Page 44 of Dark Angel

In stunned silence, I watch Elijah's helicopter disappear into the distance. Resigned, I follow Raphael, the house's silent guardian, deeper into its heart, my mind a whirlwind of apprehension centering on Rayne. I'm relieved when Raphael leads me into a grand library, gesturing towards a plush armchair beside a table laden with books.

With a respectful bow, Raphael steps back, his open palms an emblem of deference. The dimly lit hallway we traverse is adorned with sconces and oil paintings, some depicting the spectral Anais in various states of undress. The house reveals its secrets slowly, each room a testament to an era long passed.

In a vast living room, my gaze is drawn to the erotic sculptures populating every corner, their exaggerated forms a dance of sexuality and artistry. Raphael guides us next into a retro kitchen, then into a study. The room, lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, exudes a charm of its own. The scents of paper, ink, and leather, tinged with the ghost of a fine cigar, fills the air.

Raphael presents a cup of tea, prepared to my liking. As I reach for it, my attention is captured by the tray. For a moment, I'm convinced I'm seeing things. The woman painted on it—is she winking at me? I blink hard, questioning the reality of my senses. I open my eyes, and sure enough, there Nye is, sketched in perfect graphic and very explicit detail—naked, groping herself, her head thrown back in the throes of orgasm. Looking directly at me. She doesn’t find sex humiliating, degrading, or just plain dull. For this woman, sex is pure pleasure and joy.

Raphael rises to his full height, hands clasped, his posture the epitome of rigid decorum. I take a cautious sip of the tea, finding it to my liking, and offer him a nod of appreciation. In response, he executes a formal bow, an anachronistic gesture that somehow fits this surreal environment. "Lady B advises you to settle in comfortably while she tends to the young lady's needs," he states in a measured tone. His eyes briefly flicker to a thickly braided rope dangling from the ceiling, a silent indication of how to summon him. "Should you require anything further, please do not hesitate to pull the cord." His voice carries a subtle, unspoken promise of unwavering service.

Raphael's departure leaves me in silent solitude, the library's ornate door sealing my temporary sanctuary. Enclosed in this space, my thoughts spiral, a tempest of guilt and fear. I've bartered with my shroud, pledged to embrace its dark clutches if it spares Rayne. The price is letting her go for both her safety and mine. Despite the haziness of last night, a nagging certainty gnaws at me: I am the catalyst for her comatose state.

Images of Sasha's battered form invade my memory, unbidden and relentless. I force them back, focusing instead on the sequence of last night's events. Viper's gone, but his henchmen will be hunting for blood. The alcohol, the intense, raw encounter with Rayne, the dangerous vulnerability of sleep beside her—it's a sequence fraught with peril. I recall fragments of a nightmare, a sinister echo of my darkest moments. Had I turned on her in my sleep? The thought sends a jolt of panic through me. Fuck! I bang my forehead with my fist, a mix of frustration and self-reproach. I never sleep with anyone for this very reason—to avoid the risk of my nightmares spilling over and hurting someone close to me. One lapse, one momentary slip of control, and now my nightmare, a haunting mirror of my past, has bled into our reality."

But what exactly transpired? How did my demons reach out and ensnare Rayne? The weight of potential culpability is crushing. Could my own tortured psyche have reached out in the night, weaving its shadows around her? The thought is unbearable.

And there lies the crux of my torment. My feelings for Rayne are a double-edged sword—a source of unexpected warmth and an avenue for unforeseen peril. Is my mere presence a danger to her? The irony isn't lost on me; the one person who's managed to breach my walls could be the one I harm the most. This internal conflict, the battle between longing and the instinct to protect, is a war I never anticipated.

In this library, amidst ancient tomes and relics of a bygone era, I'm forced to confront a truth I've long evaded—my past, no matter how deeply buried, shapes my present. And now, it threatens my future with Rayne. The realization is a bitter pill, a reminder of the chains I cannot break.

But the thought of never seeing her again sends me spiraling toward despair. And she sees past the image I’ve crafted to perfection, the one where I’m the man who meets society’s expectations of all I should be. All the things that keep me tied in knots, which basically means I hardened all my soft edges replacing them with an aloofness and rough rudeness that most described with approval versus the scathing condemnation given my authentic self. But Rayne’s reaction is the polar opposite, making her a threat and a treasure. But more than anything, she makes me forget.

Engulfed in the library's hush, a question hammers in my mind: How do I keep Rayne close yet at a distance, now that her need for my protection seems diminished?

Drawn as if by an unseen force, my gaze lands on the stack of books. I reach for the topmost volume, its leather cover etched with intricate calligraphy that beckons my curiosity. Flipping it open to a random page, I find myself engrossed in the words, soon realizing it's an entry from Nye's diary.

“…and then I met Edward Carrington. What a magnificent specimen of a man. All broad shoulders, thin hips, and a prick of such magnificence it made even a tart like me blush. A gentleman of refined tastes, he made it clear quite quickly he had different appetites in the bedroom. He had no use for my virtue…]

The words pull me into a foreign and intriguing world, a window into a past that seems to mirror the complexities of my emotions. The strange cadence of her ancient narrative pulls me deeper into her story while the beginnings of a plan dance at the corners of my mind.

…he spread me on the settee, threw up my skirts, and inhaled the delicate aroma he loved so much. Then, he made me frig myself for his enjoyment and mine. My quim drenched with longing. I set to work with my fingers, plunging them in and out of my cunt. Just the way he liked it. I was eager to have him bogg me but knew he wouldn’t relent until I climaxed. I raced on to the finish.

It doesn’t take me long to realize I’m reading about a Sub and her Dom and I realize something I should have thought of before. Setting aside all the nonsense about a mating bond, there’s a perfect way for Rayne and me to have a friendship without emotional attachment—friends with benefits. I can bring her into the lifestyle I’ve managed to explore as a voyeur and occasional participant. We can both explore. Like the Edward in the journals, I can be her mentor, the catalyst who helps her recover from the trauma she’s suffered. I’m so engrossed in inhaling every detail from the many journals I startle when Raphael’s hand touches my shoulder. “She’s ready for you.”

Raphael leads us through the forest, at length stopping before a cave. He opens a portal, and we step into the large cave with a wall reflecting the blue-green waters of a deep pool before us. Rayne lies draped on a stone slab, still unconscious, and Nye hovers above her. I can’t help but think of her large chest heaving in the throes of passion as I look up at her. The smile she gives me tells me she knows exactly what I’m thinking. Embarrassment floods me, and I cover it by kneeling at Rayne’s side and checking her vitals, pretending I don’t see Nye.

“Welcome to our temple,” Nye says, her Scottish brogue turning the words into a warm invitation. I remain silent, observing. She drifts closer and gives me a sharp rap on the shoulder. “Och, ye big dafty. I ken fine well ye can see me, and I’m no fond o' bein' ignored. Let’s try this again. Welcome to our temple.” Her tone, while not unkind, carries an edge that signals she’s not one to trifle with. It’s a demeanor I recognize and respect. To most, they were dubbed 'auld battle-axes,’ but I resonated with the resilient and determined spirit beneath their stern exteriors.

I sit back on my haunches and look up at the spectral figure. Rayne may take all of this in stride if her nonchalant attitude is any indication, but it’s on the strange side for me. Everything is happening much too quickly and I need time to get a grip. Seemingly, that will have to wait. I open my mouth to thank her for her hospitality, but panic makes my power take over. “What the hell is wrong with her? Why isn’t she healed? Aleah said this is where she’d be healed.”

“Ah, he speaks,” Nye says. “I have healed your little dragon of her physical wounds but can’t purge her of the darkness. Only the two of you can do that.”

How the fuck does she know I think of Rayne as my little dragon? I shake the thought off. Time to go into the weeds later. Right now, taking care of Rayne is what matters. The lack of connection that’s been humming between us twenty-four-seven since we met remains a shadow in the background that I can’t connect with. I frown and give her my full attention. “What are you talking about? What darkness?”

Nye studies me so intensely that I feel like fire ants are crawling through me, and I force myself not to fidget. I slip into the carefully constructed façade I've perfected over the years and patiently hold my ground, waiting for her to continue.

Eventually, she sighs and floats over to perch beside Rayne, looking at me. “There’s only so much I can tell you. We believe Rayne comes from an almost extinct line of very powerful seers and healers called the Luminaras, white witch human descendants of ancient Druids. They’ve long been a beacon of light, warding off dark forces. But it’s a double-edged sword, laddie. The brighter the light, the deeper the shadows it casts.”

“And you think Rayne’s one of them? A Luminara?” Skepticism laces my tone.

“Aye, that she is. Born with a gift of intuition so sharp, it cuts through the veils of reality. But it's more than that. The Luminaras were once guardians, protectors using their magic for good, fighting against the darkest of evils.

“Guardians? Protectors?” I echo, trying to wrap my head around it.

Nye nods, her expression turning grave. “Indeed. But with great power comes great vulnerability. They often attracted malevolence that sought to snuff out their light. They had to be strong, resilient. Yet, despite their struggles, they remained committed to safeguarding the balance of the world.”

Her words hit me like a punch in the gut. Rayne, with all her strength and defiance, could be part of this ancient lineage? It explained so much yet raised a hundred more questions. “So what does this mean for Rayne?”

Nye’s gaze softens as she looks at Rayne. “It means she’s more than just a simple witch or a healer. She’s a beacon, a focal point in the cosmic struggle between light and darkness. And right now, she’s fighting a battle within herself, a battle only she can win, with a bit of help from her soulmate. That would be you.”

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