The Darkest Touch

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Isabelle couldn’t breathe as Dalton held her mother’s diary in his hand. The secrets, the things he now knew about her. .

The pain was so raw it tore through her lungs, her heart. Embarrassment, rage, and utter terror burned within her. She could barely form words; she didn’t know where to start.

She’d been had. Dalton looked back at her, his face a mask revealing nothing. Tense seconds had ticked by and so far he hadn’t replied to her question, so she asked him again.

“Who are you?”

Anger was a shield, so much better than dissolving into tears and crumpling on the floor. She wanted to die. Or wanted to run into his arms and beg him to help her understand what he’d read in her mother’s diary.

He couldn’t help her, though. No one could.

He stood and picked up the diary but didn’t move toward her. She wanted to snatch her mother’s journal from his hand and jump off the boat, do anything she could to get away from him. But instead she stood her ground, firmly refusing to budge. She had to know.

“Isabelle, don’t panic. Don’t be angry.”

She let out a laugh, though the situation was anything but funny. “You have a hell of a lot of nerve telling me how to act or feel. You stole what was mine. Something private. You read my diary, Dalton! Is that even your name?”

“Yes.”

At least he had the decency to look ashamed, though it gave her little comfort. “Is that the only thing you told me that’s the truth?”

He leaned back against the desk. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Fighting back tears, she nodded and held out her hand. “Give me the diary. It belonged to my mother.”

He held firm to it. “Not until you listen to me.”

“There’s nothing you could tell me, no explanation you could make up, that I’m remotely interested in hearing. Now give me the diary.”

Determined to get the journal back from him, she started toward him.

“I hunt demons for a living, Isabelle.”

She stopped. “What?”

“Demons do exist. I’ve seen them. I’ve killed them.”

She felt dizzy, nauseous. Was he making this up? “What are you saying?”

“I’m here to protect you. Demons are looking for you. They want to use you, to hurt you.”

Her airway was closing; pinpricks of tiny lights danced in front of her eyes. Oh, God, she was losing it. She tried to suck in air, but she was doing it too fast. She hurried toward the bed and sat, doubling over. “I’m going to be sick.”

A cool hand swept her hair away from her neck and palmed her nape. “Breathe normally. Slow down. You’re hyperventilating.”

“Don’t. . touch me.” She tried to bat his hand away, but dammit, it felt good-calming. She was so pathetic. Angry and sick to her stomach. She felt both violated and needy, yet desperate to be held and comforted. She wanted this nightmare to go away. She wanted it not to have happened.

Once she got her breathing under control, she felt less like passing out, though the sick feeling in her stomach hadn’t gone away. She sat upright, shouldering his arm away, refusing to acknowledge the tenderness of his touch.

She’d thought they had a connection, something that went deeper than anything she’d ever experienced with a man. He got her, understood her. Or so she’d thought.

You are so dumb, Izzy.

The mattress gave as he sat next to her. “Isabelle, let me explain this to you.”

“You violated my privacy,” she shot back. “You violated me. There’s nothing to explain.”

“You’re right. I did take what was yours. And I’m sorry. I had to know about you.”

She turned her head to glare at him. “Couldn’t you have asked?”

“Would you have told me what was in your mother’s journal?”

She looked away again. No. She wouldn’t have. No one needed to know what she was. She didn’t know what she was. Not really. Only that she wasn’t. . normal. If what her mother said was true.

Could it be true? She hadn’t even discussed it with Angelique, too afraid her sister would look at her with condemnation in her eyes. Hadn’t she always been less than Angelique? Hadn’t she been trying to prove herself equal to or better than her sister her entire life?

One good sister, one bad. How could that have happened? They were twins. Shouldn’t they be exactly alike? Why wasn’t Mother here so she could talk to her about it?

She blinked to fight the tears, needing distance and a place where she could be alone. “Go away, Dalton. Take me back to the dock. I want off this boat.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can. I’m demanding you return me to the dock.”

“No.”

She stood, wobbling a little, cursing the alcohol she’d consumed earlier. Steadying herself, she faced him. “Are you kidnapping me?”

“I’m protecting you.”

“Bullshit.” She stared at the journal, trying to determine if it was worth trying to grab for it, then make a run. She was a good swimmer. Maybe she could get to the small boat anchored to the yacht.

Stupid, Izzy. You’d never make it. And the diary would be ruined.

Not that she ever wanted to read it again. Maybe it should be destroyed. Wasn’t it bad enough Dalton had found and read it? She should have burned it after she found it.

“If you’d calm down for five minutes and let me explain what my mission is here-”

“Oh. I’m a mission now. So fucking me was part of your mission?”

He dragged his hand through his hair. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Then what was it?”

His gaze never wavered. “Really great sex.”

Touché. What did she expect? Romance? Declarations of undying love and devotion? She barely knew him, and she’d gotten exactly what she’d asked for. No-strings sex. So why did her stomach twist at the word?

“You’re right. It was sex. Nothing more than that.” She wanted to lie and tell him it wasn’t even very good sex just so she could hurt him, but she couldn’t. It had been phenomenal.

“Isabelle, I’m sorry. I’ve done this all wrong. I shouldn’t have gotten involved with you. It wasn’t my intent to hurt you.”

He took a step forward; she took one back.

“You haven’t hurt me. To hurt me I’d have to care. The only way you hurt me was to take and read my mother’s journal. And I want it back. It means something to me.”

“I promise I’ll give it back to you, but there’s vital information in here that my people need to see.”

She let her eyelids drift shut for a moment, imagining the worst-her reputation, her entire world crashing down upon her as everything she had built was ruined when word of what was in her mother’s journal got out.

“This isn’t for national media consumption, Isabelle. The people who will see this information are discreet, under the radar.”

“Who?”

“Sit down.”

She hesitated. But part of her was curious enough to want to know. Maybe Dalton was delusional. He did say something about hunting demons for a living. Then again, maybe he was the one person who could help her figure out who and what she really was.

She was torn, both hating and needing Dalton. She needed someone to help her. She didn’t want it to be him. She wanted it to be him.

Could she possibly be more screwed up?

She moved back to the edge of the bed and sat, staring up at him.

“I work for an organization known as the Realm of Light. We hunt demons. Specifically, we hunt the Sons of Darkness, powerful demon Lords under the direction of the great evil one.”

“The great evil one. You mean like Lucifer?”

Dalton shrugged. “Or a manifestation of the same. You can call it what you will. The Sons of Darkness and the Realm of Light have been at war for centuries, both having unique powers. The Realm of Light is headed by Keepers, who have the power of insight, a way of knowing what the demons are doing and how to fight them.”

“And you’re one of these Keepers,” she said, trying to keep an open mind, especially after what she’d read in her mother’s journal.

“No, I’m not. I work for Louis, one of the Keepers. Lou directs several demon hunters. I’m one of them.”

“So you were sent to find out if I’m a demon and to-what? Kill me?”

He shook his head, his lips lifting in that smile she’d found so devastating earlier. “No. Protect you. You’re not a full demon, Isabelle. I don’t really know what you are. Obviously if what your mother’s diary says is true, you’re half demon, half human.”

“Doesn’t that still make me dangerous to your people?”

“Not necessarily. We actually have a couple half demons as hunters. They make great allies because they have an inner sense of how demons think and move.”

There were others? Like. . her? She shook her head, refusing to believe any of this. “And you think I’m one of them. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you but I don’t think or act like a demon. I’m human, I feel human, and I act human.”

Again that smart-assed grin. “That’s what they said at first, too. Sometimes there’s a catalyst for the demon behavior to appear.”

“Such as?”

He shrugged. “Different things for different people.”

“I think you’re totally full of shit, Dalton. You’re playing me, trying to make me doubt myself.” As if she didn’t already have enough doubts and questions knocking around in her brain.

“What about your mother’s diary?”

“Nonsensical ramblings. I don’t think she really knows what happened to her that night, or what she saw. I’ve never felt different. I’m not a demon.”

“Derek and Nic said the same thing at first. You’ve got to be brought into the Realm, Isabelle. For your own safety. If the Sons of Darkness find you-and they are looking for you, trust me-they’ll use you.”

Now it was her turn to smirk. “Isn’t that exactly what your people are trying to do? Use me?”

“No. We’re trying to save you.”

She’d heard enough. Though she wanted to trust in someone, to let Dalton help her, she couldn’t take the chance. She had to do this on her own. “I don’t need saving, but thanks for the offer. Now give me the journal and take me back to the dock.”

“You don’t believe anything I told you, do you?”

She scrunched up her nose. “Not really.”

“I understand self-preservation, Isabelle. I really do. But you’ve got to listen to me.”

“No, Dalton, I don’t. Now give me back the journal.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t do that. Not right now, anyway. Eventually you’ll get it back. Come with me to meet Lou, the Keeper I work for. He’ll explain better than I can.”

Right. And no doubt keep her under lock and key like some experimental monkey. The thought of it made her stomach tighten, fear snaking its way into her nerve endings.

Wasn’t it bad enough what she thought of herself? What would those other people think of her?

Right now she was free. She intended to keep it that way. “No. I want off this boat. Now. How many ways do I need to say it? Do I need to call the local authorities to board this boat and have you arrested?”

“You can’t do that.”

“I can, and I will if you don’t give me another choice.”

He inhaled, let out a sigh, and moved toward her, the book in his hand. Was he really going to make it this easy? Somehow she knew he wasn’t.

“I’m sorry. More than I can say,” he said, holding the book out toward her.

She reached for it, but he grabbed her wrist, hauling her against his chest.

“You’re stubborn.”

She tilted her head back, angry at herself for being stupid enough to believe he’d hand over the book and let her go, especially since he’d already stated he wouldn’t.

“You’re an ass.”

“Yes, I am. But you’re still coming with me.”

She struggled, kicking at him, but with bare feet she really could do no damage against his muscular body. And her upper body was pinned, since he’d wrapped an arm tight around her chest.

He moved to the phone at the side of his bed. He pushed one number, obviously the ship’s captain, because he gave an order and directions to get moving.

They were headed to Sicily, not back to Malta.

Which made no difference to her. Once they reached land, she had a chance to get away. And she could get lost more easily in Sicily.

She stopped struggling, figuring she’d save her energy and bide her time, and soon enough she’d get away from Dalton.

With her mother’s diary.

She was smart and resourceful, and while she’d made a critical error in trusting Dalton, it could have happened to anyone. He flashed his money and power-his friendliness and a chance at making a connection with someone-at her when she’d really needed it, and she’d been stupid enough to fall for his lies.

Remorse hit her straight in the belly as the boat headed away from the dive spot. She’d been so close to finding what she’d been looking for.

Then again she’d spent her entire life searching for. . something. She’d never been able to figure out what that “something” was.

Maybe it hadn’t been treasure after all.

Maybe it had been her identity.