by Zoë Archer
“No! We will end this now!” Damien lunged at Rafaele. His teeth descended, ripping a gash in Rafaele’s throat. Blood spurted and pooled at their feet. Rafaele retaliated with his razor sharp claws, tearing into Damien’s flesh. More blood. The battle continued as the two enemies fought to the death.
A door creaked open and to Damien’s horror, Angelique stepped into the midst of the carnage.
Taking advantage of Damien’s shock, Rafaele slipped past him and grasped Angelique. He bent and drove his teeth into her neck, sucking what remained of her life force. Her eyes widened and her face drained of color. Rafaele dropped her lifeless body with a loud thump.
“What will you do now, Damien? Will you create another such as you or allow her to die?” Laughter filled the air as Rafaele fled the grisly scene.
Damien rushed to Angelique’s side and cradled her head in his lap. “Oh, my love. Because I could not fight my desire, you shall die. I cannot condemn you to my eternal hell. Forgive me.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “I am not afraid as long as I have you. Do not fight fate, Damien. Do what you must.”
“Ah, my love, you do not know what you ask.”
“We are not so different, you and I. I do know what you are, and it matters not. Destiny brought us together, let destiny bond us in eternity.”
Damien squeezed his eyes shut. If he were to save her, he had to act now or forever lose her. Decision made, he tore open his wrist and pressed it against her lips. She suckled, drawing forth the strength needed to survive.
Her body twisted and contorted from the agony of the transformation, and Damien held her close until her body accepted the change. What had he done?
“Oh, Angelique, my angel, I am sorry. So sorry.” He bent and kissed her fevered brow. “The pain will soon pass.” Pulling her trembling body tighter into the cradle of his arms, he lifted his head. A single tear slipped down his face. The first and only tear he’d shed in over five centuries.
~~~
Pain seared through Angelique so intense she prayed for death. Cool lips touched her heated flesh and the agony subsided. She looked into Damien’s golden eyes and observed the sweet compassion of her eternal mate. Never again would she be alone or be judged for her unique gift. Love warmed her chilled skin from the inside out.
“I love you,” Damien said as his lips descended upon hers. “I’ll love you forever.” She felt complete. No matter what challenges they faced, as long as they were together, everything would work out.
“And I love you.” Angelique smiled and lifted her lips for another kiss. When she’d arrived at court, she never dreamed she would find the one person who could accept her strange abilities.
Abilities?
She stiffened and sucked in a breath. How had she forgotten why she’d come to court in the first place? She must warn the king.
“What is the matter?” Worry shadowed Damien’s eyes.
“I have something to tell you.” She swallowed the rising lump in her throat. “You probably won’t believe me—well, yes, you might now—but the king is in great danger. That is why I came to court. To warn him. I couldn’t tell you before, when you first asked me, because I was afraid of how you would view my…abilities. People have threatened to kill me in the past because I am…different.”
Damien ignored her rambling. “What kind of danger?”
“Danger from within his own circle. Someone plots treachery for the Jacobite cause. We must go to him immediately. He must know.” She started to rise, but Damien pulled her back, embracing her tightly against his comforting warmth.
“It is already taken care of, my love. That is why I had to leave you earlier today and return to the king.”
“But, how—”
He silenced her with a tender kiss.
“It is my duty to know what happens around my king. I have taken on the responsibility of seeing that England remains safe. Let us just say I have my own means of extracting information. There is nothing left for you to worry about. Trust me. Now, where were we?” His lips recaptured hers, and she gave in to the wild heat of her passion.
Lancelot pounced and landed on Angelique, breaking the kiss. What about me?
What about you, puss? Damien roughly patted Lancelot’s head.
Perplexed, Lancelot stared at Damien.
Angelique laughed. For once you are tongue-tied.
When did he start infiltrating our minds? Lancelot scrunched his face into a scowl. Besides, I thought I was your companion. He lifted his nose in the air and pouted.
Angelique pulled Lancelot closer. We are all companions now.
Perfect companions. Damien squeezed both of them in a tight possessive embrace.
Yes, perfect. Angelique purred in contentment.
~~~
England The severest penalties will be suffered by any commoner who doth permit his animal to have carnal knowledge of a pet of the Royal House
(enacted by George I)
Ice Capade
Candace Gold
I’m in love with a butcher—plain and simple. Never thought this would happen. Since Mama told me it was just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it was a poor one, like most girls, I set out to meet and fall in love with a doctor or lawyer. There was one hitch in her advice, though. She neglected to tell me where to find one or how to teach my heart to be more discriminating.
When I first walked into Smith’s Meats to buy dinner for that night, it definitely wasn’t love at first sight. As Jake Bronson ambled over to wait on me, my eyes were immediately drawn to his apron, splattered with dark splotches of dried blood and then to the huge, menacingly looking meat cleaver in his right hand. It was only on my second perusal of this mountain of a man I noticed his thick blue-black head of hair tumbling down to the back of his shirt collar. The kind of hair you wanted to curl your fingers around. His smiling hazel eyes, thin straight nose and full, pillowed lips rounded out a most attractive looking face. Without the props, he seemed quite an appealing package.
“May I get you something?” he asked, setting the meat cleaver on a cutting board.
As he smiled, two dimples matched the sexy deep cleft in his chin. Those smiling eyes, however, weren’t looking at my face. They roamed leisurely over my body.
“A nice pork chop, please.”
“One?” His eyes snapped up to my face and looked at me as if I’d suddenly grown a second head.
“Yes. I only need one.”
With the recent sale of an article I’d written for a magazine, this was to be my celebratory dinner. Living alone, I rarely cooked.
“No one buys only one,” he replied with an air of authority.
Says who? Anger crept into my voice. “Well, I do. Now will you please give me my pork chop or do I need to go someplace else?”
He shrugged, pulled out a tray and selected one chop. However, from the way he ripped off a sheet of freezer paper and slapped the chop down, I knew he must be steaming. I watched him deftly wrap it, then hand it to me. “Anything else, ma’am?”
“No. That’s all, thank you.” I began to walk away, still annoyed with the man’s rudeness.
“You know, you shouldn’t eat alone,” he called after me.
That does it! Who the devil does he think he is? I stormed back to the counter to confront him. My personal life was just that—personal.
“And what’s it to you?”
He gave me that stupid shrug again. How I hated that simple movement.
“Figured a pretty gal like you should have company.”
“That, sir, is none of your concern.”
“Maybe. But there are lots of things I care about.” Again his eyes seemed to roam appreciatively over my chest.
He certainly wasn’t winning points with me. Too bad, since he was quite good looking. Busy with my own thoughts, I missed the last thing he’d said.
“Well, how do you intend to do it?” he asked.
What the devil is he talking abou
t now? “Do what?”
“Cook the chop?”
I couldn’t stop myself. I looked at him as if he were crazy. Why did he care how I cooked the damn thing? Next he’d ask me how I intended to chew it. Narrowing my eyes, I placed my hands on my hips and glared.
“Put it in a pan and fry it,” I answered, defiantly.
Suddenly his face darkened like a winter’s sky, his voice grew cold and lashing. “Are you nuts, lady? How can you take a beautiful piece of meat and murder it?”
“Excuse me? You can cook it better?” I challenged, leaning over the counter.
“You bet, I can,” he replied with more than a hint of contempt.
His tone infuriated me, but those eyes held me captive. Didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to let him have the last word. “What does a man know about cooking?”
“A great deal…and I can prove it!” His glare met mine.
“Sure you can,” I taunted.
“You don’t believe me? I’ll come home with you tonight and show you how to cook pork chops properly,” he challenged.
“Then you’d better bring another to replace this one when you ruin it.”
All at once the realization of what had just taken place hit me. I’d just invited a total stranger to my apartment to cook dinner for me. How had I allowed it to happen? Before I could open my mouth to switch feet, he sealed the deal.
“I close the shop in forty minutes. Give me your address.” He handed me a pencil and small, green order pad to write it down.
I felt as if I’d signed my own death sentence. The way he handled that meat cleaver, he could be a murderer. After all, he was a butcher.
I sped home as if possessed, not knowing what to do first. Should I straighten the apartment, shower, make certain the oven is working? “Hold it!” I scolded myself, speaking to an empty apartment. “Listen to what you’re saying. Just because he’s handsome and seemed interested in you, you’re tripping over your tongue. You’re acting like an adolescent. Pull yourself together, girl. He’ll be here soon. And for heaven’s sake, don’t act as if you haven’t gone out on a date for ages.”
By the time the handsome butcher knocked on my door, I’d cleared the old newspapers off the extra kitchen chair and put away the dishes in the drying rack. Good housekeeping would never be added to my resumé. It was even further below my cooking skills.
He walked inside carrying a package of meat, a bottle of wine and a single long-stemmed red rose. I was confused. First he chastised me for premeditated murder of a pork chop and now he comes waltzing in as if he were going to wine and dine me and…who was this guy?
There was an embarrassed half-smile plastered on the man’s face. “Hello…?”
“MaryAnn. My name is MaryAnn Hedges.”
The red hue quickly faded from his face and his smile became whole again. “I’m Jake Bronson.”
“Come in, Mr. Bronson. Sorry, it’s not much,” I apologized, suddenly ashamed of my studio apartment with the secondhand furnishings. Unfortunately, big bucks don’t come with my job description at the bank.
“It kinda looks like mine.” He walked toward the small wrought-iron kitchen table where he put the meat and wine down. “And I’m Jake—not Mr. Bronson.”
“I’ll take that.” I reached out for the rose and placed it into a half-filled water glass, making a mental note to invest in a vase.
“If we’re gonna eat sometime tonight, I’d better start cooking,” Jake said, eyeing my kitchen.
“Can I help?”
“You can get me the stuff I need—breadcrumbs, salt, pepper, cornstarch, garlic, oil, tomatoes—”
“Whoa! Slow down. You lost me.”
“Sorry. I’ll find the things I need myself. You set the table—or better still—make a salad. You do have fresh vegetables in the fridge, don’t you?”
Luckily, I did. For some reason I felt like having a salad yesterday and had stopped at the market on the way home from work.
I nodded, feeling good about having done something right. Opening and closing my cabinet doors, Jake quickly busied himself gathering the ingredients he needed. He looked like he knew his way around a kitchen. This aroused my curiosity as well as something else I couldn’t yet quite define.
Ripping apart the lettuce, I asked, “Where did you learn to cook?”
He continued to bread the chops without turning to face me. “My mother died when I was thirteen. Being the oldest of four kids and Dad working two jobs, I had no choice.”
I wondered what other things he could do as well.
It wasn’t long before the kitchen smelled wonderful. A home cooked meal was another thing I’d not had in ages.
I set the table. There was little room to put anything in addition to the plates, glasses and silverware. Even so, I put the rose in the center. This space problem had never arisen before. I usually ate dinner at the sink out of the pot.
I watched Jake as he placed everything on platters. Not only was he an attractive man, my instincts shouted he was one I’d like to get to know better. Could it just be my loneliness talking? It had been some time since I’d had a meaningful relationship.
“Have you a corkscrew?” Jake interrupted my thoughts.
“Yes. I’ll get it.” I walked toward my so-called junk drawer where I kept miscellaneous items. The only problem was once you took something out, the drawer rarely closed again. This time, I was lucky and only struggled a few moments before I succeeded. I handed it to him and he removed the cork like a pro.
We sat and began to eat. The man could cook and I was impressed. All the men I’d known in my life, including my dad, only went into the kitchen to eat. Cooking was alien. Only women and wusses cooked.
“Jake, this is delicious. This is the best pork chop I’ve ever eaten.”
He broke into a grin. “You ought to see what else I can do—”
“Shouldn’t we wait for the third date?” I replied, trying to repress a smile.
He began to laugh. “I was referring to my chicken specialty.”
“Of course you were.”
After breaking the ice, we talked about ourselves and tried to learn as much as possible about each other. I’d rather hear all about him, though. Not having what you’d call a sterling childhood, I tried to forget it ever existed, let alone discuss it. A gambler who lost not only his job, my dad lost the household savings and insurance as well. At her wit’s end, Mom left him, forcing her to struggle to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.
Jake stayed until 11:30. We’d had such a good time, I agreed to a real date for the following Saturday. I went to bed wondering if he were the one man put on this earth for me. From what I could see at this point, he certainly met all the criteria.
~~~
Anticipating our date, the week flew by. Jake took me to his favorite steak house for dinner. Afterward we went to play pool. He’d brought his own cue stick and knew how to use it.
“My grandfather taught me how to play when I was seven.”
“I don’t want to ruin your game. I’ll watch you play—”
“Don’t be silly. It’s fun. Come here. I’ll show you.”
I took the cue and he put his arms around me to guide the shot. Being in such close proximity, his aftershave intoxicated me and my skin tingled where he touched me. Forget the game! For the first time in my life, I wanted to lose myself in someone else.
“It’s all in the angles,” he told me, but I found it hard to concentrate.
He made it seem so easy. No matter how bad I played, he patiently encouraged me. I was beginning to catch on when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, his easy smile quickly replaced by a look of apprehension.
“Gotta take this.” Without another word, he walked out of earshot.
As I attempted to hit the seven ball into the pocket, I watched him gesture as he spoke.
Whoever had called him clearly wasn’t on his Christmas list. The call was quick and he returned i
n a sour mood.
“Sorry.”
I didn’t want to pry, but I was concerned. “Are you okay?”
“Couldn’t be better,” he spat. “Let’s get out of here. I need some air.”
Without another word, he put his cue stick back into its case and we left. He took me home.
As he walked me to my apartment, I asked, “Would you like to come in for coffee or wine?”
He shook his head. “I have to get up early tomorrow and open up.”
“Maybe next time.”
“Sure.”
He began to walk away, leaving me disappointed. Then as if reading my mind, Jake walked back and kissed me. He had the most kissable lips and sent me spinning. Still reeling, I heard him say, “I’ll call you,” before he left.
I chalked up his change in behavior to having to cover another guy’s shift. No one likes to ever go in on their day off. I should know. I often had to do it at the bank.
~~~
Jake and I continued to date and I fell in love with him. In my heart I knew he was the guy I wanted to share my life with—until I discovered another side of him.
We were having a great time at the State Fair acting like a pair of kids when his cell phone rang. Jake looked upset, reminding me of the night in the pool hall. However, this time, I heard him reply. “Okay, okay, I told you…I’ll have the money by next Wednesday.”
My stomach knotted. Jake had either borrowed money from a loan shark, or worse, lost a bet. Thanks to my dad, I’d had my fill of gamblers and swore I’d never get involved with one. Never could I go through what my mom had with my dad.
“What’s wrong, Jake?”
“This doesn’t concern you.”
“Hey, I love you. What kind of future could we have together if you don’t trust me?” I asked, half-wanting not to know.
“I bet on the ponies. It was a sure thing.”
“My father used to tell my mother the same thing. You know what’s definite?”
“I know. Death and taxes. I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
