Courting Darkness Read online

  “What if I am?” she challenged.

  Ashley looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “What if you’re what? Liv, you’re not making any sense.”

  Olivia turned her attention back to her glass and grumbled into it. “After the day I’ve had, I’d say getting shit-faced is a pretty natural reaction.”

  “Pretty dangerous.”

  Who asked him, anyway? “I need answers.”

  “I doubt you’re going to find them in the bottom of a bottle.”

  “I’ve already told you everything I know,” Ashley snapped, a slight slur in her voice.

  “I think I’ve said more than enough,” Tate grumbled.

  “Hardly.” She shot him a glower that probably would have been more effective if there weren’t two of him, and let out an unladylike snort before draining the bottle into her glass.

  “Hey, if you’re not going to believe me, I might as well go home.”

  “Yes, she should.”

  “Cut it out,” Olivia hissed under her breath. “I wasn’t talking to you, Ash.”

  “Well, that’s even worse. Who are you talking to?”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” Olivia downed her glass and shoved away from the table. Grabbing the empty bottle, she stood to carry it over to the trash. Taking an ungraceful step forward, she paused to get her bearings. Since when was the room spinning?

  Tate shouldered off the wall and sauntered over to her.

  “I got this,” she snapped defiantly, stopping him short. He didn’t look so certain. His lack of confidence in her ability to simply ambulate across the kitchen pissed her off even more. She was more than capable of throwing a bottle away.

  Headlights panned the kitchen, flashing in her photosensitive eyes. Olivia squinted, reflexively raising her hand as a shield. Her equilibrium shifted and she listed to the side, barely recovering before running into Tate. “Nate’s here,” she told Ashley.

  Her friend gave her a wary look. “You sure I should go? I’m worried about you.”

  “Yes, go. I’m fine, really.” Wow, she could lie pretty good when she was wasted. “You don’t want to keep Nate waiting.”

  Reluctantly, Ashley left, promising she’d see her tomorrow. Olivia turned to exit the kitchen and cut it too close, slamming her shoulder into the doorframe. She ground out a curse and stumbled back, bumping into Tate. Her world suddenly tilted when he swept her into his arms. He didn’t say anything as he carried her down the hall. Then again, he didn’t have to. Disapproval was written all over his handsome face.

  “I can walk, you know.” She didn’t appreciate being treated like a child any more than she appreciated him taking liberties with her.

  He snorted. “I’ve seen you walk. You go up those stairs by yourself and the next thing I’ll be healing is your broken neck.”

  Wait. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To bed.” His reply was firm, direct, and no nonsense.

  The hell you are. A spark of alarm flittered through her veins. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Tate, but I’m not that kind of woman.”

  Arching a midnight brow, he looked down at her quizzically. His step was sure, his gait smooth—unfaltering. “Well, that’s good to know, because I wasn’t offering. I’m not that kind of angel,” he grunted. “And even if I was, Liam is my friend. Just because you’re not his anymore doesn’t mean you aren’t his.”

  Reaching the top of the stairs, he turned right and carried her to her room. “What’s he like?”

  Tate stopped outside her door, but didn’t move to set her down. “Liam?” He thought a moment before continuing. “He’s unfailingly faithful and passionate about what he believes in. He’s slow to anger, but a force to be reckoned with once he is.”

  Tate stepped through her doorway and paused again, a thoughtful frown settling on his handsome face. He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but seemed undecided if he should proceed.

  “What? What is it?” she pressed.

  Sighing, he set her on the floor, but didn’t release her until her feet were planted firmly beneath her. “He loves you, Olivia. Very much. He would want you to be happy, to be safe. You need to understand that this is the way of it now. He isn’t coming back. Accept me so that I can fully protect you.”

  Tate sounded equally as certain Liam wasn’t coming back as Haden was that he would. Who was right? Only time would tell...

  Chapter Four

  As Tate stood in the doorway of her bedroom, begging her to let go of the faceless stranger her heart continued to cling to, Olivia’s spirit held tighter to that invisible thread with every shattering beat of her heart. She wasn’t certain why she’d withheld the incident with Haden. Surely, it wasn’t to protect the enigmatic demon. He’d terrified her—threatened to kill her, yet she’d sensed something in him she could only assume was a partially unveiled memory. The hope of remembrance stayed her lips when she would have confessed the attack. Perhaps Tate was right, and she did need to let Liam go, but she couldn’t, she wouldn’t. Not until she knew the truth. Once her memory was returned to her, then and only then, would she make the decision of whether or not to walk away.

  Ashley had been a good starting point in laying the foundation of her memories. Not wanting to forget any of the details, she grabbed a leather-bound journal off the bookshelf beside her bed. Burrowing under the covers with pen in hand, she turned to the red-ribboned bookmark. As she glanced over the pages, she recognized her handwriting. On closer inspection, she discovered the journal was filled with letters—letters she’d written to Liam. When she flipped to the beginning of the book, a slip of parchment paper fell onto her lap.

  Olivia’s pulse quickened at the sight of it, familiarity niggling at her consciousness. She lifted the coarse paper and gently unfolded it. When a small note and single white feather dropped to her lap, the knot in Olivia’s chest tightened, forcing the air from her lungs. She picked up the iridescent feather and gently rubbed it between her fingers. It was softer than down. Lifting it to her cheek, she closed her eyes, trying to imagine what Liam’s face looked like. She inhaled deeply, catching the faintest hint of sandalwood. Her heart beat faster, each pounding thump sending indescribable loss resonating through her veins, echoing to her very soul.

  Fighting against the burn of tears, she gently slipped the feather back inside the cover and read the letter.

  My Dearest Olivia,

  Happy Eighteenth Birthday! Today, I celebrate eighteen of the best years of my existence, because they have been with you. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t give thanks for you. You are eternally in my heart, and I wait for the day I can hold you in my arms once again. I hope you understand why I left you the way I did. I just couldn’t bear to make things harder on you. As I held you, sleeping in my arms, I had hoped to leave you with a glimpse of your forever. Until then, live your life fully, knowing you are loved, cherished and protected.

  All my love,

  Liam

  Tears spilled down her cheeks, splattering on the bottom of the paper. The parchment swallowed them up as if it were a sponge. How many tears had this letter drank?—probably too many to count. Careful not to damage the feather, she replaced the letter inside the journal and opened the note.

  A little piece of Heaven.

  A little piece of Heaven? This must have been the gift Ashley was telling her about—the stone Haden was so desperate to get his hands on. Thoughtfully, she fingered the bare chain clasped around her neck, trying to picture the pendant that had obviously hung there. Where was it now? If the stone truly had come from Heaven, then no doubt it contained supernatural power—power Haden was obviously willing to kill for.

  Unable to visualize the stone, she exhaled a frustrated sigh and set her journal on the nightstand. So many unanswered questions… Perhaps after she slept off a good portion of her drunk, she’d find her answers in this book.

  As Olivia surrendered herself to sleep, it wasn’t long befor
e the darkness gave way to light.

  Images came into focus as if the curtains of a play were being drawn back, revealing a woman in a wedding dress, standing before a full-length mirror. Her back was to Olivia, revealing the plunging line that stopped just above the flare of her buttocks. The dress was stunning, and oddly familiar...

  She strained to see the woman’s face from where she sat in the empty auditorium, feeling as if she’d seen this play before. Although she couldn’t remember what happened next, Olivia’s pulse clamored in her veins with a mixture of dread and excitement. Turn around, she silently willed the woman.

  As if on command, the bride turned and looked at Olivia. A startled gasp tore from her throat as she met her own verdant stare. Heartbreak mirrored in her eyes, the weight of despair flooding her heart as the bride’s turbulent emotions poured into her.

  Before she could draw her next breath, Olivia became the woman on the stage, except it was no longer an auditorium, but a small room inside a church. The prelude to the Wedding March wafted up through the vents. As if her body had a mind of its own, she turned back to the mirror and reached up, unclasping the onyx heart-shaped stone that hung from her neck.

  No… her mind rebelled, but her arms refused to obey. She was trapped inside a body that wasn’t hers. It looked like her, it felt like her, but the body seemed to have a life of its own, she could not control. It was like watching a movie unfold from the actor’s own eyes and she couldn’t shake the feeling she was about to witness a train wreck she was helpless to stop…

  “That’s the first time you’ve taken that off since I gave it to you.”

  The husky voice startled her. Olivia gasped, spinning around to face the stranger, the train of her dress tangling around her legs. He stood in the corner of the room, arms crossed over his muscular chest, brows furrowed in pain as his gaze raked over her. Those rich amber eyes missed nothing, giving him a beautifully haunted appearance. He was gorgeous—breathtaking…

  The vice around her heart tightened—a wave of regret sent a flood of tears burning her eyes. “I had to,” she whispered, clutching the necklace in her hand, the point of the heart-shaped stone digging sharply into her palm. “How can I marry the man I’m trying to love, while wearing the necklace from the angel that still holds my heart?” The confession pouring from her lips startled Olivia. Her legs propelled her forward until she stood near the table where her veil lay draped over her jewelry box.

  She wanted to keep going—wanted to throw herself into the arms of this stunning male and tell him how much she loved him. But her feet would not move, her voice would not work. Her hand stretched out and pushed aside the chiffon. She pulled open a drawer and dropped the necklace inside the silk-lined jewelry box.

  “Do you love him?” the angel demanded.

  No! her mind screamed, but her lips would not utter the confession.

  Unable to hold his piercing gaze, it dropped to her bead-tooled wedding gown. “Look at me!” she cried, grabbing fists full of her dress, holding them out in exasperation. “I’m getting married!” A fresh wave of tears rolled down her cheeks. These could have been hers or Olivia’s, she couldn’t tell.

  “Trust me, I am well aware.” The brittleness in his voice knifed through her heart. “And that’s not what I asked you.”

  “I love him as much as I’m capable of loving someone else. I’ve been broken for so long. I just want to feel normal again.”

  She wanted to tell Olivia she was a fool. This was not the answer! She was breaking this angel’s heart. Couldn’t she see that?

  The Wedding March echoed throughout the tiny room, and she cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, feeling the seconds slipping through her fingers like the finest grains of sand. Go to him! she screamed, but Olivia wouldn’t move. “That’s my cue,” she whispered. Olivia tried to walk away, but she fought her. A puzzled frown tugged Olivia’s brows when her feet remained fixed to the floor.

  A small victory. If only she had more time…

  “I wish it was me waiting down there for you.”

  The words cut through her like a knife. Her hand flew up, covering the broken sob escaping her throat. “I do, too,” she breathed the barely audible confession.

  A soft knock sounded at the door. “Olivia? We’re ready for you, honey.”

  She tore her eyes away from him, casting an anxious glance over her shoulder. “I’ll be right there, Mom.”

  When Olivia turned back, he was gone. Panic stole her breath. She spun a circle, searching the room, when out of thin air, he reappeared. She was moving too fast, her legs were too tangled in her train to stop. Olivia slammed into him, her chest crushing up against his. His hands dropped to her hips, steadying her, the span nearly circling her slender waist. When she looked up, steel determination flashed in those otherworldly eyes. Without another word, he lifted Olivia up and tossed her over his shoulder.

  Surprise stole her breath, or maybe it was his muscular shoulder digging into her stomach, knocking a little more air from her lungs with each determined step as he strode across the room. The window slid open as if he’d commanded it so, and without breaking stride, her abductor stepped out onto the small metal terrace. He descended the steps in rapid-fire succession. Yes! she cheered, despite Olivia’s indignant flailing. For where her mind failed to recognize this gorgeous stranger, her heart knew him well. Liam…

  The sound of chirping birds invaded her sleep. As consciousness called, Olivia struggled to hang on to her dream—her memories… No! her mind screamed, not yet ready to let him go. She wanted to stay, wanted to know what happened next. Where was Liam taking her?

  Buzzing added to the chirping, and despite her efforts, the vision before her faded into nothingness. Cracking open an eye, she reached for her phone vibrating on the nightstand. Olivia muttered an oath as she slid her thumb across the screen, opening her messages. Ash: Hey, don’t tell your parents I cracked.

  Really? You woke me up for that? Olivia clicked on the light beside her bed, tossed her phone on the nightstand, and grabbed her journal, flipping to an open page. She wanted to record every detail, every thought, and every emotion before her dream could fade. She had to remember…

  It was minutes before my wedding to Mitch. I should have been more excited than I felt. When I removed the necklace, it was like the final betrayal of my heart. As I held the stone tightly fisted in my hand, he spoke to me. The grief laced in his low husky voice mirrored the ache in my chest.

  He was beautiful… His dark hair was nearly black in the dim room. It hung in waves around his handsome face. His jaw was strong—square. A muscle twitched in his cheek, giving away the hard clench of his teeth as he struggled to hold that mask of indifference.

  I wanted to run to him—to throw my arms around him, but I couldn’t move. It seemed as if his reserved stance held me at bay. The dark amber of his eyes bore the truth of his pain—his sorrow… Sorrow that I knew I caused. I was ashamed and heartbroken. He wanted me to say it. He wanted to hear me confess that I loved another, but the lie I managed to force past my lips was a pathetic attempt, at best. My heart refused to release its hold on him—even as I prepared to marry Mitch.

  I was a horrible person. A hypocrite even, and guilt clawed inside me until tears streamed down my cheeks. He looked as if he wanted to comfort me. I knew my pain brought him no measure of satisfaction. Yet, he resisted coming to me.

  “I wish it was me waiting down there for you.”

  Those words broke my heart. Standing there across the room, seeing him again for the first time, I wouldn’t admit it then, but I now know I fell in love with him all over again…

  Tears splattered the pages, and Olivia dabbed up the moisture with her sleeve before it could fade the ink. Flipping back to the beginning of the journal, she began to read the entries. New-found hope began to bloom in her heart. Even though her memories were lost, perhaps they all weren’t truly gone. Here, in this book, were pages of remembrances, and she’d cont
inue to fill these pages with her dreams. Someday, she vowed, she would have her life back.

  By the time Olivia closed her journal, a box of used tissues lay scattered around her like confetti. Her eyes were puffy, her nose sore and runny. Her head ached, but perhaps that was from the 6 a.m. hangover she now sported. She’d spent the rest of the night reading and rereading her journal entries. It all felt so surreal…like she was invading someone else’s most private thoughts, their memories—experiencing someone else’s emotions as if they hadn’t been her own. None of them were familiar, save the last entry from her dream—that had been real, too real…

  The story she held in her hands had been both beautiful and tragic. As she closed the journal and laid it on the nightstand, several painful realizations weighed on her. One: She was alive today because of Liam. He had given up his wings to save her, and miraculously, through his selflessness, had earned them back. Two: Liam had absolutely, without a doubt, loved her. Three: The old Olivia, the Olivia in this book, was hopelessly and irrevocably in love with an angel she could never have.

  The whole thing was heartbreaking, really. After reading of the pain and misery that Olivia had endured, after experiencing it in that vivid dream, she had to admit there was a small part of her that was glad she couldn’t remember it all. But ultimately, that selfish part of her wasn’t big enough to deter her from wanting to discover the truth.

  Why had Liam turned on her, and why had he taken her memory away? What happened during those unaccounted weeks between her abduction and her accident? Did the angel that loved the Olivia in that book—the angel who willingly gave his life for her—still feel the same? Or had something happened between them to shatter that bond? Oh, how her heart ached for him—ached for the truth…

  Olivia’s eyes burned anew with the sting of tears that couldn’t come. She’d cried herself dry mourning someone else’s memories. Her life was as fractured as her heart. She felt like two different people— the before and after. The alarm clock on the nightstand clicked on, sounding a monotonous blare that would wake the dead, which was what it usually took to rouse her in the morning. Quieting the alarm, she crawled out of bed and started gathering tissues.