The Lost Souls Page 16

  Once back at home, I scurry to my room to prepare for my night out. Dinner has lasted longer than expected with the copious amounts of food and wine and I know Morgan will be here soon. Right on cue, the doorbell rings. Donna answers the door and I hear the click clack of Morgan’s Louboutins approach my bedroom.

  “Happy Birthday, Bitch!” she squeals holding up a bottle of Moet from her designer bag.

  Only Morgan could look this stunning coming straight from her part time job at a high end salon. She’s wearing a tight one shoulder coral mini dress and dangerously high heels. Her hair of the month, a long sleek jet black ponytail, sweeps her backside with each exaggerated movement. She’s also brought a rolling carry-on that houses an array of beauty arsenal, all ensuring that I’ll get the Morgan Pierre makeover magic treatment. She takes one look at the sleek black pants and flouncy black top I’ve laid out and cringes with disgust.

  “Oh hell no, Gabs. This will not do you justice after I’m done with you. Here.” She fishes out something from her carry-on bag and tosses it to me. It’s a sexy black lace dress from one of Morgan’s favorite stores, meaning it is way out of my modest price range. “It’s yours,” she smiles, showing off her magnificent, gleaming white teeth.

  I get a glimpse of the attached price tag, realizing that it’s about three times more than I’ve ever paid for a dress. “Morgan, I can’t accept this! It’s too much!”

  “You can and you will. And you will rock the hell out of it! Now let’s get you ready so we can go turn some heads,” she says sitting me down and getting to work.

  When Morgan is done creating her masterpiece, I almost don’t recognize myself. My creamy skin looks flawless and my gleaming hazel eyes are accented by shimmering kohl. My lips are perfectly pouty and glossed and my onyx hair cascades in soft ringlets down my back. I smile my approval and Morgan hands me a glass of the champagne that she’s expertly popped without alarming my parents. We toast to my birthday and her hard work and then head out to conquer the night.

  We step into the lounge bar, surpassing the line of waiting customers huddled together trying to keep warm in the frigid night air. It’s March so the temperature is still quite low, plummeting as soon as the sun sets. Of course, Morgan knows the doorman and he lets us right in. We bound up to the hostess station where we are escorted to a VIP table behind a red velvet rope. When Morgan goes out, she goes all out! Chilled champagne and glasses are stationed at the little table centered between plush leather couches. The lounge is draped in rich jewel tones and emanates a sexy Middle Eastern vibe. The lighting is a dim rose tint and I instantly sway my hips to the sensual tunes bumping from the speakers. The place oozes eroticism and I love it. I try hard not to look overly impressed and dazzled but can’t wipe the stupid grin off my face. Already feeling the warm effects from the champagne, I let my steely façade roll down and replace it with a carefree smile. This is my night.

  “Morgan, you sure know how to show a girl a good time! Who else are we expecting?” I ask noting the number of glasses at our table.

  Right on cue, Jared, his older brother James, and their friend Miguel stroll up. After a barrage of Happy Birthday wishes and hugs, we toast to my official initiation into my twenties. I can’t help but beam as Jared clinks his glass with mine, his green eyes twinkling under the disco lights. I honestly couldn’t imagine celebrating this occasion with anyone else.

  Over the next few hours we dance, laugh and drink to our hearts’ content. Between the champagne and tequila shots, my head is swimming and my inhibitions have taken a dive along with my already questionable morals.

  I’m rocking my hips to Katy Perry’s “E.T.” when I catch the most magnificent eyes I’ve ever seen from across the room, instantly stopping me in my tracks. They are ridiculously light under long dark eyelashes. His gaze is unyielding, intimidating and almost startling. It’s as if everyone in the club is suddenly frozen in time and he and I are the only two unaltered. I am so entranced by his glower that I hold my breath for what seems like several minutes. Someone taps me and I break free of his hypnotic daze. Only then do I have the privilege to marvel at the rest of him. Dangerously dark hair styled in chaotic perfection halos the most beautiful face, man or woman, I have ever seen. I can see his taut, muscular build even under the long sleeve black shirt and jeans. He isn’t unusually tall yet I can easily see him above the mass of partygoers. Deep set, unbelievably light eyes, full lips, alabaster skin . . . I swear that I’m gazing upon an angel. Holy shit! And he’s staring at me!

  “Oh my God, do you know that guy?” Morgan asks me, following my gawking hazel eyes.

  “Um, no,” I reply, trying to sound impassive.

  “Are you sure? Because you two have been eye fucking for the past 10 minutes,” she chuckles, a hint of suspicion in her voice. She downs a Patron shot like a pro.

  “Seriously, I’ve never seen him before,” I insist, blushing scarlet. I glance back at him and he’s still staring, unmoving. The contrast of his statue-still body with the rest of the rowdy partygoers is strange to say the least. It’s downright unnerving.

  “Mmm hmm, sure, Gabs,” she taunts. And just like that she waves him over. My jaw hits the floor and I don’t know whether to run or launch Morgan across the bar. Dammit!

  The beautifully daunting stranger strides toward us, never breaking eye contact, not even so much as pausing to maneuver through the crowd. It’s as if people are automatically parting like the Red Sea. In what seems like seconds, the stranger is standing before us, staring down at me as I sink into the plush couch, secretly wishing it would swallow me whole and save me from the blow of rejection that is sure to ensue.

  “Hi, um, I’m Morgan and this is my, uh, friend, Gabriella,” Morgan stammers nervously. Perfectly poised Morgan? Nervous? Even she must feel the menacing vibes rolling off him. But I don’t feel scared. I’m . . . intrigued. Maybe even a bit aroused.

  “Nice to meet you,” he nods in her direction, returning his unbreakable glare to me. “Gabriella,” he states thoughtfully, enunciating each syllable. His voice is like warm honey, delicious and sickly sweet.

  I sit up and meet his gaze. I don’t back down from anyone, even incredibly scary yet gorgeous men in clubs. I give him my best ‘hard ass’ guise and nod at him rigidly. He regards my stance curiously and furrows his brow, a smile playing on his succulent lips. The change in his expression sends a jolt of electricity between my legs, something I haven’t felt in many moons. I gasp at my body’s uncontrolled impulse and he parts his lips fractionally, silently murmuring something. What the hell?

  His face softens and his tense shoulders relax. Only then do I realize that the energetic buzz in our section has ceased and all eyes and ears are on our mystery guest, though he doesn’t seem to notice. He is maddeningly confident and impassive, as if no one else exists. And at this moment, no one does. His mere presence consumes the small space and I swear the air has become unusually dense upon his arrival. He literally takes my breath away.

  “I am Dorian,” he states smoothly to no one in particular. Mmmm, Dorian. Even his name melts on the tongue like butter.

  “Well, Dorian, please sit with us. Would you like some champagne?” Morgan sputters hastily, trying to regain her infamous Man-eater stance. She pours him a glass without waiting for a reply and holds it up to him. He carefully takes the glass from her and gracefully sits in the space between the two of us.

  With Dorian in such close proximity, I am almost positive my heart will beat out of my chest and land in a goopy mess on the dance floor. I refuse to look directly at him for fear that I may freeze under those intense eyes, that I’ve now realized are ice blue. It is the lightest blue I have ever seen. I gulp down my remaining bubbly and smile meekly at him.

  “So Dorian, what brings you out tonight? Special occasion?” Morgan questions. Dorian doesn’t answer. He just continues to gaze at me intensely, so she continues. “Hey, it’s actually Gabs’ birthday!” My eyes widen as I literally try
to spurt fire from them at her. In an instant, Dorian’s eyes darken, a storm brewing behind the shroud of azure.

  “Is that right?” he replies dryly with a hint of boredom. What the hell is his problem?

  “Yeah, uh, she just turned 20,” Morgan blurts out when I don’t take the bait and offer any information.

  Dorian shifts his body towards mine. He is so bold and sure of himself, it’s weirdly turning me on, and I hate it! I breathe in his intoxicating scent, praying the rise and fall of my chest don’t betray me. His unyielding gaze completely unnerves me yet I can’t tear my eyes from him. I know I should; everything about him is screaming sex and danger. The combination of the two mixed with my weakness for bad boys could very well be my kryptonite.

  “Well, Happy Birthday, Gabriella,” he breathes.

  Dorian brazenly takes my hand in his and strokes it gently, leaving a trail of icy tingles where his long fingers meet my skin, causing an involuntary gasp to fall from my wanting lips. He then brings it up to his face and lets his dazzling blue eyes close as he inhales the inside of my palm deeply. When they reopen, his pupils dilate and flash momentarily, his eyes becoming so light that they appear almost white for a split second. What the . . . ? He then lets his full lips brush the back of it, again causing the warmth between my thighs to quiver. Then in one swift movement, he’s on his feet again.

  His touch is . . . odd, to say the least. Beguiling. The intense tingling sensation almost stings my hand but it’s strangely pleasurable. I’m panting, unable to form an intelligible response, and realize that I haven’t said anything to him at all! He bows his head slightly and then retreats to the exit, disappearing from my sight, leaving me a panting, blubbering mess.

  “What the hell was that about?” Jared asks suddenly sitting next to me. I didn’t even notice the movement. “Mr. Stanger Danger looked like a serious mental case. One of your friends, I assume, Morgan?” he jibes.

  “No, but I damn sure wouldn’t mind if he was! Damn! He was sexy as hell!” she shrieks. “He only had eyes for Gabs here though,” she winks at me.

  “Well, dude looks like an ultimate creeper. I get a bad feeling about him. Hey, maybe he’s the Ice pick Murderer! Gabs, you better watch out!” Jared jokes, though I don’t return his playfulness.

  I try to enjoy the rest of my birthday celebration though my heart is just not in it. I can’t stop thinking about . . . him. Dorian. I’ve only just met him yet he has already claimed space in my slightly inebriated mind. The way he touched me was unlike anything I have ever experienced. And though the gesture was modest, chaste even, I feel as if he has exposed me–stripped me bare and naked with just a simple touch. I know I should be disturbed by my muddled feelings but I am anything but. I’m fascinated; downright intrigued.

  After calling it a night and I am finally in the confines of my messy bedroom, I have to convince myself that I didn’t just imagine it all. I touch my hand to my face; it just barely still tingles and I savor it, reminding myself that I was face to face with the most beautiful creature alive. I giggle dizzily and flop back onto my full size bed, landing on a box that crushes under my weight. How did I not see this? It isn’t wrapped but has just a simple red ribbon tied around it. Tucked under the ribbon, is a handwritten note from my mom, Donna. I force myself to sober up to read it.

  Gabi,

  Now that you are old enough to understand, we feel you should have this. Read it. Form your own opinions and do what you think is right. We understand that you may have questions and your father and I will do everything we can to answer them. We know that you can handle anything; you are so strong and resilient. We sincerely hope that you don’t hate us for keeping this from you all these years but you have to understand . . . this was a very time sensitive matter. It’s difficult for us to explain to you so please, just read before you make any hasty decisions and I hope you can forgive us for our concealment.

  We will love you always, no matter what you decide.

  Mom

  Hmmm, ok. That’s strange, to say the least. I snap the red ribbon, suddenly feeling solemn and eager to know what information could lie inside. I hold my breath as I remove the crushed top of the box and exhale when I see the brown, leather bound book. Feeling silly at my angst, I open up the aged book, revealing a letter written to me on the first page. Anxiety again floods the pit of my stomach and I focus on the faded words scrawled on the yellowing page.

  My Dearest Gabriella,

  If you are reading this, you have reached your 20th birthday. I am so happy for you yet so incredibly sorry that I cannot be there to commemorate this day with you. I can only imagine how bright and beautiful you are. I want you to know that you were born out of immense love. Love so deep that it is worth dying for. You were born to be an incredible force. I know it may not seem like it now, but you will change the course for countless lives in the near future. Because of this, my child, it is important for you to know exactly what great responsibility this entails. In these pages, you will find the story of your past and your present. Only then can you write the story of your future. You are more valuable than you could ever know, believe me my sweet child. And giving birth to you has been my greatest honor. I love you so much. Thank you for choosing me.

  Love always in this life and the next,

  Natalia

  What. The. Fuck.

  It’s from my birth mother.

  Sneak Peek: The Devil's Reprise

  By Karina Halle

  Copyright © 2013

  Prologue

  There comes a time in every man’s life where he must face his demons.

  It sounds cliché, I know.

  But I break the mold.

  Because I’ve faced my demons.

  In the flesh.

  And I’ve won.

  But it’s the ones inside your head that don’t die.

  They keep living.

  My personal demons? They’ve gotten worse since the incident.

  They’ve grown now.

  They own me.

  When I was fifteen years old, I made a deal with the Devil—or at least one of his spokeswomen—on the muddy red banks of Lake Shasta, California. I wanted talent, fame, and fortune. The demons upheld their end of the bargain. They gave me everything I ever wanted. I joined a band called Hybrid, made my way to guitarist, and propelled the band into stardom. We gave Led Zeppelin a run for their money. We got pussy galore (no, not Honor Blackman). We had everything.

  Including the final thing. My final wish. That Hybrid go down in history.

  We did. There was a music journalist brought on by Creem magazine to cover the whole event. Our last tour (unbeknownst to anyone but me and our manager, Jacob). Her name was Dawn. She was young, beautiful, and our biggest fan.

  Dawn saw it all. She recorded it all.

  And, somehow, she saved me.

  First it giveth, then it taketh away. The band broke up. The unthinkable happened. People died.

  I should have died.

  This was all supposed to end before I turned twenty-eight.

  Yet I lived. Dawn lived.

  And I was given another chance at life. To live free of the Devil’s shadow. To live my life the way it should be lived.

  I really should be the luckiest S.O.B. on the planet. The fates that took away Morrison and Joplin and Hendrix—that wasn’t my fate after all.

  Somehow, I won.

  But victory is as bitter as the Quaaludes on my tongue. How can I really live with myself when my whole life has been loaned? I lost the people closest to me. They died, they suffered, for my selfishness.

  How dare I be allowed to go on, to run free, when I brought this upon them and myself.

  And so I haven’t.

  I’m not free.

  My name is Sage Knightly. One of the few surviving members of the metal band, Hybrid. I’m about to embark on my first solo tour, to be the rock star I was always meant to be.

  But something tells me I’m not coming
out of this alive.

  And neither is she.

  Chapter One

  Sage – April, 1975

  The pink lips at the end of my dick were some of the nicest I’d ever seen.

  But the chick’s tits were even better.

  I put my palm against her forehead and pushed her head back until my dick bobbed out of her wet mouth.

  “Lie down,” I told her. “On your back. Grab your tits and get ready for me.”

  I was being commanding and a bit of an ass.

  It wasn’t like me.

  But nothing was like me lately.

  And I didn’t really care.

  She did as I asked. She was a pretty young thing, a few years above jailbait, with long brown hair she probably ironed every day. I didn’t remember her name, and I didn’t bother asking. I just called her ‘Babe.’

  I called the other one ‘Sugar.’ Sugar had Farrah Fawcett hair, blond and teased and frosted like a cake. Sugar was in the same Detroit hotel room as us, currently on the other bed, riding my bassist, Tricky. And by riding, I mean fucking him senseless, reverse cowgirl style. All she needed was a hat in her hand. Tricky was even more fucked up than me, from our nightly cocktail of vodka, beer, and cocaine. Sometimes we’d throw Quaaludes in there, too. Tonight, though, we wanted to make sure our dicks were working.