Dark Destiny (Dark Sentinel #1) - Lexxie Couper Page 0,10
him. Almost in his reach. Almost. All he needed to do was twist slightly at the waist, raise his butt an inch or two from the chair and lean over the padded armrest to retrieve it. An impossible task thanks to the thick, heavy cast covering his right leg from hip to toe.
To this day, Patrick had no idea how the remote came to be in his hand. He remembered a pulling sensation in his gut, a prickling heat behind his ears and then Steven’s stunned “Holy crap, Pat! How’d you do that?” as the device slammed against his palm.
Yeah, the remote he couldn’t explain. But he wasn’t having that conversation again. Not now.
Finishing his beer, he turned back to his brother. “I’m not in the mood for this, Ven.” He flicked his gaze over the other man, noticing a stretched tightness around Ven’s eyes. “Go feed. You look half-dead. Oh, wait a minute, you are dead.”
Ven bared his teeth, sharp white fangs partly extended. “Funny bloody bugger, aren’t you.”
Patrick snorted. “I try.”
Folding his arms across his chest, Ven leant back against the edge of the kitchen bench and crossed his ankles, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Y’know, Amy’s been taking yoga lessons lately.” He licked his lips at the mention of his favorite “donor”. “Not only has it made her blood taste like pure ambrosia, her flexibility is now phenomenal. The other night she did this thing where she wrapped her thighs around my neck and I fed from her—”
“Stop, stop, stop!” Patrick raised his hands in protest. “Do I look like someone who wants to hear about your sex life?”
Ven grinned. “You look like an older version of me and I’m definitely the kind of person who would want to know about your sex life, so…yeah. You do.”
Shaking his head, Patrick bit back his laugh. Ven was right on at least one count. They did look alike. True, he now looked the older brother, being thirty-six and inflicted with mortality while Ven was an eternal wrinkle-free twenty-seven. But apart from that—and the fact Patrick’s skin was tanned by the sun and Ven’s tan had faded somewhat—they looked very alike. Both tall and lean, both broad shouldered from years of swimming and surfing, both square jawed with a nose slightly too large for their face. Obviously, two brothers. One a lifeguard, one a vampire. One alive, one undead. Just your typical Aussie family unit.
Patrick shook his head again. “I’m going to bed. Unlike you, I have no sex life to speak of and, as I said before, I’ve had a shit day and I need some serious shut-eye.” He put his empty beer bottle in the sink and crossed the kitchen floor, pausing for a moment in the entryway to give Ven a serious look. “If you’re going to hang around for a bit, can you do me a favor?”
“I’m not doing your bloody ironing!”
Patrick laughed. “But you do it so well.”
He turned and walked from the room, snatching the empty beer bottle Ven threw at his head without slowing his stride.
“Freak,” Ven chuckled behind him.
“Good night, brother,” Patrick replied over his shoulder with a grin, heading for his bedroom. “Have fun.”
He runs. Along the deserted beach, the wet, compacted sand crunching beneath the soles of his jogging shoes with every pounding footfall.
His heart thumps in his chest, his neck and ears. A steady beat surging blood through his veins. Each breath he pulls floods his being with renewed life, filling his lungs through his nose, the fresh tang of the ocean biting into his sinuses.
The high sun shines down on him, bleaching the empty stretch of beach of all color, a glaring ball of cold energy.
He runs, heart thumping, sweat trickling down his temples, into his eyes. He feels alive. He feels totally at peace. The beach stretches before him, a never-ending strip of isolated beach.
“Patrick.”
The soft voice whispers behind him. He spins about, frowning at the empty beach.
Jogging backwards, his frown deepens. There is no one there.
“Patrick.”
The wind calls his name. He turns back to his original direction, blood, no sweat streaming down his face.
She stands before him. A woman in a…hooded cloak? No, a baseball cap, her face shrouded by shadows.
The wind lashes at him and he raises his hand, protecting his stinging eyes from the wild, swirling sand. He blinks and continues along the deserted beach, feeling fine.
“Patrick.”
A woman stands on the beach. The woman with the baseball cap. A beam of sunlight pierces