by Aila Cline
He had gray at him temples. I judged him around forty or so, probably with a wife at home, perhaps just getting off work. He tentatively offered me a smile back, but could not stop his eyes from traveling down to my bra-less tank top. I just smiled prettily again, then turned to listen to a service which I could not understand in the least. Every once in a while I would hear the word “padre,” which I knew meant “father.” But for all the Portuguese I knew, the priest could have been speaking of his breakfast that morning.
Before long, the man next to me was glancing at different parts of my body more and more. I just crossed my legs and pretended to remain focused on the priest. I could smell his excitement though, practically pouring out of him. He was the same type of man I had seen wandering the streets at dusk: olive-complexion, onyx eyes, and an average, stocky build which suggested he ate well enough. His clothes recommended the same, and while they were certainly worn, they hadn’t been torn and mended like some of the younger men’s clothes out on the street. Overall, he was a choice candidate
The service finally ended. The other patrons, rustling in their haste with their parcels picked up before coming here, left almost silently. The man beside me stood, and I could see the outline of his interest through his cotton plans.
His greeting was quiet, almost hoarse. “Como vai você?” he asked.
I grinned sweetly and shrugged. “I don’t speak Portuguese.”
With a furrowed brow, he sighed. His next words sounded sarcastic: “Ingles? Que bom!” He reached down and tugged at my hand, bringing it to his lips. “Venha comigo.”
“That is not a good idea,” barked a voice from the front of the church. It was the priest, who had never left, but stayed to witness the exchange. Nosy bastard. The priest looked at the man next to me and said rapidly, “Como vai você? O que é isto?”
The man next to me murmured some things too quickly for me to pick them up, but it sounded like an ornate apology. I almost growled at the priest as the older man hurried away. The heavy wooden door slammed behind him as he left, and my irritation set in amazingly fast. The thrumming in my body would have to wait to be satiated now.
I scowled at the priest and turned to leave. His voice trailed after me as I made for the door.
“Are you in need of help, sister?” he asked with all the naivety I expected from his order. A plan coming to mind, I let a slow smile cross my face as I turned on my heel.
I walked slowly up to him, letting my hips sway with the walk. Unlike the man from the service, he had his body and his eyes under complete control. I stopped within two paces of him and leaned up, letting my lips brush his ear.
“I am in need of help,” I whispered in my best seductive voice. “You see, I am completely and utterly desperate for a man to be inside me.”
I felt his entire body stiffen next to mine and he attempted, to no avail, to distance himself from me. I was so close that I felt the heat from the blush in his cheeks and heard him swallow nervously.
“Desculpe, irmã. This is God’s house. I think you are in the wrong place if you are seeking that kind of comfort.” He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, attempting once more to make room between us without stepping away from me. I suppose he thought that would have been rude. “Let me offer you some coffee.”
I gave a sexy gurgle and pushed my body completely against his so that there was no space between us, wrapping my arms around his neck. I felt his cock stiffen through the loose robes he wore. He grabbed my wrists and pulled them from around his neck, finally taking that step back to create a gap between us. I tilted my head and looked obliquely down at the swelling beneath his clothes. He, too, began to emit the pheromones that told me his body wanted me, even if his will did not consent. His eyes met mine, and they were dark and heavy with lust.
“I cannot, irmã,” he said in a desperate last attempt to keep me from my next move. “Por favor, compreenda-me when I say that I cannot do this thing that you want.”
I ignored his plea, putting one hand on his chest and another around his waist. The hand on his chest began to sensually slide down his stomach, playfully twirling and twisting in the material. I slid even closer to him again. He did not fight me this time. His breathing quickened and he closed his eyes. When my hand reached his sturdy pants, I did not even have to seek out a zipper. They were just soft breeches, built for utility. My fingers easily found his manhood and began to make the same twirls and twists they had with his shirt.
“Now doesn’t that feel good?” I purred. “Why would you fight?”
He groaned in response, his body starting to respond to my caresses, his hips involuntarily moving against my arm.
“Por favor, não,” he begged quietly. “This is the sanctuary of God. You must respect the santuário.”
I looked around at the wooden planks surrounding us, the long rug beneath our feet, and the tiny altar with the sacrament wine and bread. The soft lull of his randomly inserted Portuguese only quickened the pulse between my legs. His voice sounded so much like Luka’s.
“Shhhh,” I said, placing my free hand over his lips while cupping his scrotum. His almost fearful look as I leaned in to kiss him slightly amused me, but I found his lips soft and pliant. When my tongue slipped into his mouth, he gave another predictable groan and wrapped his arms around me. I let his hands explore my upper body while keeping his mouth busy with mine. Both of his hands found my breasts and did not stray. Instead, he squeezed lightly as if he would hurt me and soon his squeezes matched the rhythm of my ministrations to his member. I felt his balls go tight and stopped.
“No, no, no,” I scolded gently. “Not yet. A true gentleman lets a woman have her way first.” I giggled. “At least, that’s what I hope.”
I pushed him then, hard. Taken by surprise, he staggered, but did not fall. He looked up at me with those wide, innocent eyes again. I suddenly had a revelation.
“Are you a virgin?” I asked bluntly.
He paused before speaking. I almost laughed. It was such a delicious moment, to see a man being a natural man—instead of a priest—and considering a lie to make himself look more experienced, more virile. Finally, his morality won.
“Yes,” he admitted a little harshly. My question seemed to reinforce his nerve from earlier. “And I will stay pure for God. Do not approach me again with your unclean intentions.” Each word was spoken with something akin to anger.
“Are you actually angry with me?” I asked with a false pout. “Or are you upset because I hurt your pride?” I laughed softly. “No one will ever know about this, so just come here.” I beckoned to him with a crook of my finger. “Let me show you how to please a woman.”
He did not come to me, nor did he answer either of my questions. The irritation I had felt earlier for him was starting to grow into anger. My body ached for release, for the Change even. This stubborn priest had already denied me my easy prey this evening. If I had to work any harder to use him for my release, I would be seriously pissed. No man was worth this much effort.
I continued to speak to him softly, keeping my anger in check. “Come here,” I said again. “I already know that you want me. There is nothing wrong with wanting a woman.”
He crossed his arms, his dark eyes glowing with passion, but whether it was for me or his God—or both—I could not know. “You know nothing of faith then, woman, and I pity you. It is time for you to leave. Corra! Go. And do not return unless you seek penance for your sins. Que Deus tenha misericórdia de sua alma.”
I rolled my eyes. “I thought we had established that I don’t speak Portuguese.” A sigh escaped my lips in frustration and my voice rose in contemptuous anger. “Look. Just lay down and let me fuck you. I’m completely positive it won’t take long. It won’t hurt. In fact, it’ll feel very much the opposite. If you fucking relax, you may even enjoy it.”
His look of disgust infuriated me.
“You are an animal. Please leave.”
I felt the growl ris
e up from my chest. His eyes went wide yet again, but this time they shone with fear. This time I did not sidle up to him, I closed the gap between us with three angry strides and grabbed the front of his pants, pulling him face-to-face with me.
Lycanti are not any stronger than regular human beings. We are faster, and we are vicious, but it is our fearlessness which frightens other humans while we are in human form. When I spoke this time, my voice held none of the musical, seductive cadence from before.
“Go ahead. Call me that again, Father.”
His mouth hung open and his eyes had glazed over. What confidence he had demonstrated earlier disappeared as he stammered an apology.
The rage finally slipped over me like a dark coverlet, my vision blurring at the edges.
“You should have fucked me when you had the chance,” I snarled, feeling the Change possess me. “Because now you’ll die a virgin.”
I left his blood as an offering that night on the altar, a symbol of how my Lycanti blood had finally ascended to the apex of my soul.
Shasta
Washington state was a nice place to be that time of year. We moved quickly from our house in California, opting to take the train instead of a flight or a car. We booked a private car. If Emily Changed again, we would be the only ones who suffered.
As it was, Emily felt pretty bad about attacking Rachel and me. She kept saying something about hormones and becoming “more Lycanti every day,” and how we had to hurry and take her to Lenora. I got the feeling she was also tired of being a buffet for Delilah, Rachel, and me, especially after Delilah suggested we all get together for drinks (“A little whisky and blood never hurt anyone, right girls?”). At least Delilah’s drinking night didn’t come around; instead, we got on the train that Saturday.
Rachel watched her closely, but Emily put on some headphones and napped most of the way. Her pregnant belly created a bump underneath her sweatshirt, making me wonder where the father was. It wasn’t Will, I knew that much. The timing didn’t fit. And it couldn’t have been Luka, even though she spoke of him with a look in her eyes that I was coming to hate. It made me want to claw her eyes out, but then I remembered that Luka hated me for what I am. I had to swallow my feelings repeatedly and just try to not speak to Emily. I was pretty successful for the most part. She seemed nervous around me, and I was terrified of her. Rachel was the one she turned to for comfort.
And amazingly, Rachel responded. They would talk for hours about nothing and about everything. Rai had a soothing effect on Emily now. It was as if those scars on my best friend’s arm were from some old bike accident instead of a vicious mauling by the werewolf sharing a train car with us. I tried not to, but I overhead their conversation about what was going on in Luka’s life anyway.
The idea that he was still hunting down Lycanti for the Clan satisfied me. In a way, we were connected by our hunting of pack members who had gone astray. When Emily offhandedly mentioned that Luka had married an utter Lycanti bitch named Brooke, then shot her eyes to me apologetically, I wanted to throw up, but acted like I had heard nothing. Rachel didn’t even look my way. Overall, the train ride was pretty boring and uneventful. I felt almost normal in a way that I hadn’t felt normal in years—almost human again.
It was only my emotional state that was in tatters by the time we got off.
Lenora wasn’t sitting on throne or anything when we arrived. Jesus, people, this isn’t The Queen of the Damned. Her house in Seattle sits in the suburbs, and while people may not like the idea of a vampire living in their neighborhood, everyone loved Lenora, whether or not they knew her special dietary needs.
She opened the door, hair streaming down her back in a waterfall of red-gold waves. Her dimpled smile and slightly crooked nose were scenes of comfort for us. She enfolded both Rachel and me into her arms. Lenora was a pure-blooded vampire; that is, she was born to two Lycanthrope parents in Italy and her first Change killed her with its intensity. She rose the next day as a Child of Dacre, confused as to why her Clan, her own parents, suddenly treated her like a pariah. She is the oldest of the Children and has been wandering the world for almost a thousand years. Since then, she’s been making sure the Children of Dacre prosper. She’s no queen, but when people say the name ‘Lenora,’ it is generally with sincere warmth and reverence.
When she released us from our hug, she sniffed the air and looked at Emily, who stood at a respectful distance behind us. The accent Lenora had picked up from living so long in Rhode Island came out nice and thick. “Oh, a guest!” Another sniff. “A very…unique guest.” Completely unfazed, Lenora gestured for us to enter her home.
As usual, she had pumpkin spice candles burning. My stomach rumbled at the smell, and I was overwhelmed with the urge for some human food.
“There’s a pie in the oven,” Lenora said knowingly with a wink. I could only smile back at her. “The kids are at Chaz’s house, but you know that when they get home, they’re as hungry as miners.”
Lenora’s “kids” by the way, are foster kids. She’s been fostering children even before the current foster system went into place in America. Apparently quite a few generations have called Lenora ‘Mom’ over the years. Chaz is short for Chastity, a vampire Lenora met during her time in Puritan Rhode Island. Anyway, sorry, I just thought you should know. Lenora is just like a mom to all of us, and she’s the one we go to when we’re in trouble. Her whole aura seems to pull you towards her when you first Change and suddenly there you are on her doorstep: no idea what you’re doing here, but knowing that someone inside this house loves you no matter what you’ve become. That’s especially comforting after your entire life gets turned upside down.
We sat at her small dining room table like old friends. Emily fidgeted uncomfortably, even scratching at her neck at one point.
Lenora put a comforting hand on Emily’s shoulder, her long reach taking Emily by surprise. “You can calm down, honey. I ain’t gonna bite you.”
Rachel smiled wanly and I giggled.
“I’m sorry,” Emily said immediately, looking embarrassed. “I just…um…well, I’d like to leave here alive.”
Now Lenora laughed loudly, withdrawing her hand from Emily’s shoulder and laying it on her own heaving chest. “Sweetie, you ain’t got nothing to worry about on that account. Seattle is packed with Lycanti who never know what hit ‘em!” Her obvious delight made me laugh, too. “Are you hungry, Emily? Oh, what am I saying? Of course you are, with that baby and everything. Here, let me get you some pie. Would you like some milk?”
Emily shot a scathing look at Rachel. I wondered why.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Lenora said soothingly, standing and passing us on her way to the kitchen. She continued to talk as she took down plates. “No one had to tell me you were pregnant. I just know these things. A mother’s instincts, you know. Girls, do you want milk or blood with your pie?”
“Blood, please,” Rachel and I answered at the same time.
“Emily?” Lenora called. “Milk or something else? I can make you a cup of tea if you’d like.”
The Lycanti girl stared towards the kitchen, flabbergasted. “Um, milk, I guess,” she answered quietly. “Please.”
Lenora came back with a pie platter and plates lined on one arm, and two glasses in each of her hands filled with our choice of drinks, her balance a relic of decades of waitressing. “Here, Rai,” she said. “Take these plates and the pie while I put these down.”
Rachel did as instructed. I wanted to laugh so badly the befuddled look on Emily’s face as the Mother of the Children of Dacre served her pie, but I held it back. I didn’t want to make Emily mad.
Getting settled again, Lenora watched Emily closely as she ate. “You need to eat more, kid. You’re too far along to be this skinny.”
I myself thought Emily looked pretty healthy. She wasn’t a small girl with no meat on her bones and she had a baby bump, but then again, I didn’t really know how pregnant she was.
“I’m fine,”
she said somewhat steadily. “It’s been a hard pregnancy.”
“I know, child. I know. He’ll be here soon, you know. It’s time you prepared. He’ll be strong. You won’t want to be alone when it happens—or with Rachel or Shasta,” she added. “They won’t be able to handle the blood. You need to be with me. Remember: I’m the only one who knows what happens when a Lycanthrope is born.”
Emily looked a little shaken by the candid comment. “What happens?”
Lenora smiled softly. “Did you come here to talk about birthing babies or about killing Lycanti? Because one of them can’t wait and one of them can. And I’ll give you a hint: that baby boy still has a way to go.”
Emily’s eyebrows lifted this time. “How do you know it’s a boy?”
Lenora smiled insightfully. “Mama Lenora knows. Mama Lenora always knows. And trust me, he will be as beautiful as his mama is and twice as sweet.”
Rachel said with a laugh, “That’s good, because she’s a real bitch.”
With a sharp intake of breath, I glanced at Emily, ready to jump up and react if necessary.
To my surprise, the Lycanti girl just chuckled. Lenora did not look surprised at all, but I sure as heck was.
“Don’t worry, sweetie, he won’t have your temper…or his Aunt Rachel’s.” Rachel grinned. “He’ll actually be the most like his father.”
Emily’s face fell.
“Only the good qualities, dear. Think of what a strong leader the man is, how charismatic, how driven. How strong and in control he is. You knew that the first time you met him; it’s what called you to him.”
Emily reluctantly nodded. She still looked worried, but not angry, which was a relief to me. “I just want him to be happy. I don’t want him to be a werewolf.”
