Bleeding Hearts: Book One of the Demimonde Read online

  So maybe I did believe in safety nets and security and avoiding risks. I had no choice. I couldn't blindly believe anymore. I needed proof and the only proof I found was what I could do. Feeling like this made me think I was an unfit Catholic. I did believe in God. I simply believed in myself more sometimes.

  Is this what drove me? Is this why I had to be the one who made everything better for all those people? Is this why I had such a savior complex—because I didn't want people to realize He might not be there for them, either?

  The sun set behind the artificial horizon of lofty buildings and the tiny warmth it gave this time of year vanished. I pulled my sweater tighter and tried to ignore the chill as I hurried the last few blocks to my apartment.

  I understood why a strong, capable man like Marek believed he wasn't good enough. As I fell asleep, a single thought of speculation curled itself into familiar patterns of self-doubt. No bedtime prayer could banish it and, as usual, peace eluded me.

  Was I a saint for helping people the way I do?

  Or a devil, for insisting God needed me to do it for Him?

  "That you, Fraidy?"

  I'd been in the bathroom when I heard an odd scratchy noise coming from the living room and went to investigate. The cat had a penchant for pushing over my paperwork, sliding over the neat stacks so he could sprawl across them. It was his way of insisting he was more important than my work. If I didn't stop him, he'd make a mess out of my articles.

  I hurried out, hissing a kissst in warning but he wasn't anywhere near my desk. Nothing seemed out of place. Standing stock-still and straining my ears, I tried to identify the sound but it had ceased. The entire apartment had fallen dead silent.

  Strange. Even with windows shut, it never sounded this quiet. Traffic and neighbors and house sounds constantly intruded. Now it seemed as if the apartment had been sealed off. The air had the texture of summer humidity without the heat or moisture. It caught in my throat, coated my mouth, curdled.

  Something just wasn't right. I had the creepy feeling someone was watching me.

  That Euphrates. He probably hid under the couch, pretending to be a jungle cat stalking his prey again. Like I couldn't squish him with one foot tied behind my back. Peering under the couch, however, I found only the usual collection of dust bunnies, ink pens, and kitty toys. I walked back toward the bedroom but the oppressiveness didn't dissipate.

  Dumb cat. Witness the mighty hunter, I thought with a documentary-type voice, bringing down his hapless victim and rubbing it to death. I had a brief flash of an image of Marek and Euphrates stalking prey together. The absurdity of the thought made me laugh out loud.

  My sudden laugh seemed to pop the bubble that had been squeezing down on me and I breathed deeply at the sudden release of tension. Everything sounded and felt normal again.

  Euphrates meowed, scowling at me from the hallway.

  "S'matter, Fraidy Cat?" I squatted and held out my fingers to him but he flattened himself, ears back and whining. Poor thing acted spooked.

  Maybe a storm was moving in. He hated storms and usually took his nervous tension out on the side of my couch. I walked over to where Euphrates hunched in a tight ball of anxiety and scooped him up.

  Two tight taps sounded at the door. The cat twisted, a sudden fury of hiss and hind claw.

  "Christ, Fraidy!" I wrestled with him for a second before dropping him, earning three deep scratches in my forearm.

  The rap sounded again, an impatient demand. Euphrates crouched facing the door and issued a low constant caterwauling that sounded like a siren. The cat that usually ran from his own shadow wanted to fight. Puzzled by his odd behavior, I pushed him out of the way with my foot and went to the door.

  "Who's there?" I bounced up on my toes to look through the peep hole.

  "It's Marek." He stood like a shadow in the bright hallway and seemed to stare back at me through the peephole.

  I whooshed out the breath I didn't realized I'd been holding. I didn't know who I'd expected but I was glad to see him. Surprised, yes, but still glad.

  "Hang on." I flipped the myriad locks and swung open the door. I pushed my bangs back with my fingers, conscious about my appearance but powerless to do anything about it. "I really didn't expect you."

  Euphrates stalked in front of me and pressed himself against my legs, rigid and hissing.

  "Knock it off, Fraidy." I pushed him into the bedroom. Closing the door on the furious beast, I glanced at Marek, who seemed to reconsider his intention of visiting.

  "Sorry about that." I flashed a sheepish grin. "I don't know what got into him. He's spooked."

  I stepped aside to make way for Marek but he remained in the hall, staring at the adjacent bedroom door. It sounded as though there were a chipper-shredder on the other side.

  "I promise he can't get out." I wiggled my fingers. "He has issues with the doorknob."

  Marek showed no intention of moving either of his feet. Either he really didn't like cats or I had underestimated the force of Euphrates' wrath. I didn't want to give the neighbors a floor show tonight. "Marek, will you please come in, so I might close the door?"

  Marek tipped his head in a genteel bow and strolled inside, paying no more attention to Euphrates the Destroyer. "I was not sure you would be home but, since I passed this way, I took a chance."

  As I led him back to the living room, something in his voice caught my notice. I had the impression this wasn't simply a social call. I threw a questioning glance at him but he just shrugged. "Fortune favors the brave, right?"

  "I wouldn't know," I said. "There isn't a brave bone in my body." Totally the truth. I'd suffered a total system failure as a young adult and rebooted in safe mode. Being with Marek was like taking every chance in the world at once. What was I doing, letting him in?

  Remembering our last conversation and considering his gloomy tone, the tortured look in his eyes, I figured he was finally ready to pour his soul out to me. I pushed my own apprehensions aside and concentrated on doing my apparent duty.

  I waved at the sofa in an invitation to sit. "Something to drink?"

  "Maybe later." He toyed with the fringe on a small hole in the knee of his jeans. "Why don't you sit down?"

  I must have appeared dismayed because he chuckled, an indulgent throaty sound. "You don't have to fuss over me. I only hoped for a chance to talk."

  "Oh, all right." I sat down at my desk and swiveled the desk chair around to face him.

  "The view..." He gestured toward the windows. "It's magnificent. I bet you could see all the way out to the harbor."

  "Yeah, I guess. I considered moving a few times but I couldn't find anyplace else that compared. Besides, we're allowed on the fire escape here. Poor man's balcony."

  He nodded, as if he understood how precious a commodity it was for a city dweller. "How are your neighbors?"

  A perfectly-timed glass-trembling thump, followed by a heavily-accented debate, spared me the trouble of replying. I shot him a baleful look and he glanced up at the ceiling, pretending to cringe in worry it might come down on our heads.

  "They don't have any carpeting. Drives me batty," I said. "Actually, they're okay. The neighbors seem nice but pretty much they leave me alone, I leave them alone."

  "That is a city attitude." He sniffed and shook his head. "The more people who are around, the less they have to do with each other. In a city this size, you can disappear. Crazy, isn't it? Someone can be lonely when they never have a chance to be alone."

  Candles burned on the coffee table, the gold light captured in his green eyes. He regarded me with a piercing gaze, his eyes pale and bright. His intense scrutiny made me think he could see past my expression and delve deep into my secrets.

  "That's what makes you so rare," he said. "The city is full of strangers who want to be left to their lives. Then there is you, actually giving a shit about them. Why?"

  I blinked. Hard. "It's my job."

  "No, it's not. Your job is to write, not to
care. You can do one thing without doing the other. Why do you bother?"

  "Why not?" I answered slowly. I hadn't expected such a confrontational question, but I didn't have anything to hide. "Aren't we all connected? Don't we depend upon each other to survive? Don't our relationships with other people define us?"

  "No. Others come and go and eventually all you end up with is yourself."

  "That's a pretty fatalistic view."

  He set his jaw in a mulish line. "I'm a pretty fatalistic kind of guy."

  "I don't believe that. I get the feeling you're looking for the same thing as everyone else."

  Marek avoided my eyes and rested his elbows on his thighs, hunching forward and studying the fringe on his jeans again. I tried very hard not to do the same thing but I'd never seen him in denim before. It distracted me. The fringe stood out like a spot of foam on a midnight sea.

  His voice brought me back to the living room. "No, I don't think I am. Not at all."

  "Sure you are," I pressed. "If you didn't want your family around you, would you mourn the ones you've lost? Would you spend so much time and effort helping the ones who remain? If you thought everyone's destiny was to end up alone, would you have bothered to come here?"

  His voice slid into darker tones. "Are you implying you have something I need?"

  I was slightly alarmed by the thread of threat that insinuated itself into the sentence, infusing it with the nameless danger I'd come to associate with him. I decided to ignore it and continue on as if we still discussed human dependency issues.

  "Maybe. Perhaps I see things differently and you were ready for a new perspective." I deliberately repeated what he'd said the day we met.

  "You sound like a psychiatrist." Lifting his head, he almost grinned. The hairs on the back of my neck relaxed. "Perhaps you have a point. I've been so busy trying to distance myself from my past I forget what it's like to actually connect with anyone. Sometimes I feel like a ghost, or worse."

  "It's not too late, you know. You have so much to offer to the world."

  He curled his lips but directed the sarcastic expression to his hands as he clasped them around his knee. "Do I?"

  "Yes," I said. "You know, I enjoy spending time with you. You've traveled to places I've only dreamed of. You make me realize there's a whole world out there I never knew about. Your stories are fascinating, even if they tend to be a little..."

  "Dark?"

  "Yes, dark," I replied firmly. "It wouldn't hurt to let sunlight into your life, you know."

  "Easy for you to say."

  My God, was he a pessimist. Worse. He was the guy who criticized the pessimist for being too hopeful. "See? That's what I mean."

  "Some things aren't meant for sunlight. The only place for them is in the shadows."

  "You sound like you're so evil, so wretched."

  Marek stretched and leaned on the back of the couch, spreading his arms to rest along the top cushions. Even sitting down, he gave a distinct impression of height and fierceness. "That's because I am."

  "I don't believe it." Well, I mostly didn't. "You have depth and it speaks of a great soul. Wretched and evil are shallow characteristics for shallow people, meant for someone who doesn't put any effort into living. That's not you."

  "Do you think I've exaggerated? Or lied?" The words could have been menacing but I detected only curiosity in the tilt of his head, his direct gaze.

  "No... but somehow I think your dark perception of yourself colors everything you do and think. There is good in you. I can sense it."

  Thoughts sprang unbidden to my mind, like flashes of revelation. Despite the dangerous layer he wore like a second skin, a true heart kept time in him.

  Marek could be bad, terrifyingly bad, but it took effort. It had to be necessary. When it was, he was a lion. Walking, hunting, the embodiment of watchful death. When there was peace, he was simply a good man. Balanced.

  My inner voice was at it again. The epiphany reinforced my gut instincts, my first impressions.

  Marek looked up at me for a long searching moment, treating me to another glimpse of the candlelight dancing in his eyes. His mouth moved silently as if he struggled to choose his words.

  He swallowed whatever unspoken thought he'd contemplated. Standing, he cleared his throat. "I think I'm ready for something to drink."

  "Oh, jeez. Sure." I sprang up apologetically and sprinted toward the kitchen but he intercepted me, grasping my arm when I passed.

  "No, don't go through any trouble. Would you—want to go out for something? There is a café at the top of the bank building on Tenth. It's a splendid night. Definitely not one to be wasted indoors."

  His enticing offer was punctuated by an obscene screech from my still-imprisoned cat, which had grown quiet while we talked. Euphrates had found his second wind.

  Marek still gripped my arm and I grew warm under his touch. I grew squirmy, too, because, despite the pleasure of his touch, my arm still throbbed from Euphrates's parting gift.

  When I winced, Marek looked down. Concern bunched his brows when he saw the rents.

  "What happened?" Gingerly he turned over my arm to examine the deep scratches. Blood had welled up along them like strings of scarlet beads. I had forgotten about the scratches in the surprise of seeing Marek but his unintentional contact woke up the wounded nerves.

  "Fraidy did it when you knocked. Scared the hell out of him, I guess."

  He clucked his tongue. Pulling out a handkerchief, he unfurled it with a flick of his fingers and dabbed off the wounds. Before I could stop him, he pressed a soft kiss to my arm. "To make it all better."

  My face grew warm and I made a joke to cover my discomfort. "Thanks, Nurse Marek."

  My skin tingled and a rosy glow settled over the scratches, chasing away the sharp pain. Reluctantly he released me, perhaps as unwilling as I was to end an accidental moment. I swooped to grab my shoulder bag and keys and followed him to the door.

  "Oh, wait," I said. "I forgot to let Fraidy out."

  "I'll just, ah, wait down the hall, then," Marek said. Couldn't say I blamed him.

  Stepping back into the apartment, I closed the door behind me before opening the one to the bedroom. Instead of a frontal assault, I encountered only stillness. Euphrates looked up at me mournfully so I scooped him up and snuggled him. "Cheer up, Fraidy. I'll be back soon."

  As I turned the key in the door, I heard a sad wail from the other side. Funny, through the thick wood it almost like Euphrates cried don't go...

  I had never before been to the Skytop Café.

  Okay, to be perfectly honest, I never even knew it existed. The street level of the National Bank building was unremarkable. I walked down Tenth Street at least once a week, never giving the skyscraper more than a passing glance. It was an ordinary mass of concrete, glass, and steel.

  However, a pleasant express lift to the top proved otherwise. The top floor opened onto a spacious patio, lined in neon lights and chrome trim that flashed in stark relief against the blackness of the night sky beyond. Metal tracks embedded in the floor hinted that the majority of the restaurant could be closed off against poor weather.

  Tonight, everything was exposed to the crisp night air.

  Passing the DJ booth and crossing the open floor, Marek lifted a finger and indicated a table at the far edge, away from the crowded bar. Only a sleek rail separated us from the empty arms of the night. As I slid onto my seat, I peeked over and down the side of the building. The streets seemed so far below us...

  ...ah, a little too far. I pulled back from the edge and realized Marek had sat down next to me, rather than across the table.

  "Takes your breath away, doesn't it?" He leaned against me, his voice finding my eager ear, his breath stirring against my cheek. A wave of chills sweep over me. I could smell him, his skin, his hair. I would've agreed with him but I had momentarily forgotten how to speak.

  I gazed back over the city again, concentrating on the heights rather than the unyi
elding depths. A light breeze played with my hair as it carried faint sounds of city life from below, mixing it with the sounds of the people behind us. Marek slipped his arm around the back of my chair, surrounding me as he leaned closer.

  I couldn't remember the last time I'd been this close to someone and actually felt comfortable. It felt more like exquisite clothing—secure, natural, and pleasant. I couldn't recall being this content with anyone before and the simplicity of it amazed me.

  "It could be like this all the time." His whisper broke through the layers of my trance. He stroked his fingers up my arms, bringing them to rest on my shoulders, playing his thumbs along the back of my neck, under my hair. Shivering, I turned my head, my temple brushing against the line of his jaw as I searched for his eyes.

  His pupils were large and bottomless, irises reduced to thin rings. They resembled twin pools of night, wearing bright green halos. His eyes glowed, the irises shining like neon.

  Averting my gaze, I leaned away from him. I squeezed shut my eyes and shook my head. What did I see? There was no candle here, no light to reflect itself. Why did his eyes look so strange?

  He drew back and gently rapped the table with his fingers. "I will order our drinks."

  Marek pushed away from the table in a decisive movement and headed to the bar, offering the perfect distraction. Damn, but I liked watching him walk. He moved with masculine grace, his strides strong.

  He paid the bartender and returned, flashing a grin when he noticed me watching. I wasn't the only one; almost every female in the place had him on her radar—faces uplifted, heads turning to follow him. He paid them no notice. His eyes never left mine and the closer he got, the more I could feel his eyes upon me. They were their usual green once more.

  Marek's scrutiny made me feel self-conscious, as if I were being watched by many. I busied myself by looking at the drink menu, the view, my hands—anything but him. Acting casual took so much effort.

  I smiled, accepting the glass he offered and set it down on the cardboard coaster, grateful for something to do with my hands. Any other time, we would have chatted, laughed, bickered even. Why now did every movement, every gesture mean so much more?