Bonds of the Mazza

by Blake Blessing

  “I can’t help it,” I croaked. I shooed Egan away from my face, not comfortable with him being so close to my morning breath or eye crusties.

  “How are you feeling, my lovely?” Yunez cupped a hand over my thigh.

  “Dandy. Jari?”

  “He’s still sleeping right next to you. I induced a sleep so he could rest. Cab’s lady came and checked him over. He’s just fine.”

  My strength was steadily seeping back into my bones and I pushed myself into a sitting position.

  “Why am I all achy? I didn’t feel this bad the last time.” I scrubbed my eyes until I was confident they wouldn’t be staring at some nightmare monster.

  “Each time you come into powers can be different. It just depends on the situation, power, and timing.” Yunez shrugged.

  Egan was sitting between Jari and me on the bed. Nato and Sage sat on the edge by me, then Rand and Yunez were perched on the foot. All eyes were on me unblinking. It was a little too intense for my liking after just waking up.

  “I need to use the bathroom. Get up,” I shoved at Nato and Sage so I could swing my legs over the side. We were in the same room at Cabbie’s that we were in before. Or at least in the same wing.

  My gaze flicked back to Rand. A memory swimming in my head and I squinted at him. I stood still as I picked through the events right before I passed out.

  “Aha!” I pointed at him, then waved side to side before leaning back against the wall.

  His eyebrows popped up. “What?”

  “And you,” I swung my finger to Yunez. “You got some splainin’ to do.” I cleared my throat to rid myself of the scratchiness.

  A slow decadent smile curled over Yunez’s lips, and he winked at me. “You figured it out, have you? Or maybe not everything.”

  “No, I think I have it figured out.” I pressed my hand against my stomach. “You, Yunez, are the male version of Mazza. The Manno. And so is Rand.”

  All three of my LL whipped their heads around to gawk at Rand and Yunez. Sage even gasped.

  “What the hell? Yunez, tell me that’s her sleep addled brain making stuff up.” Nato shoved a hand through his hair, pulling it to a standing position.

  “Nope,” Yunez’s lips popped on the p. “It’s a secret that’s been guarded ever since I can remember. Mannos are the male version of Mazzas. Only they do not have to build a harem so to speak to receive their powers. They gain them at puberty like all other Fennin.”

  “There’s just so much here we need to know.” Sage was a hair away from shouting. “I don’t understand why this is a secret?”

  “It’s for the safety of the Mannos. If everyone knew about Mannos before they were grown they would have been captured and used as weapons. Not the childhood I would have wanted for Rand. Don’t you agree?” Yunez clapped Rand on the back.

  Rand drilled me with his gaze as if he was trying to communicate some vital piece of information. At the moment I couldn’t begin to process his meaning.

  “How have they stayed hidden?” Egan adjusted his position so his back was leaning against the headboard.

  “That’s actually my doing. As soon as whispers of children with a strange mark reach me, I go, glamour their mark and anyone who knows so they believe the child is from the house of the parents. Or one parent if it’s a mixed household.” Yunez adopts a subtle smile.

  “That’s convenient.” Nato piped in.

  “It’s kept everyone safe. I take the men under my wing. We have even created a bit of a brotherhood. We call ourselves the Three Suns, to combat the Shadow Society.”

  “What does that mean for Mazzas? Are there more out there?” I flattened my palms against the wall.

  Yunez studied me for a moment. “No, Mazzas are still extremely rare. It’s the men that are more common.”

  “What does that mean for Iss? Does she have to bond a Manno too?” Egan queried with genuine curiosity in his voice.

  Rand’s gaze that hadn’t left me blazed, bringing a flush to my own cheeks.

  Rand answered the question. “It’s not required. She will gain all of her powers just from her four bonds. But every Manno bond she takes will add to her power and protection.”

  There was something sultry in his voice as if he’d been waiting to share this information for a long, long time.

  Fuck a duck.

  I… I couldn’t. My thought process completely short-circuited. This made so much sense but I was furious. Why did they withhold this information? Rand? Rand knew the whole time! I tore myself up for nothing.

  I glared at Rand and Yunez. Rand who melted my panties with his attention, and Yunez who smirked at me as if he knew something I didn’t. Of course he knew things I didn’t.

  This just spiced things up tremendously.

  To be continued in Secrets of the Mazza…

  Thank you

  Thank you for going on this crazy jouney with Isolde and her Lusty Legion! If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review.

  You can stalk me on my Facebook Author Page and you can also find me in my closed reading group Lusty Legion. In the LL you can interact with me directly, find excerpts and information on upcoming releases, as well as play games and enter for giveaways. I’d love to have you join me!

  Turn the page for a peek of Full Glasses & Burju Shoes, a contemporary romance. This is not an RH novel, but does have bachata and a sexy Dominican American army veteran. <3

  Also by Blake Blessing

  Full Glasses & Burju Shoes

  Perrin

  As I run down the sidewalk, my flip-flops slap against the pavement. Sweat beads on my forehead as I greedily suck in air. You’d think with all of my extracurricular hobbies, I would be in better shape.

  My breath comes in short gasps as I round the corner. Muted music starts to drown out the sound of my own breathing. I slow down and grab the stitch in my side as I catch sight of a demonstration happening through the glass walls of the campus dance studio.

  Completely captivated by the couple in the middle of the crowd, I come to a full stop. Damn near pressing my nose to the glass, I push up to my tiptoes to see through gap between students. I can just barely make out the words to…“Drunk in Love?” A club remix, or maybe a Latin remix.

  There isn’t an inch of space between the pair. The woman has on a sports top and black leggings, sporting seriously cute high heels. The way she moves is so fluid she completely steals the show from her partner. He moves effortlessly with her, only a prop to her final scene.

  Their hips are more than gyrating. No, not gyrating at all. Swinging, rotating, rolling. They are two coordinated waves, moving in synchronized grace but never actually touching.

  They stop moving for a beat. The man barely touches her high on her sides as he guides her into a rolling pattern, back and forth, as smooth as the rising tide. The beat kicks up at the same time their entire bodies twist in a tight circle, sharing breaths, noses grazing.

  This has got to be the hottest dance I have ever seen. So intimate. We shouldn’t be watching this sensual moment. But we are.

  The music stops, and the couple ends in an embrace. The duo holds the pose for several seconds, inhaling deeply. Secret smiles are exchanged when they look into each other’s eyes. They break apart, face the crowd with their clasped hands raised before taking a bow. The crowd erupts into loud cheers and catcalls.

  They felt it too.

  It’s the flush in their cheeks and the brightness in their eyes, glowing with emotion the dance provoked. I only caught the last minute, and even I’m moved by the energy in the air. It’s fucking contagious.

  Before I even know what I’m doing, I pull open the glass door and step inside. Cool air rolls over me.

  “Thank you! Thank you so very much for attending our bachata demonstration. We have flyers on the table by the door. If you would like to learn and/or enter the contest during the 2019 Latin Festival this winter, please contact us via email. It’s listed on the flyer. We will be here
for the next fifteen minutes answering questions. Please don’t be shy!” The man’s rich voice projects easily around the room, a heavy Spanish accent lacing his words.

  I am one of the first people to reach the table. Easy for me since I’m still by the door. The flyer has a picture of this duo with Bachata scrolled across the top in elegant script.

  Backing out with the flyer in hand, I kick back into a run. Danny won’t care that I’m ten minutes late, but I don’t want to take advantage of his grumpy kindness. It was finals today. He cares more about my grades than I do, so I know the stink eye is all that’s in store for me.

  I try to hold the flyer steady as I run. My pounding steps jar the paper, but I don’t have time to slow down.

  Bachata Contest, December 22nd for all levels, held at the convention center, downtown Denver.

  My mouth lifts into a smooth grin. Hells yeah, I just found my next obsession. Bachata. I can just imagine myself moving as if I’m a goddess among men, worshiped by my faceless, nameless partner. I can totally see it.

  I reach the entrance to The Cracked Door, the best restaurant in Denver and my current place of employment. I blindly reach out for the handle to pull the door open, still focused on reading the rest of the flyer.

  “Omph!” I grunt.

  A stranger about tramples me on the sidewalk, forcing the air right out of my lungs. I almost died right there in front of my work. How inconvenient.

  “Watch it, carajita,” the stranger growls as he stomps towards the parking lot. He even looks angry from this angle. His shoulders are shrugged up by his ears and the veins in his arms stand out, running all the way down to his clenched fists. He’s not half bad from behind. A good six inches taller than my 5’5. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, and hips accentuated nicely by his black t-shirt and tan cargo shorts. He has a nice neck, too.

  It’s weird I would notice this, but for some reason a nice neck makes or breaks a man’s attractiveness. If he has a straw neck, it looks like a like a clay head stuck on a toothpick. If he has a tree trunk neck, then he just looks like he has no neck at all. No, you need one that’s in the middle.

  “Rude much, buddy?” I call after him.

  His only response is to flip me off.

  Yowza, people these days. Don’t they know that negativity isn’t worth it?

  The man forgotten, I rush into the restaurant looking for Danny. It’s early afternoon so there isn’t really a crowd here. That will start around four o’clock. The shades are half open, filtering in orange sunlight through the slightly tinted windows. The place has an old western feel, with bull horns hanging on all the walls. You would think Danny’s a collector.

  Only Stace and Andrew are on the floor, so Danny must be in the back. I stop by the bar to stash my stuff before my shift, pulling out my non-slip waitress shoes. Sam Hunt’s Body Like a Back Road comes on, inciting me to hum along and sway my hips. I keep stealing glances at the flyer on the counter as I hop around trying to lace up my shoes without having to sit down.

  “What are you doing?” Danny bellows from behind me.

  A small shriek escapes me as I whirl around. Danny is the crazy uncle I never had. He was in the Vietnam War and has definitely done his fair share of living, shown in his rough tanned skin and spiderwebbed wrinkles deeply etched into his face. He’s lived hard and played hard and gone back for seconds.

  He looks hard, but he’s about as mean as Santa Claus, and resembles him too. He has scruffy white hair and a salt–and-pepper beard that’s two inches too long to be neat. He ain’t skipping any meals, not with his gut hanging over his belt.

  “Danny!” I give him my best smile. “Finals are over and guess what?”

  He doesn’t answer, only quirks an eyebrow. Pulling the flyer from the counter, I slap it to his chest. “Bachata, baby!” I back away, hold my arms up as if I’m dancing with a partner, and do a damn good imitation of a salsa dancer.

  “What the hell is that?” Danny says gruffly as he reads the flyer.

  “The hottest, sexiest dance you could ever imagine. My new hobby, just in time for summer.” I start to twirl in a small circle as an arm wraps around me and I’m roughly pulled around. Andrew, my dorky, younger co-worker is grinning boyishly at me as he tries to move his hips side to side. Poor Andrew. Dancing just isn’t his thing. It’s also his bad luck he has a toothpick neck.

  “I’ll be your partner, Pear Bear.” I laugh and push him away.

  “In your dreams, Randy Andy.”

  “It says here that Bachata is a Dominican Republic dance. Looks racy, that’s for sure.” Danny scratches his stomach as he flips the flyer over. “You trying for the competition?”

  “Nah. I just want to learn. It looked like my kind of thing.” I stop dancing and lean against the counter.

  Danny looks deep in thought. While he’s thinking, I take a second to tie my shoes.

  “Ya know, kid. I think I might know someone that could teach you. He might would do it for free as a favor to me. Let me mull it over.”

  “Sure.” I shrug. The bell on the door clanks, a couple of men come in looking around to scope out the best seating. I make my way around the counter to snag them and start my shift. No official clock in for us. Danny’s old school like that. We get paid for the hours he schedules if we aren’t too far off from time.

  “Kid. What’s the best advice I ever gave ya?” Danny calls.

  “Keep the glasses full. Never let the drinks go empty.” I yell back.

  About the Author

  Who is Blake?

  Blake Blessing is new on the Indie scene and ecstatic to embark on this new chapter in life. She is a mom, wife, art enthusiast, and author.

  She attended ten different schools growing up, so books became her constant friend. Escaping into books of all different genres made life fun and exciting. Blake was also raised on music and still blasts it through the house and car at every opportunity.

  She has a weird sense of humor and a penchant for chocolate milk. It only makes sense she would one day go on to write her own stories.