by Kimbra Swain
Between Stanley and Gore, I twiddled my thumbs thinking of ways I could die. They could crush my head like two swinging tree trunks which would be a lacking description of their beefy arms. One thump and they could knock off my balls like marbles. Thankfully, they weren’t the most intelligent goons, and they followed orders. Trey had ordered them not to lay a hand on me no matter what I did.
“Which one of you has bigger biceps?” I asked. Gore grunted. “Oh, Gore says his are. What say you, Stanny?”
“My name is Stanley,” he huffed.
“Stanley with the skinny arms?” I asked.
“Shut up, Malik,” he growled. Like seriously. He sounded like a dog. Well, maybe a large wolf, but canine nonetheless. Actually, lupine, but semantics.
“Your dick is bigger though, right? Go ahead, and show me,” I goaded them.
“Malik, I’ll turn them loose on you,” Trey warned.
“I’m pretty sure Lord Demonbreun would disapprove,” I said with a tsk.
“My arms and dick are bigger,” Gore grumbled.
“Oh! Stanley is the catcher!” I exclaimed.
“I am not a fucking catcher,” Stanley protested.
Gore laughed at him and joined my side. “That’s not what Stella said.”
“Stella? Stella is a transvestite! I like women,” Stanley said.
“Stella? What was Stella’s name before her change?” I asked.
“Stanley,” Gore answered.
“That’s right. Her name was Stanley. Was she your other brother?” I asked.
“Fuckin’ Malik. Everything is a damn game to you,” Stanley said.
“Naw, man. You’re just too easy,” I laughed. Gore laughed beside me, shaking the seat with his bulk. Even Trey had a light in his eyes as we approached the shining, high-rise condo that was owned by my father.
Our mirth faded as Trey pulled into the underground parking deck.
“Behave yourself and you might live through this one,” Trey warned me.
“What’s he want?” I asked.
“You will see. Ain’t my place to tell you,” Trey replied. He reached across the center console and stroked Becky’s bare leg. I could respect Trey for that one thing. He might have had three or four beck and call girls, but he treated each one of them with respect. The Becky who had come to me probably volunteered for the job. He would have never made any of them do something they didn’t want. It gained him loyalty and many other women who wanted to be respected the same way. It was foreign to me. Perhaps it was because I spent longer than most as a human. Most children were turned on their 21st birthday, but I had run away from home. It took them several years to find me. As I found out, nothing or no one was outside my father’s reach.
Trey parked the SUV in the spot closest to the door, and everyone exited the vehicle except for us.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“He’s pissed,” Trey said.
“I have laid low. I don’t even use my last name. Why is he pissed at me?”
“Not at you, because of you. The North and West Kings are here with their heirs,” he said.
“He disowned me,” I said.
“You couldn’t just be like the rest of us, could you? He’s a king without an heir now,” Trey said.
“He’s got you,” I replied. “I never wanted it.”
“That’s not how it works,” Trey replied.
“You don’t want it either,” I surmised.
“How many of his children have survived him?” Trey said. I knew the answer. None. “I want nothing to do with it. I serve him as I should. As family, but I cannot be his son.”
“I’ve never been his son,” I replied. “Thanks for the info, Trey.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you are talking about,” he replied, and exited. Stanley opened the door and dragged me out of the vehicle.
“Let’s go see, Daddy,” Stanley chuckled.
“Lead the way, Stella,” I teased.
“Shut up, fuck face.”
Becky slipped her arm into Trey’s and he kissed her cheek. We followed them into the glittering lobby of my father’s condo complex. Several windowed condo towers had been built in downtown Nashville, but none so elite and sleek as Demonbreun Tower.
The elevator ride was cramped with the two dinosaurs, Trey, and his Becky.
“You could have let me shower,” I grumbled.
“Do you care what he thinks of you?” Trey asked.
“No,” I replied.
“Seems that you do.”
“Makayla would be a good name for you,” Stanley said.
“Or Miley,” Gore suggested.
“What’s the name for?” I asked.
“When we remove your balls, we get to pick your new name,” Stanley replied.
“Testy, testy. Did you stop taking your hormones, Stella?” I asked.
Gore chuckled again but tightened his grip on my arm. I was pretty sure that he would sling me out of the way if Stanley tried to take a swipe at me.
“Get me out of this elevator,” Stanley groaned.
“Just a little fun, guys. Because once these doors open, the fun ends.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Becky said.
“You go to my room and wait for me,” Trey said.
“Actually, I’m good for the night,” she said, giving me a wink over her shoulder.
Trey shook his head. Stanley stared at me, and I shrugged.
“Don’t gawk, Stella. You aren’t my type. I like small nerdy guys,” I said.
“With glasses,” Trey said when the elevator dinged.
“And zits,” Gore added.
“You guys are gross,” Becky said, as the door opened.
“Shh!” Trey warned.
“Bring him to me,” my father’s voice echoed through the corridor.
“Well, shit,” I muttered.
Stanley and Gore flanked me as we walked the marbled floor to the end of the hallway. Then, turning right, we stepped into the windowed room that looked out upon Nashville. It was still a while before dawn, and the lights of the city were alive with music and revelry.
“Malik, why must you make me go to these measures to contact you?” Father asked.
“You disowned me,” I replied.
“Thank you, Trey. Becky. You are dismissed,” Father said.
“Yes, my Lord. It was my pleasure to be of service,” Trey responded, promptly leaving with the satisfied Becky in tow.
“Gentleman, please leave us,” Father instructed.
“But, Sir?” Stanley protested.
“My son isn’t here to kill me. He came willingly. Leave.”
Stanley and Gore exited the way we came in, back toward the elevator.
“How are you, Malik?” Father asked.
“I won’t be your heir.”
He walked to a decanter with brown liquor, Tennessee whiskey if I had to guess, and poured a bit in a glass.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
“No, sir,” I replied.
He took a sip while staring out at the city.
“I love this city. I love my territory. No one keeps control like I do. It’s because of this control that you are able to live on a day to day basis with the humans not knowing who and what you are. You should be thankful. The very tyranny you protest gives you the opportunity to live. I am not the evil man you make me out to be,” he said, taking another sip. “Look at this city. Alive and vibrant. There is darkness, but there is also light.”
“Why haven’t you chosen another son?” I asked.
“Malik, you were the one I wanted to receive everything I have built. You have always been, but you insist on living the starved life. That’s how I knew Becky could trick you. Once the need to feed takes over, it doesn’t matter if you lock yourself in a cave, you will find a way to feed. Your control is beyond any others. You got that from me. From my pure blood. You deserve this throne,” he said.
“It doesn’t change my mind. I’m fine
being a reject. It’s what I want. You gave that to me, and now you are taking it back?” I asked.
He slammed the glass down, shattering it to pieces. “I am not taking anything away from you. I want you to come home.”
“This is not my home. It never was,” I said. “I’m sorry that you are in this position, and you have been good to me, but I don’t want this. Any of it.”
“Could I persuade you to pretend to be my devoted son for just a few days?” he asked, looking at the cuts on his hand from the broken glass. His deep plum colored blood dripped to the marble white floor.
“No, sir,” I said, politely. I didn’t want to discredit his request. I knew what it took for him to ask.
“I didn’t want to do this,” he said.
“Do what?”
Gore and Stanley reappeared with my boss, Beauregard Jackson. His limp body hung between the two of them.
“You will do this, or I will kill him,” he said.
“Father! Please. He is an innocent human. We don’t operate like that,” I protested.
He crossed the room in a show of his speed, and he was in my face. “Exactly! This isn’t about me keeping my kingdom. It’s keeping people like Beauregard Jackson who know what we are safe and alive. Do you think that the other Lords treat the humans with that kind of respect?”
“They don’t,” I answered. I knew what the other Lords were capable of. “But this makes you just as bad as they are. He didn’t do anything but give me a job!”
“Be my son. For three days, and Beauregard returns to towing wreck cars and you can go back to licking the blood off the seats,” he snarled.
My father knew my soul. I’d never let a friend die just to save my own ass.
“Fine,” I agreed. “Let him go.”
“I’ll let him go in three days,” he said.
“He has a business. A family. You can get him whenever you want. Let him go,” I demanded. “You need me, or you wouldn’t have gone to this extreme. If I had said no, I could have walked out of here leaving him for dead and you would still be fucked.”
He poured a second glass of liquor. The wounds on his hand had healed. He took a sip staring out at his city once again. “Well done. You are more my son than you know. Take him home, boys.”
One good thing about spending the night at my father's place was the lap of luxury it provided compared to my meager digs outside of the city. I woke up in a bed covered in soft silk sheets and at least ten pillows. I had my own bathroom and a mini-bar which was fully stocked.
Unfortunately, as my grogginess wore off, I realized I wasn’t alone in the bed. Soft cool skin pressed against mine. I'd gone to bed alone, and once full awareness kicked in, I stumbled out of the bed, failing to exit with the sheet. My bare ass hit the white shag rug beside the bed.
"Who? What?" I exclaimed.
Two sleepy black eyes peered over the bed followed by a cascade of long blonde locks.
"Welcome home, Malik," her sweet, sultry voice cooed.
"Lydia, get out of my bed," I said, covering my private parts and climbing to my feet. I don’t know why I covered them. She'd already seen it all. I padded to the bathroom where I found a plush robe with my father's crest on the breast.
The crest featured a golden fleur-de-lis in the center, celebrating Father’s French heritage. Silvery wings lined the edges of the shield. A golden crown sat on top of the crest with flourishes implying the nobility of his ancestors. The wings signified my father’s bloodline as the only line of vampires that could fly. Since I was technically adopted, I could not fly.
"You still have a nice ass," Lydia said, raising up in the bed. The sheet fell off exposing her immortal breasts to me. I'd already seen all of her, too. But that was before she married my father.
"Yes, well, the curse of being vampire. My ass doesn't age either," I said, tearing my eyes away from her exposed body. "You gotta leave."
"He doesn't care that I'm here," she said, referring to my father.
Which meant he was probably surrounded by Beckys and Callies. Still, I wasn't sharing a bed with my stepmother.
"Out now, Lydia. I'm not interested," I said.
She lifted her arms above her head stretching herself out to tease me. Consider me teased. I might be dead, but I wasn't infirm.
"Malik, come here and let me rub your shoulders. You look so tense," she said.
"I tried that line out on Melissa Atkins in 9th grade," I said. "It was lame then, and still lame now."
"Wasn't she your first?"
"Yes."
"Not so lame after all."
"Lydia, get out."
"Fine. Your loss." She gracefully climbed out of the bed, then walked out of my room completely naked. "Mornin', Stanley."
"Fuck," I muttered. "Stella, get in here."
Stanley waited for Lydia to saunter off, enjoying the view before he stepped into the room.
"Mornin', Boss."
"He assigned you to me?"
"Yep," he grinned.
"For starters, did you let her come into my room?"
"I did. The boss’ wife gets what she wants."
"No. She does not come in this room. I don’t want her here." I sat down on the edge of the bed.
Stanley looked immaculate in his tailored suit and mirror- shined shoes. I supposed I had clothes here, too. Somewhere.
"She was here most of the night," he said.
"Nothing happened, and her being here stays between us. Lydia and I happened a long time ago. She made her choice. I don’t want her," I explained.
"Gotcha," he responded, as there was a light tap on the door. "Ah! She’s getting started early." He turned and opened the door to another perfectly tailored suit- wearing vampire. Her frame was skinnier than Stanley. Her cropped red hair was vibrant. Her face was littered with brown freckles with pale blue eyes.
"Stella!" I exclaimed as she walked up to me.
She rolled her eyes at me, then offered her cheek. Standing to meet her, I kissed it lightly. "Malik, you look thin. These suits I brought are never going to fit."
She ran her hands over my body, pausing on my ass. I lifted an eyebrow at her.
"How's the hormone therapy going?" I asked.
She looked at me slyly. "You tell me," she said pressing her new breasts together under her suit.
"Looks good. All that pesky facial hair is gone," I teased.
She slapped me on the arm. "I never had facial hair anyway."
This was the infamous Stella who used to be Stanley. Becoming a vampire had given her the freedom to be the woman she always wanted to be. Previously, she didn't have the money or support she needed to fulfill her desires. She had a great sense of humor about it which was fortunate since my humor lacked any sort of decorum. Just another reason that I'd never make a good heir for my father.
"Did you, um, get cut?" I made scissors with my fingers. Stanley shifted his weight, unconsciously covering his junk with his hands.
"I'm all woman. Wanna test it out?"
I choked. "No, thanks."
"Your loss. Now let's see what I can put you in for today's meeting," she said. She clapped her hands and three Beckys entered the room with racks of clothing. I groaned. Everything here was a spectacle. I was regretting my decision already.
However, the thought of facing Beau's family if he died because of me, set my attitude straight. Putting up with my father’s household would only last three days, then I could go back to my simple life. In the meantime, I could force myself to enjoy the perks.
Stella tittered around me for well over an hour. I'd changed clothes so many times my hips were raw. She'd finally decided on a charcoal suit with a grey dress shirt. No tie. She tried to coax me into wearing a chain with a pendant on it or an earring, but I declined the jewelry.
Stanley had taken a seat on the couch across the room and was engrossed in a Motor Trend magazine. He grunted whenever Stella asked his opinion of her choices. When we had finally finished,
I watched Stanley’s attention shift to his phone.
“Dress up is over, ladies. Lord Demonbreun needs his son,” Stanley said, discarding the magazine.
Stella patted me on the face. “I do wish you would consider staying. I know why you won’t, but I wish you would. We need you around here.”
“Stella, I just can’t,” I replied.
“I know. You are too good for us,” she said, gathering her accessories.
“It’s not that at all. I don’t belong here,” I said.
“Go look in the mirror. You certainly play the part,” she said. “Alright, girls. You heard the brute. Let’s move out.” She sashayed out with her assistants and left me with Stanley.
“She looks great,” I said. “You wouldn’t be a beautiful woman, but you would be happier.”
“Shut up, Malik,” Stanley said, stomping to the door. I laughed and followed behind him to the elevator which we rode down two floors to my father’s office. I stared at myself in the mirrored doors. Stella was right. I looked the part, but I knew deep inside this dark and dead body, what was left of my life was mine. Not my father’s. I’d walked away from it and never looked back. Except when I was forced to look back. Like now.
Stanley stayed in the elevator when I stepped out. “You aren’t going?”
“Nope,” he smiled. “I’m not on babysitting duty all day.”
“You can change my diaper later,” I said, blowing him a kiss.
“Fucking idiot,” he said as the doors closed.
My father didn’t have to call me. My vampire instincts kicked in and I could detect him across the building back toward his private office. He wasn’t alone. I heard yelling as I got closer to the office. Pausing at the door, I waited for the conversation to die down.
“He didn’t touch me,” Lydia said. “He barely even looked at me.”
“I’m tired of your antics, Lydia. I gave you what you wanted. It isn’t my fault that he rejected you. Stay out of his bed. Our visitors will be in the building today, and the last thing I need is for my wife to be fucking around with my son,” Father instructed her.
“You won’t have to worry about that, because he won’t touch me,” she shouted at him.
I decided this was my cue to enter the argument. “Which is true. I wouldn’t touch her with a live dick, much less a dead one.”
