the slickness of her.
His mouth watered hungrily for a small taste. Carnal pleasure was the only thing that he could still experience as an immortal with the same degree that he had known as a human. It was why he craved it so much. There for a few minutes, he could forget his icy, lonely existence and feel truly human again.
He could feel connected, almost wanted.
But she didn't want him.
His bitter loneliness tore through him, shredding his heart. It was ever his destiny to want and not have. In many ways, he was Tantalus. He could see what he wanted, but every time he'd ever dared to reach for it, something came along and took it away just as he grasped it.
Damn.
Grinding his teeth, he stepped away from her. He sensed her instant relief and that saddened him even more.
"So, do all the male Dark-Hunters pimp for you?"
He shook his head. "No. They just tend to frequent places where… shall we say… loose women congregate." And normally those women threw themselves at him. It was a pity Danger didn't follow their actions.
"I'll bet they do."
He ignored her dripping sarcasm. She had no idea how important such contact was to him. She interacted with other people nightly. He didn't. His only contact with the world was through the monitors and the sfora in Katoteros. It was cold and sterile.
Like me.
That was true enough. Every century seemed to get a little harder for him. Like Acheron, he lost more and more of his humanity. That was one of the reasons why it was so important for him to try and save Kyros. This was the first time in centuries that something had truly gotten to him.
He really did want to save his old friend.
But that would have to wait for now. He could already sense that dawn was about to break.
Danger looked to the window as if she sensed it as well. "It's getting late. I think I'll turn in."
He nodded as she left him alone.
No sooner had she vanished from his sight, than he felt the prickly sensation of being watched again.
Alexion rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. "I swear, Simi, if that is you messing with me, I won't lock up your credit cards next time. I'll shred them."
Chapter 9
Danger spent a fitful day in her bed, trying to sleep and finding it almost impossible. It was barely six in the evening when she woke up, her heart racing, her mind whirling from horrible images.
Wicked dreams of Alexion had mixed with nightmares of him trying to kill her. No matter how hot the dream started out, it always ended the same way—Alexion locking her into a cramped, dark room that held other Dark-Hunters. Ragged and ill-kempt, barely more than human skeletons, they begged for mercy until they were led outside, one by one, to the Place de Grève where the guillotine in its red-painted frame waited to behead them.
The haunting swoosh of the eighty-eight-pound blade falling down rang in her ears, along with the sound of the crowd of humans and Daimons cheering their deaths.
But the weirdest, most disturbing part of her dream was the image of Alexion sitting to the side of the crowd, a la Madame DeFarge, knitting a list of all their names so that the executioner (Acheron) would know who next to murder.
Damn you, Charles Dickens, for that image! Her own memories of the Revolution were bad enough. The last thing she needed was for someone to add to them.
Danger lay in bed, clutching at her throat. The horrifying screams of the past rang in her ears. Over and over, she saw the faces of the innocents who had been killed by a hungry mob bent on vengeance against an entire social class of people. It had been decades since she'd last recalled her human life.
Her death.
But now it tore through her with stunning clarity and acidity. Even worse, she remembered the time not long after the Revolution when it had been fashionable for Parisians to hold Victim's Balls where the only people who were allowed to attend were those who had family slain by the Committee. The attendees all wore red ribbons
His mouth watered hungrily for a small taste. Carnal pleasure was the only thing that he could still experience as an immortal with the same degree that he had known as a human. It was why he craved it so much. There for a few minutes, he could forget his icy, lonely existence and feel truly human again.
He could feel connected, almost wanted.
But she didn't want him.
His bitter loneliness tore through him, shredding his heart. It was ever his destiny to want and not have. In many ways, he was Tantalus. He could see what he wanted, but every time he'd ever dared to reach for it, something came along and took it away just as he grasped it.
Damn.
Grinding his teeth, he stepped away from her. He sensed her instant relief and that saddened him even more.
"So, do all the male Dark-Hunters pimp for you?"
He shook his head. "No. They just tend to frequent places where… shall we say… loose women congregate." And normally those women threw themselves at him. It was a pity Danger didn't follow their actions.
"I'll bet they do."
He ignored her dripping sarcasm. She had no idea how important such contact was to him. She interacted with other people nightly. He didn't. His only contact with the world was through the monitors and the sfora in Katoteros. It was cold and sterile.
Like me.
That was true enough. Every century seemed to get a little harder for him. Like Acheron, he lost more and more of his humanity. That was one of the reasons why it was so important for him to try and save Kyros. This was the first time in centuries that something had truly gotten to him.
He really did want to save his old friend.
But that would have to wait for now. He could already sense that dawn was about to break.
Danger looked to the window as if she sensed it as well. "It's getting late. I think I'll turn in."
He nodded as she left him alone.
No sooner had she vanished from his sight, than he felt the prickly sensation of being watched again.
Alexion rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. "I swear, Simi, if that is you messing with me, I won't lock up your credit cards next time. I'll shred them."
Chapter 9
Danger spent a fitful day in her bed, trying to sleep and finding it almost impossible. It was barely six in the evening when she woke up, her heart racing, her mind whirling from horrible images.
Wicked dreams of Alexion had mixed with nightmares of him trying to kill her. No matter how hot the dream started out, it always ended the same way—Alexion locking her into a cramped, dark room that held other Dark-Hunters. Ragged and ill-kempt, barely more than human skeletons, they begged for mercy until they were led outside, one by one, to the Place de Grève where the guillotine in its red-painted frame waited to behead them.
The haunting swoosh of the eighty-eight-pound blade falling down rang in her ears, along with the sound of the crowd of humans and Daimons cheering their deaths.
But the weirdest, most disturbing part of her dream was the image of Alexion sitting to the side of the crowd, a la Madame DeFarge, knitting a list of all their names so that the executioner (Acheron) would know who next to murder.
Damn you, Charles Dickens, for that image! Her own memories of the Revolution were bad enough. The last thing she needed was for someone to add to them.
Danger lay in bed, clutching at her throat. The horrifying screams of the past rang in her ears. Over and over, she saw the faces of the innocents who had been killed by a hungry mob bent on vengeance against an entire social class of people. It had been decades since she'd last recalled her human life.
Her death.
But now it tore through her with stunning clarity and acidity. Even worse, she remembered the time not long after the Revolution when it had been fashionable for Parisians to hold Victim's Balls where the only people who were allowed to attend were those who had family slain by the Committee. The attendees all wore red ribbons
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