my question when he walked into the living room and sat a mug down in front of me, taking the empty seat across from the coffee table. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses so I had a clear view of the cloudy abyss of his eyes.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, lifting the cup and taking a small drink. I couldn’t look at him without thinking about what he might have done last night; so I focused on the house. It wasn’t at all what I was expecting. Everything had a place and nothing was out of order. On the far wall hung colorful prints of jazz musicians and a large flat screen television hung. The entire place had cherry hardwood floors. A staircase was to the left of the living room, leading down to the front door.
“I thought about something last night,” I ended up saying when the silence began making me uncomfortable.
“Yeah?”
I nodded, glancing briefly at Dorian and then away. “Yeah. Aiden’s eyes didn’t turn blue. I mean they’re blue anyway, but they didn’t turn the electric blue they do when a vampire drinks our blood.”
“Oh yeah,” Dorian said, his voice complacent.
I nodded again, still uncomfortable. Was the woman still here? Would she come out in one of his t-shirts and nothing else? And why did I care?
“Something bothering you?”
“Huh?” I looked up.
Dorian signaled with his head to my hands. “You’ve got a pretty tight grip on the sofa.”
I glanced at my hands, releasing the cushions from my death grip. “No, just thinking. It must mean that the NAWC has restored the spell that protects our blood. Otherwise why wouldn’t his eyes change? And why haven’t they called me, or Fiona for that matter? If—”
“Gwen.” Dorian’s voice cut through my ramble.
“Huh?”
“Why don’t you ask me what you really want to know?”
I pursed my lips and feigned innocence. “There’s nothing I want to know.” I took another drink, burning my tongue in the process. Standing, I stretched and asked, “Bathroom?”
Dorian lifted his arm and pointed down the hall. “Second door on the left.”
“I’m going to take a shower. Where’s my bag?”
“First door on the right.”
My head bobbed, and I headed for the hallway.
“Gwen?”
“Hmm?” I didn’t turn around. Instead I looked over my shoulder, pissed that Dorian looked so tempting this early in the morning. His feet were bare and his entire body seemed relaxed. I was trying really hard not to think of why.
He stood up and walked over to where I was. “About last night—”
I held up my hand. “You don’t have to explain. We’re friends, right?”
Dorian nodded. “Yeah, but it’s more than that. I need to get my head straight to gain my sight again. This,” he signaled to me and then himself. “whatever it is, puts your life in danger. Without knowing when you’re in trouble or going to die, I’m useless to you.”
“It’s cool, seriously. Do yothang.” I turned on my heel and sped walked down the hallway. Only when I closed the bedroom door did I let out the breath I’d been holding.
“Do yothang?” I whispered to myself, embarrassed beyond belief.
Pull your head out of your ass, Gwen. I may have even pulled out the finger guns, which only made me cringe with more humiliation.
I spent a good forty-five minutes under the hot spray of the shower before the water began running cold. Sluggishly I dressed in a pair of jeans and green henley. I had gotten four hours of sleep, but my body felt depleted. Running a comb through my hair, I wrung out the excess water and picked up my old clothes, rolling them into a ball and exiting the bathroom.
A woman’s laughter flowed down the hall and to my ears. Grumbling, I headed to the bedroom where I first woke up and stuffed my dirty clothes into my duffel bag. Given the choice between having an awkward conversation with Dorian’s flavor of the night and dealing with rogues, I’d choose rogues.
I slipped out of the bedroom and walked the short distance to the opening of the living room. Craning my head forward, I spotted Dorian and a dark haired woman sitting at the breakfast bar. At least she was dressed this time. Dorian leaned on the counter, a smile on his face and his sunglasses back in place. I wondered if the woman had an inkling of what Dorian was.
“Gwen,” he said, blowing my eavesdropping out of the water. I was embarrassed, not at getting caught, but from acting like an immature child. Dorian was free to do and see anyone he wanted. The jealousy snaking its way through my entire body was irrelevant.
“Hi.” I stepped out into the room. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Dorian smiled, telling me he didn’t believe what I said. I walked over to the wall and picked up the phone cradled there. “I need to make some calls and I forgot my cell at home. I’ll just get out of your guys’ way.” I smiled to myself that I had come up with a good excuse as to why I couldn’t sit and get to know her, but Dorian stopped my brilliant exit. Jerk.
“Don’t be rude, Gwen.”
I spun around, shooting a glare toward Dorian before the woman turned on the barstool to smile at me. Of course she had reason to smile; she spent last night in Dorian’s bed.
“Sorry, I wasn’t intentionally being rude.” I smiled back at the woman, walking over to where she sat. “I’m Gwen Sparks. Nice to meet you.”
“Ah, the Gwen Sparks?” She looked at Dorian with a knowing smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you. The big guy hasn’t stopped talking about you since he met you.”
I could feel my eyebrows crawling up my forehead with my confusion. Who was this chick?
“Pardon me,” she said, still smiling. “My name is Amara. I’m a friend of Dorian’s. He helped me with a pesky poltergeist a couple years ago, and we’ve been friends ever since.”
I crossed my arms, shooting a look at Dorian. “I thought you didn’t do friendships?”
Amara’s mouth popped open and she teasingly slapped Dorian’s arm. “You’re still pulling that bad-boy crap?” She looked to me, the smile still holding strong. “He’s all talk, ya know?”
I nodded, a small laugh bubbling up my throat. “Yeah, I’m learning that. So what has the bad-boy been saying about me?” For all intents and purposes, Amara seemed like a nice person, but did that mean I wanted Dorian telling her about my business? No.
“Didn’t you have some phone calls to make?” Dorian finally said.
I pursed my lips and shook my head, hiding the phone as I crossed my arms. “I’d much rather talk to Amara.” I sat in the empty barstool next to her. Her face was ethereally beautiful and made me wonder what type of supernatural she was. Her long chocolate hair spilled halfway down her back while her large green, almost-shaped eyes lit up.
“Sorry for my rudeness, but are you a fae?”
She tipped her chin down as if embarrassed by my question.
“Amara is one of the Fates, Gwen. She’s who I visited to find out answers.”
I couldn’t do anything but stare. I had always been a fan of Greek Mythology, but I assumed it was just stories, legends. My eyes slid to Amara, then back to Dorian’s face.
“Are you actually Hades?” I breathed. “Is there really an Underworld and a river Styx?”
“More or less,” he shrugged. “But not the Underworld you’re thinking of. It’s the realm of the dead.”
“Wow. I mean I know your name is Dorian Hade, but I assumed you were trying to be clever.” My smile fell away as I thought about something. “You said you were an angel, but Hades is a Greek God…and…I mean you’re not the Devil, right? Because Hades is also another name for hell.” The time from when I stopped talking and from when Dorian answered was mere seconds but seemed like lifetimes. If I was attracted to and kissed the Devil that would truly be the lowest point in my life. In no way did I want anything to do with that sort of man.
Amara laughed, causing Dorian to smile and me to blush. I knew right then that I had interpreted it all wrong. The strain in my chest eased.
“I am an angel, Gwen. I handle the dead, so in some ways I’m like Hades, but not the son of Cronus and Rhea. I am the neutral middle-man, collecting souls and directing them to the hereafter. Whoever takes care of them after that is a mystery, even to me. Most of the Greek gods have either been imprisoned or killed. The remaining few like to keep a low profile.”
I nodded with a smile on my face. This was the most Dorian had talked about who he was and what he did. And the idea of Greek gods existing was the cherry on top.