Victoria Cage Necromancer: The First Three Books (Victoria Cage Necromancer Omnibus Book 1)

by Eli Constant

  “In more of a hurry than I should be.” His hands have left my blouse and he’s leaned down so that his head rests against my chest, the great mass of his body fits awkwardly on the couch because of the way he’s moved against me. He tilts his head so that his eyes can look at me. And they are bedroom eyes, full of promises.

  “I doubt many girls have made you wait this long. I just need to be sure.” And I did, dammit. Especially since my most recent experience involved a dark fairy and his… God, I can’t even call whatever the hell that was a penis.

  “I understand.” He lowers his head again to nuzzle his face against my shirt; it will smell like vanilla and citrus, like the detergent and fabric softener I always mix in the wash.

  “Do you?” I run my hands through his thick, dark hair. It reaches past his shoulders now. He’s been talking about getting it cut, but I can’t stand the thought of sheering off the glossy, near-black strands.

  “Yes.”

  That singular word hits me in the heart, a veritable cupid’s arrow. I know he does understand. That he will go on, as long as necessary, enjoying my company without the promise of sex. He will let me take him to the very edge of everything and then pull back. We’ll entwine and kiss and get almost to the oneness that is the most close a man and woman can be, and he will not vilify me when I cannot go all the way.

  And, god, that makes me want to go all the way.

  “We should move to the bedroom.” I whisper it in his ear, bending over so that my breasts push into his hair.

  “Hmm?” He’s lost in the scent of me, in the feel of us just sitting on the sofa together.

  Again, his acceptance of so little in response to all he offers—in the response to his declaration of love—makes me hungrier for him. To give him what we both need, what we both want.

  “We should move to the bedroom.” This time, I do not whisper it. I grip his hair in both my hands and I roughly push his head so that he’s looking at me and there’s no chance—absolutely no chance in the ether—that he can misunderstand my meaning.

  He doesn’t say anything, but he stands and somehow he manages to lift me off the couch with him so that I am clinging to his body, legs around his waist and arms around his neck. I don’t know how we don’t bump into every table, lamp, and wall in the place. Because he certainly doesn’t look where he’s going and it’s not possible for me to. I’m turned the other way, lips pressed against his, and we are kissing each other so deeply that I think one of us might eat the other up.

  I’ve never seen Kyle naked. Without a shirt, sure. In his boxers, sure. But I’ve never seen the whole package. He’s thick and long inside his jeans, hard before we’re even into the bedroom. When he sits me down on the edge of the bed, I lift his shirt, exposing his chiseled stomach, and I sigh. I can’t help it. It’s girlish and predictable, but I can’t help it.

  He’s nude before I am. Gloriously freaking nude. His tall and muscular frame nearly blocks out the only light spilling into the room from the opened bedroom door. We don’t turn any more lights on; we’re too involved in each other to care how dim it is. And besides, I can see his perfection just fine.

  I’m nervous when he leans over and undoes the rest of the buttons on my blouse. He does it slowly, one by one, savoring the moment. He’s seen me in my underwear. This isn’t anything new, but it is new in that… for the first time, we’re going all the way. We’re relinquishing whatever secrets about our physical bodies are left. I see the birthmark on his right hip, just above the hard line that’s always peeking out from the waist of his pants. I see a little scar on his upper thigh, a patch of skin that’s always been hidden from me.

  I let him slide my shirt off when it’s laid open to fully expose my bra. He pushes me against the bed and unzips my jeans, the single button holding them closed pops open of its own volition, as if my pants are just as happy to be getting on with this part of our relationship as I am.

  When I’m lying on the bed in nothing save for my lace-trimmed underwear (thank god I’d done laundry this week and wasn’t down to just my granny panties in the closet), Kyle stands over me for a moment, his eyes roving the length of me more than once. And then the calm before the storm ends, and he joins me on the bed.

  We’re spent on foreplay. We’ve been teasing around this for months and months. He unhooks my bra with a one-handed motion and I pull it off my body, tossing it to the floor as he cups my breasts and begins to knead them. His lips meet mine once more and the world goes hazy. It’s a wonderful fog though, nothing like the confusion of pain or being surrounded by a curtain of spirits. This is lovely euphoria. Something I am gladly lost in.

  “God, Tori. I’ve wanted you so bad.” His words are garbled, his mouth moving around my right nipple. His breath is warm, whispering against my skin and sending shivers up my spine.

  “Then take me.” My back arches as he bites down, his teeth sinking softly into the delicate skin of my breast.

  My words and jerk of pleasure are enough for him. He moves lower, licking my waist right above the trail of lace where my panties begin. And then he’s pulling them off and I’m raising my ass into the air to help him along.

  He lifts himself onto his knees, pushing his hair back with one hand. He gazes at me again and I squirm under the stare. “Beautiful.” Is all he says before he grabs me under each knee and pulls me toward him. Perfectly positioned.

  The first time was quick and hard, our sexual appetites finally sated. The second… and third times… were decidedly longer.

  By the time we’re finally content, panting in one another’s arms, the sun is rising outside. A glorious Monday.

  Chapter Ten

  At some point, I fall asleep.

  When I wake up, the sun is fully raised and Kyle isn’t in bed, but I can smell the coffee. I want to race right out and kiss him (just a fast one to say good morning. It’s the only thing that I’d prioritize over coffee), but it’s Monday and I have a funeral starting at two. So, first things first. I need a shower.

  As the water hits me, I feel light as air. Wet of course, but still light as air. I don’t know why we waited so long now. I mean, six months isn’t really that long to hold off from a sexual relationship and I never planned on tying the knot first or anything. Although I’m surprised Kyle didn’t push for that since he was the religious one and I’m not. He seemed fine with waiting, but I could feel his pulse quicken when we let things get a little too far. I could feel the bulge in his pants that said he was happy to see me, too. He’d wanted me more than he’d admitted.

  Regardless, there is just a wonderful weight lifted from my shoulders. I guess I hadn’t realized how hangry my nether-regions were getting.

  More important than satisfying the girl downstairs though, opening myself to Kyle physically has helped me decide to trust him. To give him my honesty as well as my body. That’s how it’s always been with me I guess. Adam and I didn’t wait so long. We were high school sweethearts with high school hormones, but I trusted him. I trusted him with every bit of me, even the ugly parts.

  I smile the whole time I’m washing my hair, scrubbing my stomach, shaving my legs. I smile as I’m getting dressed in the pin stripe pants suit and pink silk top with the little tie at the neck. I’m smiling as I slip into my dress socks and push little onyx studs into my ears. I’m smiling as I nearly skip down the hall, expecting to see Kyle sitting at the table drinking his coffee and looking delicious.

  He’s not at the table though.

  He’s not drinking coffee.

  And I find that it’s totally unfair that he can still be looking delicious as he sits in the chair next to the sofa—with all of its cushions tilted up to expose the fabric over the frame work—reading my notebooks. He’s got one in his hand and one in his lap.

  What kind of idiot forgets to re-hide proof that she’s a zombie-raising freak of nature?

  Oh, right. I’m that kind of idiot.

  “Kyle, I…”

  H
e looks up at me, but I’m lost for words.

  “This is what you’ve been hiding?” He stares at me, his face blank. I find that blankness more disturbing than any fear or rage.

  I don’t even nod. I just stand there, silent and afraid. Jim said I could trust him. Had he been wrong?

  “All the times you were talking in a room and you’d go quiet as I entered. All the times you’ve done things that were a bit unusual, but I just passed it off as a quirky personality. How you found the girls last year and the body in the lot next to the bar.” He ticks things off, proof upon proof to add to the books he’s been devouring. “This is a hell of a secret, Tori.”

  Why can’t I say anything? Why am I just standing like a mute moron? I want to yell at myself, yell at him for reading my private things, yell at life in general for dealing me this hand. But I do nothing. I say nothing. I do not even feel myself blinking.

  Kyle stands from the chair, letting the notebook on his lap fall to the floor. It hits with a clunk and he looks down at it absentmindedly. “Did you see my dad after he died?”

  This question seems important to him; he doesn’t look at me, but I can feel his desperation to know the answer. When I’m quiet for a moment, his eyes lift to look at me. I cannot manage to speak, but now I do nod. He shudders, tosses the book in his hand onto the exposed underpart of the sofa and turns away from me.

  If we were as close as two people can physically be last night, now we are oceans apart. We are on separate continents of fear and distrust.

  Finally, I untangle my tongue and I speak. “You asked for me to be honest. Can you see now why I hesitated? If people knew what I am, I’d be killed just for existing, just for being born. It wouldn’t matter how much good I’ve done in my life.”

  He still stays turned away, his shoulders hunched down, like he is gathering himself inward.

  “And look,” I point even though he can’t see, “look how you’re reacting. If someone who says he loves me can act this way, then how can I ever trust anyone? I’m good, Kyle.” I will him to believe me. “I’m a good person.”

  Still he does not look at me or respond.

  “Jim was wrong.” Tears are streaming down my face. “He was wrong. He said you’d understand and that I should let you in and trust you.” Sobs attack my body and it is my turn to hunch over, arms wrapped so tight around myself that I know I’ll leave bruises. But it’s the only way to keep myself from falling totally apart. “He was wrong.”

  I bolt then, grabbing my black flats from beside the door along with my purse. I swing open the front door, not bothering to reclose it. I hear Kyle’s voice saying something in the distance as I reach the bottom of the stairs. I don’t want to know what it is. I don’t want to hear the words that would put his disgust of me into keen and undeniable perspective. I can’t handle what will follow that.

  I want to get into the Bronco and drive away, but I can’t. I have a funeral in an hour.

  I’d thought it was going to be a glorious Monday. I’d made love to the man that I… I love. God, I love him. And he’s scared of me. Glorious damn Monday my ass.

  I push through the door into the lower part of the Victorian and I lock it behind me, throwing the upper bolt so that he can’t get in, even if he uses the second spare key in the kitchen utensil drawer.

  Hopefully he’ll leave, just leave me in peace to wait until he tells authorities and sends them to burn me.

  Love is supposed to be passionate and hot. A flame only in terms of desire. But my love for Kyle was going to lead to fire, literal and burning.

  I scream. I scream like a feral cat and then I slump down to the floor.

  “Tori, are you okay?” I nearly jump out of my skin as Dean appears, rounding the corner from the service room. Max is behind him. Seeing Max, his dirty blonde hair cut shaggy around his ears and his hands shoving restlessly in and out of his pockets, I think again how this job is just a paycheck and I wonder when he’ll decide he’s had enough of the dead.

  I hang my head, cradling my face in my hands. “Yes, shit, sorry. My week has just started out like shit.”

  “Well, you might want to pull it together, because the family of Mr. Donahue is already here. They called early this morning wanting to bring in a few more personal items and see that the room is exactly how they wanted.” Dean’s voice is calm and professional.

  My eyes go wide. I look around the parlor, realizing that I do hear other voices whispering. “Shit.” I mutter and stand, smoothing out my pants suit and picking up my purse and the lipstick and cell phone that have snuck out after the floor impact. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be back.”

  When I enter my office, closing the door behind me, I feel like I’m going into shock.

  But I can’t be. Because I have a funeral to handle.

  I don’t want to face the dead, even the soulless shell of Mr. Donahue, set beautifully in his pale white coffin with the black satin interior. His two-sizes-too-big tailored suit pinned beneath him so it does not swallow him up.

  Knock, knock, knock. “Tori?” It’s Dean’s voice, once again pulling me towards the land of the living. “I know they’re early, but others are arriving too. We need you out here and I can’t find the programs.”

  I look over at my desk, at the large brown mailing envelope that contains seventy-five folding pamphlets talking about the departed’s military service, his work with the poor, and how much he loved his wife and children. Of course, I knew the darkness in his heart. I’d felt it as I’d prepared his body, as I’d felt him get pulled into the anti-ether. He’d killed, unnecessarily, during his tours overseas. I’d seen their faces as he’d looked me in the eyes. Children clinging to their mothers. Boys holding guns they did not even know how to fire.

  I’m glad he’s gone, but I felt the rage as he’d dissolved. He’ll be malevolent, most definitely used by the anti-ether for some nefarious task or other.

  Okay, time to pull up the big girl pants and get the hell on with this. My hands are shaking as I pull out the brochures and look at Mr. Donahue’s smiling face front and center. Not a nice man at all.

  Don’t get me wrong, people do redeem themselves. They can do terrible, horrible things and still find peace in the ether. Mr. Donahue just wasn’t one of them. Despite all the lovely things he’d done on the surface, he just wasn’t one of them.

  When I open my door and walk out, I’ve got the world’s most professional smile plastered across my face. “Show must go on.” I flippantly tell Dean and Mark, who are both standing looking nervous outside my office. “Why are you both here? We never leave the door unmanned during a service and we never leave attendees without supervision near the coffin.” I hand Dean the brochures.

  Both of my employees continue to stand in front of me, unmoving. “Well, go.” I ‘tsk, tsk’ and they both scurry away in front of me.

  As I’m walking past the front door, I look out the window to the left of the entrance. My heart sinks.

  The Thunderbird is gone. Kyle drives it now, having sold his car. I never see him use the motorcycle. I asked once, back in November. He’d simply said it was too cold to ride, but I think he doesn’t use it anymore because his Dad is dead and being on it reminds him. The Thunderbird holds the same memory, but not as keenly for some reason. Maybe it’s because Jim was quirky about the motorcycle and never got his endorsement to ride one. Training can be had unofficially; the legal checkmark to actually ride is a different story. And they’re pretty strict about that in South Carolina now, after a rash of bike-related deaths a few years ago.

  The funeral goes smoothly, not a single hiccup… well, save for me screaming in the hallway while Mr. Donahue’s wife and children stood in the service room around their father’s dead body.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kyle tries to call Monday evening, but I ignore it. He doesn’t leave a message. If he really had something to say, something that would make a difference, he’d leave a message.

  At l
east, that’s what I tell myself.

  I need to get out, go on another run. Anything to get me out of the house and away from thinking about how Kyle had looked as he’d sat reading my journals. I could talk to Terrance. He could help me. But I don’t want to bring him in to it, not unless my relationship with Kyle is over and I need damage control.

  Who I really need, who I really want, is Liam. I still can’t believe he’s just gone away without a word. I don’t care that he was upset that Kyle and I were dating, he shouldn’t have done that. He’s supposed to be my protector. That’s what he said. So where the hell is he when I need protecting?

  You don’t really need protecting. This is heart damage, not body.

  I tell my rational mind to shut the hell up. She isn’t wanted.

  I don’t put on my running shoes. Or change into my running clothes. I just grab my purse and I leave. I’m feeling so aimless, every part of my crying out for a change. So much so that I don’t care how the change comes or what it ends up being.

  It starts snowing shortly after I leave. Big giant drops of powdery whiteness that hit the windshield and whoosh into a thousand tiny particles. I don’t pay attention to the turns I’m taking, the roads I’m on. I’m lead by pure, unfocused desire. It’s overwhelming.

  In the same way that Kyle and I had been overwhelmed with passion last night, giving ourselves to one another again and again.

  Until it had all turned to total shit.

  I shake my head roughly. The snow is coming down harder. No longer powdery and non-stick, no longer flurries making the world look wintery and wonderful. It is changing into a blizzard and I think the news has underestimated how much we will get into the evening and early morning.

  Soon, it is to the point where I have to lean far forward and peer through the windshield, the wipers going full tilt, to see anything at all. I blink rapidly, trying to ensure there’s nothing in the road ahead.