Talia sensed it coming like a flash on the horizon, a transformative explosion that altered her perception forever. Adam’s layers of self-recrimination, regrets, and grief became transparent, and Talia perceived the reason behind Adam’s unfaltering will.
It was her. He’d do anything for her.
When Adam got out of the shower, Talia was gone. He dressed quickly in black jeans and a long-sleeve tee he’d picked up at a used clothing store outside Grand Central. Time to get going.
His mind was clear, his purpose defined. He hadn’t felt this centered in a long time. Bone tired, yes, but strangely better prepared for having woken Talia.
Talia.
He retrieved the flash drive and note and put them back on the side table, where she would see it. Her future was as secure as he could make it.
Exiting the room, he stuffed the vial of L-pills deeper in his pocket. He peeked into Abigail’s room as he passed her open door, but she wasn’t there. At the bottom of the stairs, he grabbed a kid with jet hair, accented with candy purple streaks.
“Where’s Talia?” Adam demanded.
The dressing room door opened and Zoe emerged. She held a tuxedo jacket out to him by the collar.
“Just in time,” she said. “But then again, I knew you would be.”
“I can’t. I’ve got to go out for a little while.” He pushed past Zoe to have a last word with Talia.
Talia turned at his entrance. All follow-up questions, all his plans, disintegrated as Adam’s heart arrested.
Her hair was a wild spill of white, curling gold over pale, bare shoulders. A black corset cinched her already trim waist to near nothing and did things to her breasts that made him want to drag her back up the stairs again. The long black skirt she wore seemed simple until she angled to check herself nervously in the mirror, and he got a peek at a Victorian bustle in the back. His fingers itched to get under the material and rediscover the satiny texture of the ass it concealed. The pointy toes of her shoes peeking out from the hem were slightly witchy, but all sex.
Talia brought a hand to her narrowed waist. “I shouldn’t have let Zoe talk me into this. She told me that it was appropriate, but I should change. It’s clearly not me.”
Adam’s mouth went dry. “—lovely.” He swallowed deeply and tried again. “You look lovely.”
“She fought me over the hair, but I won,” Zoe said, coming at him again with the damn jacket.
“I like her hair down, too,” Adam murmured. Her ponytails had all but driven him crazy at Segue.
Talia blushed, color flooding over the delicious curves of her cleavage and up to her cheeks. His blood went in a decidedly different direction.
Talia looked regal, every bit the faery princess, but not the kind from mainstream childhood fairy tales. Not even close. Talia was the realization of his fantasies, his darkest dreams. The ones that begged for the Little Death over and over, but with a woman who challenged him mind, body, and soul. She’d done all that, and in that order. If such a thing as soul mates existed, Talia was his. He knew that now.
His appraisal made her black eyes sparkle with pleasure. The sight made him ache somewhere inside not touched by blood or nerves. The intangible part of him that would always be hers.
“Whatever it is can wait.” Zoe’s raised eyebrows and pointed expression conveyed a secret knowledge and heavy threat. The brat obviously knew what he was about and would tattle if he didn’t go along with her. Zoe nudged him with the jacket, and he took it with a meaningful look of his own.
Zoe stuck out her tongue and turned her back on him. “Talia, put on the gloves already.”
Talia lifted a black satin glove, bunched the extended sleeve, and slid her right hand in the sheath, fingers wiggling as they found their places at the end. She pulled the fabric up her white arm, over her elbow.
The sight was both bliss and torture. He wanted to be there when the gloves came back off. Scratch that, he wanted to peel them off himself.
“Breathe, Adam,” Zoe laughed. “And put on the jacket before we all grow old.”
He shrugged into the tuxedo jacket as Talia drew the other glove up her left arm.
He didn’t have time for this. He needed to talk to Talia alone, and then be on his way—
“It’s a little snug, but you’ll do,” Zoe said. “Now stop ogling each other and come on.”
Zoe led them down a narrow hallway on the first floor and around to a paint-peeling door that ostensibly led into the heart of the club.
“Wait ten seconds, then follow me in,” Zoe directed. She cracked the door and slipped inside.
Alone with Talia.
The vial of pills was heavy in his pocket, separating them forever.
Adam waited a beat, choosing from the million things he wanted, needed, to say to her, but settled for the one loudest in his mind.
“I hope we’re getting married,” he said.
Talia let out a strangled squeak. Her expression was priceless—and here he’d thought anything could be bought for the right amount.
Her wide eyes tensed with incredulity. And then a touch of hurt. “Don’t make bad jokes,” she answered back.
“I’m not joking, Talia. The club’s got a psychic in residence. It’s got to be pretty obvious to Abigail what I want for my future.” If I were to have a future, that is.
“It’s not a wedding. They just want me to make a grand appearance.” Her gorgeous eyes filled. She bit her bottom lip to cherry red.
So, of course, he had to kiss her.
He brushed his mouth softly over hers once, because he wanted the touch to be romantic, but his blood ignited as soon as her mouth parted and he drowned himself in her. His hands slid up the bones of the corset, holding on to her for dear life as she fisted her own hands in his hair to keep him close to her. The kiss fell apart, her lips grazing his chin as his skimmed her forehead, as they gripped each other, straining to be closer.
Dimly, he became aware that she was shaking. No, that was him.
He straightened for a little manly composure. “Shall we go in, my lady?” He offered his elbow.
Her eyes were a mess of tears. She dabbed at them with her gloved fingers and took his arm.
She raised her chin regally and answered, “Let’s.”
Talia took Adam’s lifted elbow and he opened the scarred door to the club’s main room.
They entered a court of the underworld.
The club was a concrete hole, just under street level. The low ceiling enhanced the impression of being buried underground.
As the door settled shut behind them, the gathering hushed and parted, revealing a wide, amaranth-red floor runner that glowed against the three-dimensional black on black of the interior. The symbolism was not lost on Talia, who’d been submerged in near-death research for half her life: amaranth signified immortality.
The runner terminated at a raised dais, the club’s stage, where an ornately carved black Oriental chair waited. To one side sat Abigail, in a wheelchair, her body more shrunken than ever, her eyes a roil of shadow. To the other side stood Zoe, puffed up with importance.
Talia’s stomach knotted and she froze on the threshold of the room.
Oh, please, no. The chair waited for her.
Adam started forward, and she had no choice but to follow. Either that or bolt back out the door, and since she wasn’t letting the secretive man out of her sight again, she forced herself to move up the aisle.
The murmuring assembly to either side of her was in their funereal best, fashions ranging from modern Victorian to urban vampire. The women radiated powerful sexuality in corsets of leather and vinyl, some baring midriffs, fishnets, tattoos twisting with wicked thorns, beautiful and severe. Among them, one wore black tulle fashioned in a punky tutu, others in skintight leather pants, or peep show–short skirts. The men wore black pants, jeans, or combat fatigues, and some in elegant long leather coats that grazed the black floor to the effect of the wearer rising out of shadow. The coifs were black or electric with color, the styles varying from jagged-chic to glossy sheets. Makeup accentuated man and woman alike, some effeminate while others were fatalistically disturbing.