by SF Benson
They were fortunate to find worthy individuals to share their lives with. In my brother’s case, his wife’s love was his saving grace. Maximus lived on the edge—overindulging in every vice imaginable at the time—but when he met Camilla, he gave it all up. My sister Lucia married a man who was smart enough to take her far away from our toxic parents. I drew the unlucky bastard gene—only caring for myself before others. Even the love of a good woman didn’t alter my life’s path.
When I place the box on the chair beside me, Victor exhales loudly. “How’s it going at the Club? Numbers seem to be up.”
“Pretty damned good.” I go to the sink, take a glass from the dish rack, and turn on the faucet. It’s an effort to not resort to bourbon when I’m thirsty. Too much alcohol will turn me into the asshole I once was—not an option anymore. “Have you heard any rumblings?”
“Nothing negative. Members of my coven welcome your changes.”
Drifting through town gave me a good glimpse of Falls Creek’s nightlife. The Temptation Club, situated on the seedier side, has always attracted the unsavory elements—sketchy shifters and disease ridden vampires. The humans who frequented the place tend to be those strung out on drugs or too drunk to care. It’s my goal to erase this image and turn the Temptation Club into a den with better clientele.
Leaning against the counter, I say, “I’m looking for an architect to create a better design for the Club. Maybe turn the upstairs into VIP suites—a spot for upscale patrons to feast in private.”
Victor smiles. “I like the idea. Maybe get rid of that trance shit.”
“Already done. We’ve been playing techno and more mainstream music. So far I haven’t heard anyone complain other than the DJ I fired. The kid wasn’t on board with my vision.” One thing I won’t tolerate is insubordination. It wasn’t acceptable when I was a Guard, and I sure as hell won’t deal with it now.
“You might want to contact Cyrena. She might have some ideas that could work.”
“Also done. The seductress has a very good eye for what appeals. She’s working on some designs for me. She also said she knows of a place down in New Orleans I should check out. I think she called it the Bloody Bastard.”
“I’ve heard of the spot. It’s in the French Quarter. One of the Elders runs the place.” Victor finishes off the bottle of Crimson Ridge. “I must say I’m impressed. When you took over, I wondered what type of job you’d do. Now I see I shouldn’t have worried.”
Staring down into the water glass, I say, “It’s amazing what you can do when you have tons of free time.”
“Still no word from Antoinette?”
“No. She made it clear she didn’t need me the last time I was at the hospital.” I put the glass in the sink and check my watch. Another five hours before the Club is due to open. What the hell am I supposed to do until then?
Victor shoots a glance at me with a wrinkled brow. “And you’re sticking to that? Why?”
“I’m respecting her wishes.”
“Bullshit. You’re scared, Old Man.”
“What did I say—”
He waves his hand in the air, quickly dismissing my warning. “It’s okay to be a little wary, but you need to up your game. Right now, you’re simply hoping she likes you enough to want to move in when she’s better. I don’t care what you do with the house. It was a gift. If you go back to being a wraith, I’ll rent it or sell it. But if you want the wife and maybe some kids one day…”
I lift an eyebrow. “Who said anything about kids? Besides, who knows if I can stay this way?”
Fatherhood is not something I’ve ever seriously considered, not with the shitty example I had in my life. Degradation, lying, and adultery is not an environment to raise a child, but my father thought it would work for me. Amazingly, neither of my siblings dealt with our father’s shit. I didn’t become aware of his lecherous ways until after I was the last kid at home. I’ll admit I entertained the possibility of a family with Cordelia. Thankfully, I realized my rearing would only condemn a child and gave up the idea.
“You may have a point there,” Victor says. “But if you want Antoinette for more than a fading memory, then you need to get off your ass and do something.”
“Like what?”
Victor stands and removes his keys from his jeans. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” I push off the counter.
He waggles his eyebrows at me. “I know where Antoinette’s parents live.”
Victor drives past St. Anne’s church, turns down a quiet street, and stops in front of a house with a large yard. He cuts the motor and faces me.
“So, are you getting out?”
Tugging at the edge of my T-shirt, I feel like a schoolboy afraid to admit he likes a girl. Instead, I try hard to convince myself I’m only here to see how Antoinette’s doing, nothing more. “This is a bad idea.”
“No. Your sitting in this car talking to me is a bad idea. Do I need to walk you to the door?”
My gaze swings to him. “Anyone ever tell you that you can be an ass at times?”
His lips curl up. “Just part of my awesome charm, Old Man.”
“If you don’t—”
“Get out, or I lay on the horn.”
Blowing air out of my cheeks, I open the door. What’s the worst that can happen?
Acting on a huge leap of faith, I lift my hand to knock on one of the double doors, and it swings open. A thickset man with graying sable hair stands on the other side.
“Can I help you?”
“My name’s Marc. I helped your—”
Before I can say another word, he extends his hand. “I’m Matt Leoni, Antoinette’s father. Come on in.” He yells over his shoulder, “Natalie, that nice young man is here.”
Young man? Cherina’s magic is damned good.
Antoinette’s mother comes into view with an apron wrapped around her waist. When she sees me, the corners of her blue eyes crinkle as a huge grin slides into place. “It’s so good to see you again, Marc. I’m sure Antoinette will be happy to see you.”
“Nice to see you too,” I say. “If Antoinette’s busy…”
“She’s in with her therapist. Why don’t you go on in? They’ve been at it for about an hour. Poor man probably needs a break,” Natalie suggests.
Matt chuckles. “Antoinette has been giving him a hard time today. Come on. I’ll show you back to the dining room.”
I follow Matt through the large living room and down the hall. We stop at a door on the right leading to a room renovated for rehab. A muscular, dark-skinned guy dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt urges Antoinette, standing between two railings, to comply with his instructions.
“I can’t do it,” she protests, gripping the wooden surface so tight her knuckles are white.
“One more step, and you’ll be done for today,” her trainer says.
“Enough!” she screams and turns her head toward the door. She sees her father first. “Dad, tell him to stop torturing me.”
“I think she’s had enough today. There’s someone—”
“Antoinette,” I say, stepping around Matt.
Her mouth drops, and she nearly hits the floor. The trainer slips his arms around her waist, helping her into the wheelchair.
“You came back,” she mumbles with a grin spreading across her face.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Antoinette
My therapist, Scott, picks up his gym bag from the floor and shoots me a toothy grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Antoinette.”
I nod absently and raise my good hand to my mouth, covering the smile tugging at my lips. Right now, my focus is on the handsome man entering the room. My heart races along with my thoughts, but there aren’t any words sufficient enough to describe how happy I am to see Marc. I can’t believe after my shitty behavior he came to see me. This never happened with Rob. Whenever we argued—which was often—it would be days before I saw him again, and I was always the one going to him.
Let h
im go.
The witch’s demand still rings in my mind, but I try to ignore it for now. Like I said, I never had his heart. Never will. Life in a wheelchair kind of ensures it. A girl can dream though.
Dad pats Scott on the back, and they walk down the hall, laughing and talking. Frolicking butterflies pirouette and jeté in my stomach.
“You’re making progress,” Marc says, coming closer. Black—in the form of a casual sweater, jeans, and leather jacket—looks good on him.
Suddenly, I’m overly conscious of my baggy pants and ill-fitting faded T-shirt. My hand goes to my messy bun, attempting to remove the clamp holding it in place. “If barely pushing my foot forward counts as progress, then yeah.”
“But you’re standing.” Marc goes around to the back of the wheelchair and reaches for the handles.
“Don’t,” I snap. It’s one thing for him to stop by to check on me. It’s something different if he does stuff for me. In a quieter, calmer tone I tell him, “We can stay here.”
“If you wish.” Marc steps from behind me, and his gaze bounces around the room. Not finding a chair, he lowers himself to the floor. The man smiles like the hard surface isn’t the least bit uncomfortable.
“I’ve missed you, Antonia.” Marc draws his legs up and places his elbows on his knees.
My heart stutters. I open my mouth to tell him the same words when my brain hijacks my actions.
He doesn’t miss you. He misses doing for you.
Is that the truth? All I manage is a weak, “Oh?”
Marc glances up with his eyebrows pushed together. “You know that I do. I’ve missed your voice. I looked forward to our daily conversations. After all, when you’ve been alone as long as I have, it’s nice to talk to someone each day.”
The man sees you as a friend, nothing more.
He studies me, looking for why I’m holding back. I, in turn, do my best to hide my thoughts, my worries, my fears. For some reason, my inner voice is screaming, blocking out Marc’s.
Girls stuck in wheelchairs shouldn’t hope for anything more than friendship.
Point taken, digested, and stored in my memory bank.
“So, how are you adjusting, Antonia?” he asks, jarring me from my sorrowful thoughts.
“I guess I’m doing okay.” If we don’t count the fact he’s been my only other visitor since Rob and the skank showed up. “My parents have gone out of their way reconstructing parts of the house to help me out.”
“Understood.” His head bobs up and down. “It’s not an easy endeavor. I’ve been doing the same thing at my house. Eventually, I’d like for you to see it.” Something akin to yearning twinkles in Marc’s eyes. “Let me know if I should change or add anything. Whatever you’d prefer.”
Is he serious?
Maybe someone should clue Marc in that friends don’t have to go so far. Renovating a house for someone else’s enjoyment is what a man does for a girlfriend—a wife—and I’m neither of those things. I can’t be. Will never be.
Why not?
My gaze slides up and down his muscular body, wishing things could be different. Marc is attentive to my needs, not willing to put up with my shit, and not hard on the eyes. He’s who I’d choose to be in my life. Even if Rob begged to get back together, he could never be the man Marc is.
“Antonia, I’m no fool. I know what we’re not. It’s my hope that with time we might become closer.”
Dropping my focus to my lap, I twist my fingers in the fabric of my sweatpants, unsure what I should say. Marc’s words prove that he hears what I think. “Nothing’s wrong,” I lie. “I just don’t want you to waste money on me. What if things don’t progress with us? What if we remain only friends? I’m sure there are other worthy projects for you to spend your hard earned cash on.”
His voice lowers. “Nothing is more worthy than you, carissima.”
Push him away or deal with an angry witch.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Mom says from the door just as Marc’s eyebrows knit together.
Oh God, I hope Marc didn’t read that last thought.
“No interruption, Mom.” Forcing myself to sound happy, I ask, “What’s up?”
“I just wanted you to know I was going out. Your dad is out back with the workers.” Mom addresses Marc. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner. There’s plenty.”
Marc rises from the floor. “I wish I could, but I need to get to the Club.”
Confusion dances over Mom’s face. “You work at a…health club?”
He answers with a soft laugh. “Not quite. It’s an entertainment club downtown. I’m the manager.”
Mom leans against the door, her brows still knitted together. “Would I know this place?”
Would she stop being nosy?
“No, ma’am. It’s popular with those who prefer alternative music. I’ve made some changes to the place. Hopefully when I’m all done, it will have greater appeal.” A gleam relevés in his eyes as he puffs out his chest.
I’m happy for him. If only I could show it.
“That sounds nice.” Mom’s expression softens. “Antoinette, do you need anything before I leave?”
“No. I’m good.”
Marc looks at me. “I should go too. Maybe I can stop by again?”
My mouth opens, but Mom intervenes. “She has a doctor’s appointment at the hospital tomorrow. If you’re around, you could meet her there. Her appointment with Dr. Rogers is at noon.”
A small groan escapes my lips. Mom has always been a meddler.
“I’m sure Antoinette will appreciate it,” Mom says with a smile.
He nods and winks back at me. “Very well. I’ll make a point of being there.”
Tomorrow comes too damned fast.
I wake up early with thoughts of Marc on my mind. Although I know I shouldn’t, I look forward to seeing him again. He’s on my mind as I pick at my breakfast. He’s still there as I stare at the miserable clothing choices Mom laid out for me. Everything she’s pulled out of my closet just seems wrong. I’m sick and tired of sweatpants. How am I supposed to look my best wearing a cloth sack?
“Baby girl, can I come in?” Dad is in the doorway with a hot pink, plastic bag in hand.
Man, I miss an actual door. Dad has promised to put in a pocket door as soon as the workers are finished in the backyard. For now, I have to deal with the constant intrusion on my privacy. “Sure, Dad.”
He walks over to me and drops the bag in my lap.
“What’s this?”
“I overheard your argument with your mother. She just wants you comfortable while you want to look nice for Marc.” He taps the plastic. “Try this on.”
Taking the bag, I find a pair of pale pink yoga pants with a matching zip front jacket. If I could stand, I’d jump up and hug Dad. Clutching the garment to my chest, I say, “This is perfect. Thank you!”
Dad wraps his strong arms around me. “Hey, haven’t I always known what you needed?”
“Yes, you have.” When the other dancers in class started sporting short skirts to practice, it was Dad who bought me one while Mom argued it was a fad and true ballerinas stuck to tutus.
“I’ll get your mother to help you get dressed so you can see your friend. Something tells me he’ll show up early just to spend time with you. He seems quite fond of you.”
My cheeks heat up with my father’s words. I hope he’s right.
Half an hour later, Dad pushes me up the concrete ramp and through the double glass doors of Falls Creek Memorial Hospital. Honestly, I’d hoped never to come back to this place. Mom was ready to indulge me and have Dr. Rogers come by the house, but Dad insisted I needed to get out. Quit has never been in my father’s vocabulary. If anyone can get my ass out of this chair, it will be him. Dad may not be able to work miracles, but he’ll do his best to help me regain independence. Mom, on the other hand, is content to do everything for me. Without a nine-to-five, my disability is her ticket to usefulness.
“Antoinette, yo
ur visit with the doctor is supposed to be an hour long. I thought I’d stop by the site downtown and see how the project is going. I’ll be back in time to pick you up,” Dad says. “Unless your friend wants to do it.”
I laugh to myself. The last vehicle Marc drove was probably a chariot. I don’t think those skills transfer over very well to cars. “I can wait for you, Dad.”
My father pushes the button, and we wait for the elevator to arrive. Out of the corner of my eye, just a few feet away, I catch a glimpse of someone familiar. It’s the redheaded nurse with the odd-colored eyes. Attempting to walk around her is Marc. He doesn’t notice me. But what I see is enough to send me running back to the van—if I were able to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Uraeleus
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not interested, Delaney?” I say to the large-breasted nurse. There’s no walking around her. Every time I step left, she goes right. I go right, she goes left, always blocking my path. And I really need to get to the elevator. Antoinette will be here any minute, and I’d rather not be late.
The siren rests her chilly palms on my chest and moves closer. She’s trying hard to mesmerize me, but it’s not going to work. I’ve always been immune to the call of sirens.
“Now, now, Uraeleus.” Her hand moves lower until she’s boldly groping my anatomy. “There’s a part of you that’s definitely interested. Why are you being so stubborn?”
I grasp her wrist, effectively stopping her delicious torture. “I’m not being stubborn. Just not a fan of your kind.”
“Tsk, tsk…” She leans in.
Before I can stop the female, her lips mesh with mine. It’s been a long time since I’ve kissed anyone. My body, unfortunately, welcomes the gesture. Delaney sinks into me while I act on instinct, wrapping my arms around her curves. It’s been so long since I’ve kissed a woman, enjoyed the taste of her…
A moan escapes from me.
The siren opens her mouth and eagerly sucks on my tongue. Shit! I’m so aroused I could take her in the hall. I’m lost in the moment when I hear the one voice that softens my dick and freezes not only the kiss but my fucking soul.
