by Joey W. Hill
His eyes had been black as well, and he’d briefly met her gaze, an assessment. Then he was moving onward, the duster brushing her hand as he passed. She’d felt dizzy, and a little like a person did when they found out later they’d exchanged a cordial nod with Jack the Ripper in the local Starbucks.
Sort of. The danger waves coming off him had been intense, but they hadn’t been targeted at her. It was a general sense of who or what the male was. Lethal, but in a way that Ella had decided meant good things for Anwyn. Protective things. When she’d reviewed that chance meeting in her mind later, she’d remembered a trace of warmth in the male’s gaze when she met it, a slight curve to his mouth. He’d dipped his head to her, showing her courtesy, as if he knew her. As if she had his regard, because she cared for and belonged to Anwyn.
When their boss was finally able to get around, her appearances during open hours were initially very limited. She seemed more intense, incredibly focused. There was a stillness to her that hadn’t been there before. She’d been an amazing Mistress, incredibly gentle and inexorable at once, even ruthless and intimidating when the moment called for it. Those qualities seemed even more potent now, yet she no longer conducted any sessions one-on-one. She supervised, provided guidance, helped plan sessions with the staff Doms as needed, but she herself did not solo with any guests or members.
None of them ever saw evidence of her injuries, but something fundamental, emotionally, physically, had changed for her. Ella understood one component of it, and so did Chantal. Ella because she sometimes just knew these things, and Chantal because she’d worked with victims of sexual assault and recognized the signs.
Ella remembered the first day Anwyn had been able to spend most the evening on the floor. James had told them when it was going to happen, and what was needed. It was vital they act as if today was no different from any other day, instead of the great leap back toward normalcy it seemed to be. Even being overly celebratory would be hard on her. She needed things to be smooth, routine. They’d proceeded under those rules without complaint or question, only asking him if they could do more.
Ella had truly, really meant to behave as required. But an hour before opening, she’d come face to face with Anwyn and felt that energy hit her. Violence, fear. Like Don, but different, something broken that would never be the same again. It didn’t show in Anwyn’s face, her still body, but Ella felt it, the maelstrom beneath the flesh, as if the storm swirled around them both.
Her Mistress, tall and strong before her, had been torn apart and remade in a way that had irreparably changed her.
Without thought or calculation, she’d dropped to her knees at Anwyn’s feet, pressed her lips to her shin. She hadn’t touched her otherwise, not until Anwyn bent and lifted Ella’s face, which had been streaming with tears.
Anwyn’s expression had altered, her blue-green eyes shimmering with so many emotions that twisted that knife in Ella’s heart, made her cry harder. She wasn’t pitying Anwyn. She was crying for her, for what she’d endured, while being so glad she was alive, okay.
Anwyn had sunk to her knees, wrapping her arms around Ella. That was when those other staff members, the ones trying to act like everything was the same as always, but keeping Anwyn in sight, because they’d all missed her presence so much, closed in from every direction. They’d knelt in a protective circle around her, leaving a buffer of space but reaching out with a look, a murmured word, or a brush of light fingertips. Chantal had taken Anwyn’s hand in a hard grip.
“Anything,” Chantal said for all of them. “Anything you need, Mistress. We’re all yours.”
Ella remembered Gideon standing, watching. They hadn’t known him all that well then, but his grim expression held many of those same emotions they were all feeling. That was when she noticed the other male, blending into the shadows of the wall so well she might have been the only one who saw him. He’d met Ella’s gaze, and said his first words to her, mouthing them silently.
Thank you.
Both men loved Anwyn, permanently, irrevocably. The way every person in the world needed to be loved.
So, yeah. Ella was part of a remarkable family here. She’d survive falling in love with a gorgeous Dom who was everything she’d ever wanted, who felt he couldn’t have her, even if he wanted her, too.
It would be nice to know why, but she’d learned to recognize a certain look in someone’s eye, when they were like a firmly planted tree. She could fight the person on it, but usually that just succeeded in driving him away and increasing her sense of rejection and failure. If change came, it would come from the root of that resolve, not from her trying to pull it from the soil.
She went to the assortment of bowls, and squatted so she could start spooning the contents of the tray into them. As she did, six of the cats came closer, talking to her and twining around one another. A couple were friendly enough to rub against her hips and ankles as she crouched there. Pausing to scratch a few heads, she glanced up at the black and white cat perched on the closest tower of crates. Barnaby had his own code. The short-haired feline only allowed Anwyn to pet him, though he gave Ella a regal, benign look as she spoke kindly to him.
It was a nice night, some stars visible in the sky, despite Atlanta’s intense city lights keeping the bulk of them invisible. Ella thought about taking a trip to the beach where she could see way more of the night sky. Maybe she’d borrow Krista’s car and go down for a couple days. Her landlord would be okay with that, she was sure.
Life went on, as it did. It might seem silly that she cared so much for Wolf after such a short time of receiving his attention, but time really didn’t matter when it came to those things. At least not for her. If the heart and soul had been waiting for a certain kind of person to come along, then their presence triggered a well of love that had been a lifetime in the making.
She knew that, but she also knew something else, with equal certainty. What she’d told Lars had been truth, not empty bravado. Her heart broke, but it healed. She was strong that way. Everything would be all right.
Chapter Twelve
As Wolf drove back from Don’s place, he wanted to turn his fucking head off, but he needed to think about some things.
Like the abrasions on Don’s neck. The guy had admitted to trying to strangle himself to death, earlier in the day. The closet door hook where he’d looped the belt, leaning against it, trying to let the pressure do the trick, had pulled free from the cheap plywood and the belt thankfully had loosened. He’d woken up on the floor of his seedy motel to the sounds of a couple screaming at each other next door, and a hooker working her John upstairs with rhythmic squeaks.
He’d lain on the floor and laughed hysterically. After that, he’d stayed on that stained, thin carpet for seven hours. Then he’d gotten up, rethreaded the belt through his pants, and come to Atlantis for his session.
He’d spent months in a hellhole after being taken captive on patrol. The bastard who’d been in charge of him had been a twisted fuck, mostly interested in breaking a white bread capitalist American mind. He’d succeeded.
Wolf had restrained Don, giving him the sense of helplessness and stress that could put him back in touch with his emotions, the bonds ironically helping to free him.
They’d choked him in the prison, jerked him in the air by his neck, and he’d connected to that in his choice of self-imposed suicide. So Wolf looped a belt around Don’s neck, depriving him of air for short periods without causing him harm. He’d used the additional stimulus to walk him through death scenarios and how they connected to his stress. He’d pushed him until Don broke down and cried, letting the rage loose.
Wolf had been prepared for that. He’d trained with a Dom who specialized in auto-erotic asphyxiation, carotid massage, because they were two of the most dangerous BDSM practices out there. Maybe for a second, he’d been remembering how Ella had responded to that massage of her neck, the way she’d leaned into him, her eyelashes fluttering.
A Dom never,
ever let himself get distracted. Especially during a therapy session. Even in the aftermath, for Christ sake. Don had been on his knees, head bowed, eyes closed, chest rising and falling as he tried to get his breath. In hindsight, Wolf knew he wasn’t getting his breath; he was ramping up again, his mind seized by his demons.
Wolf had reached for a towel to hand him, and realized it was the last clean one. When he pressed the call button and began to speak, Don erupted from the floor and flung himself at him, screaming.
Wolf blocked him, but he gave Don points for getting under a vampire’s guard. He’d clocked Wolf with the belt he’d left wrapped around Don’s hand. The buckle had cut Wolf’s face. It hadn’t been superficial, like he’d told Ella, but since it was already fully healed, thanks to that perk of being a vampire, he had to make sure she didn’t expect anything different.
Don had rushed for the door. In his head, he was escaping the prison, and anyone he met would be the enemy, to be struck down. Cursing, Wolf had shot after him with a vampire’s speed, the cameras be damned. If there was anyone in the hallway, they’d be in danger.
He hadn’t expected someone to be standing in front of the door, ready to come in. But that was his girl. As he’d said, if there was trouble to be found, she responded to it like a homing beacon.
His heart had nearly choked him in that second when Don was raising the paddle, something that could strike her skull with the force of a baseball bat.
Ella was quick on her feet, ducking and rolling away. If Don hadn’t lost his footing, she would have been clear, instead of getting tangled with him. Then she’d held his arm at bay with every straining muscle, kept her wits about her and used their common interests to bring him back to himself. Veronica Mars. Of all the unlikely things…
Wolf shook his head. Another good thing about her timing—it had scared Don, how close he’d come to harming her. Wolf had him almost talked into voluntarily checking into the VA hospital again. He’d left him under Dieter’s care while Wolf handled his next session, but when he went back to Don tonight, Wolf was pretty sure he’d manage it. If he didn’t, he was moving in with Don and would work out the daylight stuff somehow. He wasn’t giving up on him. Never mind the hypocrisy of it.
Which turned his mind to the other thing roiling in his gut. He kept seeing Ella’s face, hearing her voice, as she spoke to Don. Telling him things that weren’t bullshit platitudes but simple, difficult truths, laced with a genuine line of hope, acceptance and love.
As he’d watched Ella hold Don, a lump had grown in his own throat. What she’d said to the distressed man, she’d meant from the part of her soul that connected to… Wolf wasn't inclined to say something Bigger, though that was true.
It was a river. The river carrying all of them, that washed them clean, moved them forward, so they could see the great wide sea ahead. That river was made up of tears, one drop falling in amid all the others.
Tears even he had felt, pushing up into his throat, turning into jagged bits of glass. He wondered what would have happened if those tears had spilled out where Ella could see them, but he knew.
She would have looked up and seen the tears. The concern and compassion in her eyes, the softening of her mouth, they would have drawn him in.
When she’d lifted her hand to Don, she would have brought Wolf into a three-way embrace. He would have closed his arms around them, because he was big enough to hold them both, but he would have felt like he was the one being held.
Christ. He realized he’d reached Atlantis and had parked, without any idea how he’d arrived there. He slid out of the truck, slammed the door a little harder than intended, making the body rock. He marched into the service entrance. He vaguely recalled passing some people, but they moved past without engaging. D/s lifestylers picked up on social cues better than most people.
He stopped at the breakroom, snagged a bottle of water. Taking the admin hall, he passed the security hub, and sent the guards there a curt wave. He had forty-five minutes until the next session. He needed to clear his head, or he’d have to cancel it. No way could he handle a sub well with this kind of mental state.
He emerged into the alley. The black and white steely eyed tom sat beside a bowl, washing his feet. The tom and several other cats, lazing in defensible crevices or on lookout perches, watched him. They had a picnic bench out here, because a lot of staff members enjoyed spending a break around the cats. Pet therapy, Anwyn style.
As he reached the table, the cat sprawled on it gave way with a baleful stare. Wolf grunted at him and sat down on the tabletop, propping his feet on the bench, his knees splayed.
He fished out his cigarettes, and shook one loose. He dipped his head to the metal lighter he withdrew from his pants’ pocket. One of the advantages of being a vampire was smoking wasn’t addictive or a health risk, and it was a habit he’d enjoyed when he was a human. He saw no reason to deprive himself.
Well, aside from the expense. He’d been tempted more than once to snag some, using vampire speed, save himself some dough. Plenty of vampires without the means of the born vampire elite had no problem stealing what they wanted from humans. They didn’t see it any different from humans taking eggs from chickens.
He wasn’t there yet. Didn’t matter that decades had passed since he’d been human; somebody worked to put every item on a store shelf, and stealing it without paying for it…that wasn’t him.
He thought about Don, the way he’d raged against the things inside himself he couldn’t seem to heal or accept. The nerves and darkness had formed an impenetrable wall between him and his wife and children.
“I broke her heart,” he’d said, his voice as raw as his insides. “How do you figure your way back, Wolf? And when you know you can’t, that it’s way too late, how do you live after that? With that? How do you find a way to want to live?”
Shit, Don. It’s easy. You become a fucking vampire, change your entire physiology so it rewrites your brain map. You become a different being, with just enough of the human you were to make you feel the guilt of it for the rest of your immortal life. But you no longer want to kill yourself, because vampires are too predator-centered to be self-destructive. See? Problem solved.
Wolf put the lighter back in his pocket, exhaled smoke. He’d changed into a loose linen shirt and a worn pair of jeans after the session. The fabric felt soft and easy against his flesh, a light breeze keeping things pleasantly cool.
He recognized the small rustlings of other cats moving on and off the crates, pattering over the top of the closed dumpster. The adjacent warehouse piled excess garbage next to it when it was full. The cats sometimes formed nests on the bags with softer materials in them.
Homeless people occasionally used them for that as well, burrowing themselves among the bags for the night. They were pretty much harmless, and the whole area was under a camera monitored 24/7. Logically, he knew it was a decently safe spot. Instinctively, it wasn’t a place he liked a woman hanging out by herself. Particularly one.
He drew on the cigarette again and dangled his hands between his spread knees, smoke curling up from his fingers. “You know, you really shouldn’t be out here alone.”
He’d known she was here the moment he stepped out. He detected her breath, her blood, her haunting scent. She was sitting in an alcove provided between two stacks of crates, her hands looped over her knees as the cats twined around her. She was as unobtrusive as she’d been for the past few days, making sure she didn’t impose any demands on him. She’d done nothing to contradict her apparent acceptance of the limitations he’d placed on their relationship.
He was the one who’d fallen short there. He’d told her he’d be her Master, within these walls. Yet he’d pulled back from that faster than a snapped rubber band, because one evening at a freaking carnival and he’d been thrown off balance inside the grip of her arms and legs, under that soft, shining smile and those far-too-understanding warm brown eyes.
He still had every intention of h
onoring his promise, to watch over and care for her, but he had to figure out how to do that from a safer distance, one that wouldn’t give her—or himself—the wrong idea about their relationship. When he figured it out, he’d tell her how it changed the structure of the promise, and apologize if needed. Being a Master didn’t mean getting to be a total dick, not without being sorry.
Especially when she was doing everything she could to respect him. Damn, she was good at self-control. The few times he’d checked on her, she’d been flirting, playing, laughing, helping. All the things she normally did. Yet he detected the tension in her shoulders, the forced levity in her voice, and knew it was an act. She was trying hard, for him. For herself.
Which made him want her ten times more, and it already felt like he’d been missing a limb since the carnival. When he took her body, he’d let himself entertain the idea of Ella being really, truly his. Her body his to enjoy, her special smile just for him, her attentiveness, as they worked at Atlantis, knowing they had a bond above and beyond that.
“There’s a camera,” she said in defense of her solitude. Her voice was muffled. “Is Don okay?”
“He’s with Dieter. I’ll stay at his place tonight.” It wasn’t an answer, but he didn’t trust himself to respond to the question. Too much might spill out of him.
“I can take a few hours with him so you can get some sleep. He and I can watch DVDs together. Order a pizza.”
If he couldn’t get Don to check into the VA, he’d intended to have Dieter stay with him during daylight hours. But Wolf thought of how well Don had responded to Ella. He’d also watched them sit at the bar and talk on previous occasions, and Don did respond to Ella favorably. Particularly when every trigger hadn’t been intentionally tripped by a rough therapy session.
During sunny daylight, watching TV with Ella, Don was more likely to stay on an even keel, partly because he’d be as protective of Ella as Wolf himself.
