by Jaxx Steele
Smug, patronizing, old fool.
“Do you, now?” Baptiste said, pulling the chair closer to the bed. “What, pray tell, is the reason then, old François?”
François turned in his direction. Though his face showed deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, they were minor in respect to what a human would look like after being alive for two hundred and fifteen years, though very few tended to last more than ninety years.
“You tire of waiting for me to die,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Perhaps you have come to put a pillow over my face to hurry me along,” he added with a soft laugh.
“Don’t tempt me, old man,” Baptiste warned through gritted teeth.
François’ mirth did not cease. “You could do that and relieve yourself of the burden of caring for me, but you won’t. You will whine, grunt and release your fury on whoever gets in your way. However, you will wait because you want what I have.” François looked away from him and settled back onto the pillow. “I’m afraid you must continue to wait. I am not so inclined to depart from this world just yet. Be on your way, young Baptiste. I am not dead yet.”
Baptiste’s anger was instantaneous. With a growl, he leaned forward and grabbed François by his shirt collar, yanking him from the bed to meet his gaze.
“Yes, I do tire of waiting for you to die, François, but I will wait no more,” he said, emphasizing his last words with a shake.
“I implore you, Baptiste, do not do this. I will not give up my magic. If you take from me what I do not give, it will not be as you think,” François warned.
Baptiste released François’ pajama top only to slip his hands around François’ throat. He brought his face up again but François shut his eyes tight.
“Open your eyes to me, old man,” Baptiste growled, giving him another shake.
François tossed his head back and forth pulling at Baptiste’s fingers. With an impatient noise, Baptiste dropped François to the bed. Breathing hard, the older man coughed and rubbed his neck.
“You are insane and have no respect for your elders. That is why Reynaud was chosen over you so long ago. You don’t deserve to lead—and you will not,” François croaked.
The mention of Reynaud’s name filled him with rage. Baptiste glared harshly at François. He reached back then slapped him hard across both sides of his face. Shock and pain widened François’ eyes as he cried out. Baptiste gripped his neck again but this time, though he fought, François could not shut his eyes.
“You may have your opinions, old man, but you will take them to the grave with you. Reynaud is dead. I will have your power and I will be the next leader of the council—make no mistake about it.”
François continued to struggle against him but Baptiste had him in his clutches. The life faded from his eyes, the sensation indicating that the power exchange had begun—but it was different. Unlike the smooth flow he had experienced from others he had taken, François’ magic came in quick shots like fireballs slamming against him. When the light in François’ eyes had finally gone out, Baptiste released him and fell back against his seat. The chair reared backward to the carpet. Baptiste gripped his upper body and screamed. Sweat burst to the surface, coating his skin. Overwhelming heat burned behind his eyes. They watered profusely. He swallowed several times in an attempt to cool his scorched throat.
What the fuck?
As fast as the attack had come, it started to alleviate. Panting harshly, he tore at his clothing until his chest was bare to inspect himself. He gasped, dragging his fingers over the damp skin. A moment ago, he seemed to catch fire from within, but his skin was not singed at all. Relieved, Baptiste let his head drop back as he continued to breathe in long, deep breaths. Before he could rise, the door flew open and Michael was by his side in seconds, helping him to his feet.
“Sir, are you all right?”
His voice was just as shaky as his knees when he was upright again. “Yes, Michael. I’m fine.”
“What happened, Mr St John?” Michael asked, picking up the chair.
“I don’t know,” Baptiste said honestly.
Michael walked over to the bed and looked down at François. “He’s dead,” he said sadly. “It’s been said that when an elder dies, it can be felt by those nearby. Maybe that’s what happened to you, sir.”
“Yeah, maybe. I have to go, Michael. I’m leaving you in charge of the arrangements for François.”
“Are you sure you’re all right, sir? You look—”
“Just do it,” he shouted and left the room.
Baptiste all but ran from the room, down the stairs and back to the car. Reggie had to rush to open the door for him.
“Where to, Mr St John?”
“Take me home, Reg.”
Baptiste sat in the back of the car taking more deep breaths.
Get a hold of yourself, Baptiste. François’ fire magic is just trying to find its niche with your earth magic. It will merge and blend—just like the others did—soon.
Baptiste calmed down and he smiled.
Yes, that’s it. Relax. Let the magic settle. He blew out a long, slow breath. That’s it. It just has to get used to being around other magic.
Baptiste continued his breathing exercises and calming techniques until Reggie pulled the car into his garage. After a shower and dinner, he felt like his old self. He was more than ready to receive Cindy when she appeared.
“Hello, Mr St John,” she greeted sweetly when he opened the door to his room.
Cindy’s five foot two, slender physique looked childlike in comparison to his six foot four height when he held her. He considered both that and her large doe-like eyes were her best features. Baptiste opened the door wider and stepped to the side. Cindy kissed his cheek before accepting his invitation. Baptiste closed the door and inspected her. Though he preferred her in white, the pale yellow dress she wore complemented her blonde hair. She stood with downcast eyes waiting for his impending command. Her demure manner pleased him. His cock throbbed with need and he realized it had been almost a week since he’d had a woman in his bed. Yes, he was ready for a much-needed release. Baptiste pushed himself away from the door and removed his robe.
“Come to the bed, Cindy, and take your clothes off,” he demanded.
“Yes, sir.”
He stood beside the bed, already naked, and stroking his full cock as he watched her undress. With a simple tug of the string tied into a bow at the base of her neck, the dress fell to the floor at Cindy’s feet leaving her wearing nothing but her shoes. Baptiste groaned low in his throat, gripping his balls. He loved that the women Maxwell sent to him didn’t bother with panties or bras. They were useless things, covering what he wanted to see and getting in his way when he was ready for sex. Cindy stepped out of her shoes and away from the garment to crawl across the bed. She stopped at the top, removed the rubber band holding her hair back, and rested her head on the pillow with her arms and legs opened wide.
Baptiste wasted no time getting onto the bed to cover her with his large body. With one swift shove, he buried himself in her core. Her shocked gasp was loud, mingling with his pleasurable moan. At first, her body fought him, preventing him from easy movements.
“This is the first of many times that I will have you tonight, Cindy. Open for me,” he told her.
His slow, deliberate strokes continued loosening her tight tunnel to accommodate his girth. Soon her passage was slippery and acquiescent. A flash of heat rolled over his senses. As his pleasure increased, so did the flicks of foreign fire at the edge of his consciousness. Baptiste tried to push the feeling away, thinking it would interfere with his orgasm. As it engrossed him, he found it enhanced his impending climax. He groaned aloud and pounded Cindy’s pussy faster.
“Mr St John, wait. Your body feels hot.”
She was right. He did feel hot and it felt good. François’ magic rose within him, taking over, guiding him. It gripped his senses, intensifying the bliss he felt building in his balls. Electric s
trikes of excitement shot through his blood stream each time he drove into her. Cindy struggled beneath him, playing their game well. She beat his arms and wiggled her tiny body beneath him just as she did before.
“Mr St John, please wait. Something is wrong. Something is burning me,” Cindy pleaded.
“Shh.”
Normally he liked that part of their routine, but now it was just distracting. Baptiste covered her mouth and strained his awareness. Focused on his climax, he slipped his other hand beneath Cindy’s ass to lift her into his wild thrusts. Pressing his palm over her face and bringing her bottom to him at the same time, he delivered rough, pile-driving moves into her slick center. Consumed by his desire and the unfamiliar enchantment inside him, he attacked her pussy wildly, grunting incoherently until he roared his release. Liquid fire burst from his cock. He screamed at each exiting squirt, unable to distinguish the feeling as pain or extreme pleasure. Once his body started to calm, Baptiste rolled away from Cindy, dizzy with euphoria. After a few moments, he let out an exhausted laugh.
“That was superb, Cindy. I will rest for a while then I will have you again,” he told her.
When the customary ‘yes, sir’ didn’t come, Baptiste turned. Cindy lay beside him completely still. He rose on his elbows to scrutinize her better. Her eyes were wide and her mouth gaped a bit. Baptiste jumped up and went around the bed to stand over her. A pinky impression was scorched into the delicate skin across her nose. Red fingerprints adorned Cindy’s left cheek from when he’d held her face as well. He angled his head a bit and saw the same type of marks on her hip where he’d gripped her there to hold her to him.
“Fuck.”
He donned his robe once more then retrieved his phone from the nightstand. Leaving Cindy where she was, Baptiste dialed Maxwell’s number and left the room.
* * * *
Reynaud sat at a table off to the side in the restaurant dining room. He stared at a menu in his hand, not really seeing the words. Many days had gone by since they’d visited the site where his home used to stand. Making things grow in their garden and healing trees that were damaged in thunder storms had proven positive and strengthened him. He could sense much more around him also. Though no closer to finding Madame Cousteau, Reynaud was absolutely sure she was trying to reach him. The few hours here and there and a couple of days out of the week that Cameron took him to the site were not enough to conduct a proper search. He knew what needed to be done, but it was the last thing he wanted to do.
Gentle hands slid over his shoulders, bringing him from his thoughts. The slow massage over his tense muscles pushed away the unpleasant thoughts. He welcomed the arms that wrapped around his neck and hugged the back of his head.
“How long are you going to stare at that menu, Rey? Do you want Pierre to change something on it?”
“Huh?” Reynaud looked at the paper and shook his head, dropping the menu to the table. “No, love, it looks good.”
“Is something else wrong?”
Deciding against verbalizing his thoughts, Reynaud turned and kissed Cameron’s cheek. “No, I think I’m just tired. Let’s go to bed.”
Cameron stepped back as he pushed his chair away from the table. Reynaud took his hand and led him to their bedroom. Inside, he wasted no time disrobing his lover. Cameron ’s body had not lost its appeal. They had made love countless times over the last year and each day Reynaud wanted him more than the last. He was so grateful that Cameron seemed to feel the same way.
Reynaud let his gaze fall over his young love’s dimensions. He had long since memorized every line on his five-foot-six frame. The sun-bleached strands of his hair, the liquid gold of his eyes, even the scar along the side of his foot from stepping on a broken shell at the beach as a boy—all were locked in the recesses of Reynaud’s mind. He let his hands roam over Cameron’s torso, giving in to the need to touch him, to caress his shoulders and his chest—down his taut stomach and finally to his cock.
Cameron’s breath caught when Reynaud picked up a slow rhythm. His eyes closed and his head bobbed back. Reynaud loved the look of surrender that came across his lover’s face when he touched Cam.
Creolytes had a sixth sense about how to please their lovers. They were tuned in to them and in sync with what was needed. The sensations were even more potent when their lovers had no magic. The enchantment within them didn’t have to worry about incapability issues between magics. The Creolyte’s aura would surround them both, engulfing the human in a sense of overwhelming trust for him and inner peace, before leading the Creolyte to what his lover needed most.
Reynaud lowered his head and fused their mouths. Cameron groaned and opened for him, parting his lips to accept Reynaud’s tongue. His mouth was warm, soft, and wet, tasting of the sweet dessert they had concocted only a few hours ago. Greedily, Cameron returned his passion, no longer offering the tentative kisses Reynaud had received when they’d first gotten together.
Cameron pulled away from him to lean his head against Reynaud’s chest. He grunted and groaned, enjoying Reynaud’s administrations to his cock. The sounds were music to Reynaud’s ears.
“Rey…” Cameron moaned, rocking his hips up into Reynaud’s fist.
“Ah, yes… I know. Tell me you love me, Cameron. I need to hear it.”
“Yesss,” Cameron hissed. “I love you.”
The words floated from his mouth on a breathy wave, touching Reynaud’s heart. He scooped Cameron up and all but threw him across the bed. Cameron let out a startled yelp, but didn’t seem displeased by the action. Reynaud discarded his clothes with quick yanking movements. When the last article was dropped to the floor, he reached into the top drawer and removed the lube before joining Cameron on the bed. Squirting a dollop of gel onto his palm, Reynaud picked up where he had left off.
Cameron’s cock was wonderfully hard in his hand. Moments later, Cameron was close to coming again and Reynaud wanted to be there with him. He rose to his knees and threw his leg over Cameron’s slender hips then quickly took up stroking both their erections simultaneously.
Their groans of pleasure intertwined. Their sensitive flesh pressed against each other as his hand slid over them proved heavenly. When Reynaud could take no more, he released them, positioned his throbbing erection at Cameron’s opening and thrust. Cameron relaxed for him. He sank to the hilt with a gasp. Lowering his head, he devoured Cameron’s mouth, swallowing his blissful groans.
The connection between them went far deeper than his cock ever could. From the first moment, it had sparked something within his core. Each time with Cameron was better than the last. Pushing himself upright, Reynaud withdrew and returned, moaning his pleasure aloud. Over and over, he repeated the move going faster.
Cameron’s continued verbal encouragement increased his enjoyment. He reached between them to stroke his lover’s stiff member that Reynaud had left unattended. The sight made Reynaud’s blood burn. He quickened his pace. Sweet pressure filled his balls and a burst of bliss suffused his entire body. His orgasm raced through him, snatching a cry from his very soul when it reached crescendo. Cameron added his screams of ecstasy to the atmosphere and his cock emptied onto Reynaud’s hand soon after.
Careful not to collapse on top of his love, Reynaud held himself aloft on shaky arms, resting his head in the crook of Cameron’s neck. After a while, Reynaud lifted his head. Cameron opened his eyes to look up at him from under heavy lids. He smiled. Love and contentment shone back at Reynaud. The sight warmed Reynaud’s heart. He rolled onto the bed and pulled Cameron into his embrace.
He would miss Cameron terribly while he was gone, but Madame Cousteau would not be calling to him if it were not important. He knew that in his heart. So many emotions assailed him when Cameron took him to the spot where he could sense her. Was he still obligated to protect anyone else other than himself and Cameron? How could he fulfill his duty in protecting Cameron without knowing what Madame Cousteau needed? What if something had changed? What if something was go
ing on within the council that threatened him or their relationship? Torn over what to do, Reynaud let out a frustrated breath. Something was going on—that much he did know. Madame Cousteau needed his help and he could not ignore her. Just as sleep claimed him, Reynaud tightened his grip, silently promising Cameron that he would return as soon as possible.
Chapter Eight
Reynaud drove back to the section of town Cameron had taken him to before. He walked through the debris covering his former home and waited for something to direct him. A feeling, a spark, a vision—he longed for something supernatural to guide him and let him know he was doing the right thing, but nothing happened. The tingling he’d felt that first time he visited still remained, but the day moved onward with no further changes. The wreckage went on for miles. Reynaud wandered aimlessly, not knowing where he was going. By dusk, he was tired, thirsty and lost.
A crumbled structure loomed before him. The inside offered nothing for comfort and no roof for protection should it rain. Under the circumstances, Reynaud chose to remain outdoors, closer to nature. Huddling in a corner on a balding patch of hard ground, he was out of the wind. Resting his head against the dilapidated bricks, he thought of Cameron. When Reynaud returned, Cameron would be angry with him for leaving without saying goodbye. Cameron wouldn’t understand that he could not risk taking him along, not knowing where he was going. Putting Cameron in danger was something he could not do willingly.
The area around him had become black. The minuscule light left in the darkening sky couldn’t penetrate the thick foliage of the nearby trees. Right now, it would be the height of the dinner rush at the bistro. Cameron would be in the kitchen making sure dishes were prepared and delivered swiftly to the dining room. Reynaud had come to love the restaurant business and he really liked working by Cameron’s side doing the mundane things of life. With a sigh, he realized that he was truly alone for the first time since he’d returned to his human self.
