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It was past eight when she finally got to the theater. Since there were no shows, the building was closed for the night. Luckily, Gerry, the security guard, knew her well and let her in. She retrieved her bag from her desk drawer and checked her phone. Johnny had called six times. After returning the call with an excuse of having met Ivan about the radio interview, she walked back into the night.
By the time she got home, it was dark and raining. Wet and shivering, she unlocked the door to a quiet house. She flicked on every light she passed to dispel the empty darkness. In the kitchen, her eye caught the single plate and cup in the drying rack. For a while, she stood on the spot, water dripping from her clothes around her, uncertain of what to do next. She should have a warm bath and heat up some dinner, but the thought of the ordinary household routine somehow only made her feel lonelier.
A sudden bang against the window made her jump. The wind had picked up. The rosebushes in her garden swayed wildly, their leaves making a rustling noise. She shrieked as something hit the window, again. With a hand clamped over her mouth, she moved forward cautiously to peer through the glass. A meow sounded outside. Blowing out the breath she was holding, she opened the window for Mr. Whiskers. He jumped onto the counter with another meow.
“Locked out of your house, again?” She cuddled him against her chest. “You have no idea how glad I am you came.”
He purred in reply. Even if Mr. Whiskers only visited her house for selfish reasons, tonight she’d pretend he came because he missed her.
When Ivan looked up, Alice was gone. He cursed under his breath. After autographing bits of paper and various female body parts, he managed to escape by entering the underground. He didn’t know where Alice lived. It couldn’t be too hard to find out, but he’d give her time, tonight. After the way he’d taken her, she probably needed her space.
He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and studied the pavement as he walked. Fucking her was supposed to satiate him, to take the edge off of nine years’ fantasizing, but now that he’d had her, he only wanted her more. Their first time after nine years hadn’t turned out as he’d expected. Hell, nothing was as he’d expected. He’d imagined her remorse at how they’d parted and, on the optimistic side, an apology, but not her resentment and resistance. How could she entertain the idea that he’d left her for no good reason after their first time together?
Tonight, she’d wanted him to be rough, and he’d liked it, more than a little. A better man would’ve said no, but he didn’t mind letting her use his body to deal with her grief if it served to tie her to him. Anyone who wanted to judge him for that could go fuck themselves. He’d seen the look on her face in the car after the mob had attacked them outside The Times. She felt responsible for her mother’s death. Rough wasn’t the route he would’ve gone with her had it been up to him, but her request didn’t surprise him. Pain was the one thing he understood. Erotic pain took them to a whole new level. After his first time with her, he’d already known Alice was going to be an adventurous lover. There had been a curious and dark need in her then, and if those desires needed to come to the surface now, he was the man for the job. Whatever the case, he was back for good, and she was where she belonged—in his bed.
When he was with Alice, the voices were silent. By now, he was wise enough to know silence didn’t always bring peace, but peace had been there, too, when he’d held her in his arms. Her light had changed while he’d fucked her, violet when she’d come and purple when he’d claimed her pretty virgin ass. In the aftermath, the light had faded to a dull pink, the hue barely distinguishable. Alice’s light was a mystery to him. He couldn’t explain it because it was different to anything he’d ever seen, but he knew he wanted it. It soothed him and gave him back a measure of sanity.
He entered his suite and threw his keys on the table without switching on the lights. As he crossed the lounge, he became aware of another presence. A dead presence. He stopped in his tracks and faced the armchair next to the window. In the wedge of moonlight that fell through the glass sat Boris.
“You weren’t invited,” Ivan gritted out.
“I don’t need to be. That rule only applies to humans.” He smiled. “You’re not human, at least not completely.”
