Amara was surprised when she got the call at nine.
She and Morana had been lounging in Tristan’s cottage, talking about their lives and spending a girl’s night just being friends, chilling with another female companion, someone they had both never had in their lives.
Amara had talked to her about her arrangement with Dante over the years, her accelerated degrees that had allowed her to get into practicing therapy, and her reasons for running away. Morana had confessed about her father’s situation, about how lost she felt some days and how Tristan anchored her, about how she wondered about Gabriel’s actual daughter and her fate. They also talked about wedding plans while sipping on hot chocolate, and for the first time in her life, Amara felt how much having a true female friend did wonder for the soul. Morana was a true girlfriend of her heart, the kind who would drop everything and be there for her at any time of the day, the kind she could text the weirdest stuff and she would just text back weirder, the kind whom Amara could trust with her baby if one day something ever happened to her.
Her day had started so well, with Dante waking her with a soft kiss as he left, telling her Vin would be there for the day. She had spent her morning seeing her friend – her once-chubby now-hottie friend – and reconnecting with the man he had become, realizing that while he had hardened, he was still the same boy underneath she loved. He was another true friend of her heart, one who had made her day just by spending time with her.
So the call had surprised her. Now, sitting beside Morana in the passenger seat of one of the Outfit sedans as she drove to a location, Amara didn’t know whether to be worried or not.
“I knew the airport guy had done us a solid this time,” Morana told her.
“Yes, but why would Dante call me to come to the location? And ask me to call in my contact at social services?” Amara asked, baffled.
Morana shrugged, swerving, overtaking a car, going at a speed much higher than Amara was used to, but doing it confidently. “Who knows? Is your contact sending someone to the location?”
Amara checked her phone. “Yeah, they should be there in about twenty minutes.”
“We’ll be there in ten.”
“The GPS doesn’t show that,” Amara pointed out, and her friend just gave her a grin, accelerating even more.
Amara laughed, holding the handle by the door. “Just don’t get us in an accident, please. There’s a baby the size of a bean on-board.”
Morana gave her an amused look, slowing down a bit as they came to a turn. “I know. Tristan told me. He said you kept touching your stomach yesterday and I quote ‘asshole probably knocked her up’.”
Amara sputtered a laugh, not really surprised at Tristan’s observation or comment.
“Any news on Nerea?” Amara asked.
“Nope,” Morana sighed. “I’ve been keeping an eye on her movements but they’ve been clean so far.”
Amara nodded. Just as she’d expected. They chat up the rest of the way about the baby, becoming silent as they turned on a dirt path lit by moonlight, and saw the woods.
“Is it just me or is this place straight out of a slasher flick?” Morana muttered quietly as she drove over the path, to the edge of the wooded area. The headlights lit the way, showing nothing but trees on both side, and darkness beyond.
“This is creepy,” Amara agreed, watching the GPS show their destination just a mile ahead. “Are you sure we’re on the right path?”
The answer came in the form of three SUVs, a police cruiser, an ambulance, and a creepy as fuck house lit up by the headlights of all the vehicles. Morana parked the vehicle beside the police cruiser and they both got out, exchanging a look before walking towards the front of the house where people were standing covering the front steps of the house.
The closer they got to the group, the more Amara realized there were small people sitting on the steps, huddled in blankets. Small boys.
Heart pounding, she watched as Morana split to the side of the house, where Tristan sat on the ground talking to one boy. Leaving them to it, she turned to see Dante standing with no jacket, his shirt sleeves folded over his forearms, hands on his hips as he listened to a cop say something. His eyes came to her, went over her from head to toe, before he extended his hand to her, calling her silently to his side.
Amara walked on her wedges to him, looking around the scene, questions in her eyes. Dante slid his arm around her waist, continuing his conversation with the middle-aged cop, balding.
“Five of them matched the missing person reports filed over the last year,” the cop told them, ignoring her. “We’ve called their guardians; they should be here by the morning. We’ll take their statements after.”
Dante nodded, mindlessly rubbing the side of her hip, even as his focus was on the conversation along with hers. “What about the boys at the hospital?”
The cop shook his head. “We’re trying to locate their files but nothing is coming up. Reckon we’ll have to search the last five years or so. They’re at the hospital for now. We have a man on them.”
“Make it two,” Dante ordered, and Amara wondered if he could actually order a cop. She knew the Maronis had a lot of the departments in their pockets, but she didn’t know how deep it went.
“I’ll have to call in social services on this one,” the cop said.
“My woman here,” he squeezed her hip, “is a licensed therapist with connections in the department. She’s already made the call.”
“They’ll be here soon,” Amara chimed in, her voice low.
The cop nodded. “Look, you can explain this away, but I’ll have to file a report.”
“Okay. What about that one?” Dante tilted his head to indicate the boy sitting with Tristan.
“No idea,” the cop said. “We’ve gone back eight years, which the boy said was his age, but can’t find a thing in our system. No missing person report. No contacts. We’ll keep looking but the chances are slim on that one.”
“Thanks, Derek,” Dante gave the cop a nod. “Keep me posted.”
The cop gave a sharp nod and turned to talk to the line of young boys sitting on the steps, where his partner was already talking while two paramedics checked them over. Tristan sat a few feet away, head lowered, as the boy with him talked, Morana watching them from the side.
“What’s going on?” Amara asked her man, looking up at him, seeing the dark shadows fall over his face.
“We found the kids here,” he told her, turning to look at the scene. “All kidnapped, ready to be shipped. Vin took one of the guys we caught to the Compound for interrogation. One died, the other is in the wind. Eight kids, Amara. Eight boys.”
Amara pressed a kiss to his shoulder, letting him get it out.
They both watched as Tristan kept his head lowered, listening to whatever the boy was saying. Amara had never seen her friend like that, so focused on a child. But she knew he was protective of kids so maybe that shouldn’t have surprised her.
“It’s just the beginning. We have opened Pandora’s box. These nightmares will keep coming to light, and I want to build something better for our children. Stand with me, yeah?”
“You don’t even have to ask, Dante,” Amara told him softly. “I’ll always stand with you.”
“I know you keep wondering what your role will be in this new order we have,” Dante mused, looking at the boys. “You are the healer, Amara. You are the lighthouse guiding these lost souls to the shore. They need someone to guide them, someone who’s emotionally intelligent, strong enough to understand trauma and survival and still be light. That’s you.”
He turned his neck, piercing her with his dark eyes, his voice dripping with conviction. “We’ll find more children, more young boys and girls, in different conditions. We don’t know how many. They’ll need to be rehabilitated. They’ll need help – physically, which I can arrange, but also mentally, which is your forte. We can give them a chance at life, Amara. We can leave a legacy in this godforsaken place. So, will you play with me, my queen?”
Amara looked at the innocent lives marred with this blip of darkness and felt her heart clench. She knew how much it took out of the soul to simply survive against the odds. She knew pain, and loss, and sheer force of will. And she knew she wouldn’t be standing there without the help she’d had. There was no other option for her.
Turning her gaze back to the man she not only loved but felt truly proud to call hers right that second, she gave him her answer. “Yes, I will, my king.”
Let the games begin.
It was late by the time the paramedics and the police wrapped up. Amara stayed behind as the two guys from social services showed up, helping them navigate the fate of the two kids at the hospital, ensuring they were also prescribed some form of counseling for their experience.
She had started to ask the same for the kid who’d been sitting with Tristan when Morana had given her a subtle shake of her head. Keeping that down for the time, Amara had walked with the guys as they took the other boys to meet with their guardians. By the time everyone was gone, there was only her, Dante, Tristan, Morana, and that kid left in the area.
Amara walked over to Dante’s side as he sat down on the steps, watching her. He spread his legs and pulled her between them, pushing his face into her stomach, murmuring words in a tone so low she couldn’t hear. She sifted her fingers through his hair, feeling the softness of the strands, feeling the warmth of his breaths against her tummy, and just held him as he held her, taking strength from her presence.
He tugged on her hips until she sat down on his lap, and snuggled his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent. Amara felt her heart skip a beat, as it always did with him, and kept him close, her eyes lingering on the child who fell asleep with his head on Tristan’s lap. She saw him look at Morana, saw them have a silent conversation, and saw Morana bend down, giving him a small kiss on the lips. It still awed Amara some days, the way Tristan allowed Morana so close into his space. He scooped up the kid in his arms and stood, the movement taking the attention of the man holding her.
Dante looked to the side at them while keeping Amara tight by his side. “You guys heading back?”
“Yes,” Morana responded, taking her car keys out of her pockets. “Little Xander here is knocked out and Tristan wants to talk to him some more. We figured we’ll take him with us, and figure stuff out later.”
Dante gave her a nod, exchanging a look with Tristan. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Tristan nodded, carrying the boy, Xander, in his arms to the car Morana had driven. He lay Xander in the backseat, got in the passenger’s side while Morana got behind the wheel, and with a wave at them, drove out.
“How much do you bet they’ll keep the kid?” Dante’s voice had her looking down, his hand splaying over her stomach possessively.
Amara shrugged. “We’ll see how it goes.”
Dante gave her a little smile, and before she could take a breath, stood up with her in his arms, making her squeal lowly and grab his shoulders. Heart racing, she watched as he deposited her in the Rover, jogging around to the driver’s side, and got in, pulling out of the eerie place.
“This place was so creepy,” Amara muttered, watching it get smaller in the rear-view mirror. “How did the Morana’s airport guy even know about this?”
Dante contemplated for a moment, driving them out of the woods and onto the dirt road cutting through the open fields. “He’s the Shadowman.”
Amara turned to look at him, seeing the full moonlight pouring in through the windshield, casting a soft, romantic glow over his features. She thought about what he’d said, interposing it with what she knew, and agreed. “It makes sense. That’s why she never saw him.”
The car jostled as Dante swerved the wheel, turning them back onto the highway. “He was there tonight.”
Her eyebrows went up to her forehead. “You saw him?”
“No,” he shook his head. “But he was there. One of the guys who escaped was found in the woods by our men, tied to a tree, a message taped to his chest.”
“What message?”
Dante glanced at her. “It said ‘good job’. He wanted us to find that place. He practically spoon-fed us this.”
“He’s playing with you guys,” Amara inferred, turning the heating up as a chill went down her spine. “Why?”
Dante stayed silent. They passed a few miles in silence before Dante spoke up again. “Alpha is my half-brother.”
That made Amara turn sharply towards him. Dante told her about his visit to Alpha’s compound, about the information he had discovered, about the tragedies his father had made of people’s lives. He told her everything, including not knowing if he entirely trusted the man or not. They were getting closer to the city, the roads still dark and empty, as the car flew by.
“He was nice to me,” Amara reminded him.
“He wanted to fuck you,” Dante amended, his jaw clenching.
Amara felt a laugh escape her. “That would’ve been funny though, what with you being brothers. I’d feel scandalous.”
Before her last word was out, Dante pulled to the shoulder of the road, turning the vehicle off. He undid her seat belt, pushed his seat back, and pulled her over him, sending her heart careening through her chest.
“Say that again,” he grit out.
Amara felt herself smile as she settled over him, her thighs straddling his hips, putting her hands over his chest. “You’re being ridiculous.”
One of his hands gripped her full breast, the other going to her ass in a hold that was nothing short of territorial. In the moonlight, his dark eyes gleamed like uncut obsidian, born of flames, cooled in winds. His masculine scent, that cologne she had loved since she first smelled it, permeated the closed confines of the car. He took over her senses – sight, sound, smell, touch – and she reveled in it, her heart pounding but desire coiling in her belly in known anticipation. This wasn’t like it had been in the beginning. Their desire then had been a wildfire – unknown, unexpected, untamed. No, now it was a kindling, a bonfire in the middle of a snowy desert, melting the frost, warming the bones, lighting the dark. They had been together a hundred times before and they would be together a hundred times more. But their need for each other had evolved – from being lovers learning each other, they had become memories on each other’s skin, every inch of her body knowing every inch of hers.
Given all that, all the years and touches between them, his hand holding her breast and ass sent heat curling through her spine, so familiar, so delicious, so wanted. Amara thrived in being desired by this man; she thrived even more in desiring him. For a long time after her assault, she had felt both undesirable and undesiring, not sure if she would ever find any sexual pleasure in her life, or get rid of the shame if she did.
Dante had introduced her to the spark of heat as a boy and taught her to master it as a man. He had been her first infatuation, her first love, her first kiss, her first lover that she had allowed into her body, her first everything.
But they had also spent all these years they had loved each other apart, across hundreds of miles, craving and needing but never having enough, loving in the shadows. While it truly was ridiculous that he would feel any kind of insecurity over her, she also understood. Their roots were strong but the tree had been cut, and now new leaves were sprouting. It would take time and nurturing for them to grow strong.
She leaned closer to him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. “You’re the beat to my heart, Dante.”
His hand tightened on her ass. “And you’re mine.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “We’ll be okay, right? With this life, with the baby, with each other?”
Amara rubbed her nose against his. “We’ll be okay. We’ll be together. That’s what matters.”
“And you’ll love me when I’m old and grey?”
“You know I will. You’ll be a hot silver-fox though,” Amara grinned. “I’d do you.”
“Fuck,” he chuckled.
“Dante?” she whispered.
“Hmm?” he nuzzled into her.
“I’m feeling a little horny,” she confessed, watching his eyes sharpen on her.
“Ask me to kiss you,” he ordered, eyes dark on hers.
Amara felt her breath catch in the confined space of the vehicle. “Kiss me.”
“My dirty fucking girl,” he murmured, his hand moved from her ass, going under her dress, moving to cup her between her legs through her panties, as the other hand plucked her hard nipple. Heat shot through her breast, arrowing down right where his fingers were feeling her, wetness pooling on his hand.
“You’re soaked,” he growled, pushing her panties aside and plunging two fingers inside her.
Amara moaned, her head falling back as she gripped his head, hips moving over his fingers.
“Ride my hand, baby,” he encouraged her, his voice low, husky, perfect.
Amara moved her hips in wanton motions, feeling his thumb settle on her clit, alternating between pressing it and rubbing it, and the coiled serpent of shameless pleasure tightened inside her, beckoning her to taste the ecstasy waiting for her.
“Soak my hand, dirty girl. That’s it. This pussy is mine, Amara,” Dante took her other nipple into his mouth over her dress, sucking it deep, making her arch back as a current zapped through her body. “These tits are mine.” He moved up to kiss her neck. “This scar is mine.”
Her legs spread as she settled even more, rotating her hips, and his mouth took possession of hers. He kissed her hard, devouring her mouth, sending electricity zapping through her nerves, her heart racing, her inner walls pulsing around his fingers. His tongue swiped over her lips, tangling with her tongue, before sucking it into his mouth. The wetness of the kiss, the dirtiness of the joining, the sloppiness of the sounds, just turned her on even more.
She pulled back to catch a breath, panting as she exploded out of nowhere, her orgasm crashing into her, making her keen and thrash and shake as her inner muscles clenched around him, shivers running up and down her spine, her eyes rolling back in her head.
Heart thundering, she opened her eyes as Dante pulled his fingers back, and brought them to his mouth, keeping their eyes locked, licking one digit, his tongue tasting her come, and heat coiled in her belly again, faster than it should have. He pulled her head down to his mouth, making her taste herself, their lips crashing and colliding together, before he pulled back, picked her up, and placed her back in her seat.
Amara gave a pointed look at his erection tenting his pant, and he grinned. “Not gonna fuck you here, baby. Not where anyone could sneak up on us and I’d be balls deep in you to notice.”
Amara leaned towards him as he started the car again, sliding her hand down his chest, taking the flesh of his earlobe in between her teeth and tugging.
“Amara,” he warned as her hand slid over his length, unzipping his pant. “Baby-”
“Keep driving, Mr. Maroni,” she whispered, before bending down over the console and taking him in her mouth, giving her man pleasure as he somehow drove them home.
One of the things Amara was extremely grateful for was not having morning sickness through her pregnancy. After the initial few days of extreme exhaustion and sickness, she had bounced back and the babies had given her no trouble.
Her heart clenched, remembering there was only one baby now. She didn’t know if that thought would always leave her feeling a little hollow but happy, but it was still fresh. Rubbing her still flat stomach, Amara looked in the mirror at her gown, feeling like she was going to burst out of it up top. The pink fabric which once hugged her breasts was now stretched to the last stitch, pushing her cleavage up high. A few more millimeters and she probably wouldn’t even fit in the thing anymore.
Amara sighed, turning this way and that, trying to locate any changes on her body as Lulu napped at the foot of the bed behind her, the bed she and Dante now shared in the mansion. Her first night in that bed had been blissful sleep out of exhaustion. Last night, she’d been restless even though Dante had passed out cold. He was still asleep, as early morning light filtered through the room.
Dante was a heavy sleeper – always had been. Amara used to joke that an earthquake wouldn’t wake him up. Once his head hit the pillow, he went out immediately like a light, no snores, no sounds, no movements. He rarely changed positions through the night, so still that Amara would’ve thought him a statue had he not been so warm.
She, on the other hand, was a mover. She turned and twisted a hundred times through the night, had vivid dreams or nightmares that usually woke her up, and had a hard time falling asleep. She also had a thing for pillows and blankets, the more the merrier, something Dante didn’t understand. He didn’t care so much – as long as he had a place to sleep, he’d close his eyes and crash.
Amara left him sleeping with Lulu at the foot of the bed, knowing he was tired, and put on the silk robe that went with her gown. Nighttime lingerie was a guilty pleasure of hers. They made her feel feminine and beautiful. As soon as she’d started earning, she had splurged on gowns and baby dolls to sleep in, and on the nights Dante had come to visit her, she’d broken out the special ones she reserved for the occasion, only to have him whip it off her. But it was that momentary pleasure, that flare of desire in his eyes that made it worth it.
Stepping out of the room, Amara closed the door and took in the corridor. Being on the east side of the mansion on the second floor, the master suite was slightly secluded from the rest of the house. The carpeted corridor was decorated with paintings on both sides – paintings Dante had brought down from the storage and had framed; paintings his mother had made.
They were oil paintings of vistas and abstract art – a familiar sunset over the Tenebrae hills, a river curving through the city, a leaf fallen on the grass, and disturbing shapes. His mother had been skilled, the shading and finish of her work incredible. She could see where Dante got his artistic bone.
Amara was about to continue when one painting caught her eye.
She stepped closer to it. It was plain except two shadows – one crouching to the floor, connected to the other looming over her. It was disturbing in its plainness, but that wasn’t why Amara had stopped in her tracks. Back at university, one of her optional subjects had been the psychology of art and visual medium. She had spent a year studying it, enjoying it, analyzing different works by creators from over the world. It was that understanding of the psyche of the creator that had her pausing, considering all the paintings in the corridor in a new light.
Heart pounding, she ran back to the bedroom, going to Dante’s side.
“Dante,” she shook him awake, her urgency to know the answers fueling her blood. “Wake up.”
His eyes opened, bleary, then took in her face. He shot up on the bed, alert, his hand going to the gun at the bedside table by instinct. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby?”
Amara shook her head, taking a deep breath. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. Relax.”
She saw his hand come to her braid, wrapping it around his fist. “What has you waking me up at this hour then, my lady?” he asked, flirting.
Amara smiled, but her mind was still on the paintings outside. “I need to ask you something about your mother.”
He frowned but leaned back against the pillows. “Sure.”
“According to Alpha, she was an art student who was kidnapped by Lorenzo Maroni and brought here, right?”
Dante nodded in confirmation, his eyes narrowing at her question.
“And she used to paint with you and your brother?”
“Yes, but where is this going?” Dante asked, his voice thick from sleep.
Amara swallowed. “And you found her with Damien in the room with her wrists slit?”
His jaw clenched but he nodded.
“Does Damien remember anything from that time?”
The braid left his fist. “I don’t know. He was too young at the time. If he did remember anything, he never told me, and I asked.”
“Just answer one last question,” Amara beseeched him, taking a hold of his big, rough hand in both of hers, her eyes earnest on his. “Do you have more paintings by her?”
He shook his head. “My father pretty much threw most of them out in his rage. The ones outside are the only ones I could save. What’s all this, Amara?”
Amara bit her lip, not knowing how to tell him what she had learned. She inhaled, taking in the musky scent of his warm skin. “Your mother felt hunted, Dante,” she whispered quietly in the space between them.
“How can you say that?” his voice came out hoarse.
“The paintings,” Amara looked into his dark, chocolate eyes. “I studied them in school. Seeing them all together, it’s all wrong. Was her death odd? Especially that she would kill herself with her child in the room?”
Dante’s grip tightened on her hand.
“Could it be that she didn’t slit her own wrists, Dante?” Amara felt her lips tremble. “Or if she did, something drove her to it? Could it be that she was murdered?”
They had no answers, even as more questions were born.
