The Last Etruscan

by Lyn Brittan

  “Both.” A wicked-looking smile passed over his face as he bit into his lower lip. “Besides, you and I both know you would have so much more fun if you stayed.”

  “Ugh, this isn’t just about sex.”

  “Then what is it about exactly? What do you want? Choices?”

  Choices. Only he could make a word of free will sound dirty and vile.

  “We don’t have that luxury, Fanchon Marie. We marry, or there is war. We do not marry, and there is war. So let us take what we can. We take the power that has been thrown at us and run with it. And sex? Lust? Consider it a bonus and there is not a damned thing wrong with that.”

  Luca crashed his lips into hers again, but that was merely the first wave of his assault. The whole weight of his well-muscled body came upon her as he forced her backwards against the wall. “Don’t fight me. You want this. And so do I.” Fanchon Marie felt him rotate his hips, grinding into her through the fabric of her dress. She fought back a whimper as he nipped at her ear. “Can’t you feel how I want you?”

  Expert hands raised the hem of her dress when the grinding continued. She fought back the urge to melt in his hands.

  “Mmm...open your legs, sweetie.”

  Ah hell, why the fuck not?

  “Good girl, that’s it. A little more now.”

  Unable to speak, she did what he said and felt her panties brushed aside as one, two…oh god, three fingers found their way inside her.

  A soft knock severed the mood. “Sir?”

  “Do NOT open that door, Sophie!”

  Sophie, whoever she was, gave Fanchon Marie enough time to pull her mind back together. “Move, Luca!”

  “No.” And to the mysterious Sophie: “Have dinner brought up here.”

  Fanchon Marie screamed for her unknowing savior. “Wait! Sophie, we’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Sir, is that agreeable to you?”

  Traitorous bitch. Fanchon Marie pushed against Luca and scrambled away crablike, on heels and palms.

  “What exactly, my dear, is the difference between now and twenty seconds ago?” Luca’s low words slithered out past his gleaming fingers. “Delicious.”

  “A moment of clarity. We’ll be right out, Sophie!”

  “Fanchon Marie!”

  “I lost my head, now it’s back.”

  “Maybe you should lose it again.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Oh no. She’d jumped to her feet just as Luca’s face brightened with that wicked grin of his. She pulled back as he opened his mouth for what she thought was another kiss. But no. And the moment she figured out his intent, it was too late. He’d already started.

  “Exsisto vestri verus ego.” The room hummed like the wings of a vibrating bird in the wake of it. The sound was soft, non-threatening and died an instant later.

  “Did you just curse me? What did you do? Tell me, you sorry SOB. What did you do to me? Ah, hell.” Hot lust ran though her body. Every raw nerve ending screamed to be touched. “Luca-”

  “Oh, a little hex to remind you of your true self. That’s all.”

  “My true–” She tried to get out more, but instead found the most womanly part of her body aching and wet with the urge to grind against him again.

  “You should thank me, dear future wife. I have just released you from your self-imposed prison of inhibitions.”

  Fanchon Marie struggled against herself and could only hope that the pleasure infused pain would lessen.

  “Please, Luca.”

  “Please, what?”

  “Help me. Touch me.”

  Luca tried to turn away. If his face was any indication, he looked to be in his own little hell. Good.

  “I am sorry, love, but it hardly seems respectable to take advantage of the situation.”

  “Bastard. I need....”

  “Dinner.”

  “I can’t go like this!”

  “You have to. Poor Sophie will be quite upset if we do not show up as promised. What kind of a man do you think I am?”

  ****

  Dinner was equally miserable for Luca. He hadn’t thought this out at all. What he’d done to her in anger, punished them both. Watching her writhe and moan under her breath left him irritated, hard and aching.

  Every five minutes, she grasped the edges of her chair, dropped her chin to her chest and moaned into her shoulder. She was so primed that he could smell her from the far end of the room where she sat, and her scent overtook all of the savory foods on the oak table before him. Stupid hex.

  Food. He needed to concentrate on food. Next, the room. The rose windows flooded the golden room with a million shades of amber. The elaborate, hand-chiseled arches. He tried to focus on the rug imported from Romania, the glassware, the doors, the damned statue of the fallen Etruscan, anything but her.

  Ten seconds later, another round of groans escaped her. He looked up in time see her head twist back and forth as she moaned into her crook of her arm, and he experienced a new and very personal hell on earth. Breathless words clawed their way out of his throat. “I am sorry, Fanchon Marie. Really, terribly, sorry. I mean it this time.” And all the countless thousands of times I’ve said it tonight.

  “I, I’m...ahhhhhhhh....going to...ugh...kill...you.”

  Luca watched as another orgasm seized her body and fought to keep his own at bay. “Yeah.” He nodded and readjusted his pants for the hundredth time. “Good and I’d deserve it. My God, at the moment, I am praying of for it.”

  Chapter Five

  Fanchon Marie moaned into her pillow as the sun came up. Like everything else in this house, included her groom to be, it was big and oversized. She nuzzled deeper into it. Eiderdown, maybe? She didn’t know and was too preoccupied to think more on it. Not until three in the morning did the hex wear off, and she was dead tired. She would have stayed in bed all day, but one powerful motivation forced her to peek from under the covers.

  Revenge.

  Full on, glorious, eat this, how you like now, revenge.

  Moving quietly and with a bit of magic, Fanchon Marie slid out the house undetected by the omnipresent Sophie, occupied with dusting the eagles in the hallway.

  Fanchon Marie rolled her eyes. Her dear savior Sophie revealed her true nature: a cantankerous old woman with ice in her veins for anyone who wasn’t her beloved Luca. She’d made it clear during the dinner service how much she disapproved of Fanchon Marie’s “licentious behavior.” The vicious pit viper slammed every plate presented to Fanchon Marie so hard the food moved and at least two glasses of wine missed their mark with droplets landing in her lap. This morning, Fanchon Marie wanted to avoid her at all costs.

  She made her way to the garden and hoped she’d find what she needed to accomplish two goals. First, the gris gris, then the payback.

  She darted around inspecting small objects – picking and choosing which among them to shove in her pocket. A small stone from this side of a pond, a petal from a newly opened flower from the other, dropped feathers, and a few wild weeds. Making a gris gris was one of the first things little Vodou girls learned. It was spiritual protection and one of the few forms of magic relegated solely to the female magical sphere. Men could use them fine enough, but they could never make them. And no one could make ‘em as good as she could.

  She ran back into the house but slowed down at the door to tiptoe around Sophie. Her plan was to give the impression that she’d just come downstairs. “Good Morning!”

  “Hrumph.”

  Granted, she hadn’t made the best first impression. Writhing around like a horny college freshman at dinner wasn’t an ideal greeting, but that was hardly her fault.

  Old Evil Bones needed to remember her place. She was, after all, just the maid. “Is there something the matter? Luca said you’d bring breakfast. You were so much later than he’d mentioned you’d be, so I came down to forage for myself.”

  “Go on back. Tell the Rom Baro that I’ll bring his morning coffee up shortly. Food will follow in
a moment.” Evil Bones turned to look her up and down. “Yours, too, I suppose.”

  Umm, no. Not what she needed for the plan to work. “That’s not necessary, Sophie. I’ll go to the kitchen and make us a pot. Save yourself a trip. Won’t take but a minute for me to grab a cup.” And some oils and herbs. “And wait for Luca to come down to his study.”

  Evil Bones slammed down the silver she polished. “The Prince indicated that you had a restless night, and that you’d want and need extra care today.

  Crap. “That’s just the man in him being overprotective. Go on back to work, I’ll take the coffee. We will expect breakfast in another hour or so. Finish your dusting.”

  Rather than risk any offers of service, Fanchon Marie pivoted on her heels to make a beeline for the kitchen.

  “Cups? Cups? Cups? Cups? Ahhh.” Fanchon Marie took hold of the largest she could find. She slammed it down on the counter and poured in to it the herbs of the gris gris. Magic, at the end of the day, was magic. True differences existed mainly in how you accessed it. In short, she had little trouble finding the necessary herbs in the household of a Rom Baro. She mixed them all together with a tiny swirl and a whispered word.

  Passing Sophie on the way out again, she plastered what she hoped to be an obviously less than sincere smile on her face before she eased into library. May the hatred be mutual and omnipresent.

  Sophie returned her disingenuous smile. “You have a package, ma’am.” The item in question lay carelessly tossed in the far corner of the atrium.

  Mail for her? Here? No one knew where she was. More than that, anyone who did know her knew she’d rather eat pig shit than stay with him. At least that had been the case....

  “Who is it from?

  “How should I know?” came the snarky reply.

  “By reading the return address.” You stupid woman. She kept that last bit to herself in hopes of ending the conversation quickly.

  “Well, I would if one had been written in. It may well be on the inside. We Roma prize our privacy.”

  Fanchon Marie couldn’t ignore the dig of exclusion in her sentence. It hurt, but she tried not to dwell on it.

  “Send it upstairs, I’ll pick it up later.” Probably another wedding gift. Perhaps from someone on his side of the things. She dismissed it and continued on to the library.

  She crept up the stairs and passed Stephan, one of Luca’s henchmen, on the ledge. A picture of serenity, Fanchon Marie nodded as he opened the door for her. She kept her gait slow and even, taking her time to cross the empty room. Patient, she waited while Stephan also took his time in closing the behind her. His eyes stayed trained on her until the very last moment. She lowered the serving tray down and, bit by bit, tiptoed back to the door to slide the lock into place. She prayed that no one heard the mechanism.

  Fanchon Marie spread out the ingredients from the kitchen and the outdoor garden before her. Two piles grew: one for her and another for him. Security and assault.

  First, a bit of gris gris protection. Her eyes darted around before landing on the heavy gold and blue curtains. Louis the XIV would have approved. After she ripped a piece of cloth from the bottom of a panel from the farthest window, Fanchon Marie pranced back to her makeshift mixing station. She added more to the cup from the kitchen, tossed in her own chewed off nails, a few of the stones from the pond, a lock of her hair, and a scrawled sheet of paper with her grandmother’s name on it.

  She tied the fabric and its contents up together with one shoelace and used the other to hold it around her neck. “Done,” she said and squealed at her own brilliance. The perfect gris gris to help her avoid future hexes.

  Next up? The big payback.

  Humming James Brown’s tune of the same name, Fanchon Marie set about the task of creating a derivative of one of the most dangerous potions in the city: the lust potion. She mixed the rest of her pilfered ingredients and prayed for forgiveness from the spirits of the grandmothers – yeah, both of them.

  This potion had been known to drive men and women insane. The only thing worse than the lust concoction, was the love potion itself, but even she wasn’t brave enough to go that far. Still, she did have a rather powerful need for him to experience the...suffering...she lived through last night. As far as lust potions went, it was fairly weak. Probably. She’d never actually made one before, but it didn’t have to be perfect. She didn’t know if she could handle a truly lusty Luca. Plus, she couldn’t exactly count on her resolve being as strong as his was last night.

  Fanchon Marie considered aborting her mission, but only for a second. She weighed the possibility that she was doing something reckless against a momentary feeling of triumph and decided to go along with it anyway. Game on. To hell with the consequences.

  She opened up the door and let her voice go as far as it would reach. “Sophie dear, please bring more sugar for Luca’s coffee. I’ll keep his warm with a little heating spell.” With a little extra lust on the side, she thought.

  He didn’t keep her waiting. Moments later, the man of the house strolled into the room wearing black pajama bottoms and nothing else. She appreciated the view.

  “Morning, Luca. Coffee?”

  “Yes, grazie. Sophie told me you prepared it personally. I am very appreciative.”

  It didn’t look like it. The features on face came to life. A twitching nose and squinting at the corners of his eyes. Crap, had she been busted?

  No sense going back. She had to play this thing through. Fanchon Marie watched over the edge of her own container of coffee as he again sniffed the contents of his and took a large swig. “Delicious and very necessary this morning.” He raised his cup towards her in salute. “I was in the weight room downstairs when I heard you summon Sophie. Screeching, beckoning – you do it well.”

  She let the dig slip. Her thoughts were occupied with potions, revenge, and bulging muscles dripping with sweat.

  “The hex.” another sip. “I put on you last night.” Another sip. “Was meant to make you understand that we had something in the absence of your artificial constraints.”

  “Artificial?” Fanchon Marie didn’t try to stop her voice from rising. “So you want to build a marriage on lust? That’s just fine for you?”

  “Plenty have been built on a lot less, Fanchon Marie.”

  “Maybe, but this isn’t the 1600s.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s an archaic system.” Fanchon Marie turned around to stare out the windows over the garden. “And...and it’s not fair.”

  She felt Luca come up behind her and circle her waist. “I know that, too. But let’s build on what we do have.”

  He pressed exactly what he did have right into the small of her back. She felt it stir to life, like an angry serpent seeking his prey. Uh-oh.

  Fanchon Marie tried to escape his grasp, but he somehow flipped her around so they stood face to face. Rather, he stood, because in the next moment, he’d lifted her up, pressed her back against the window, with her legs under his vise-like arms and around his waist.

  “Luca, I—”

  Hot lips pressed against hers, and she lost her senses. She’d done a horrible thing, should feel terrible about it, but she couldn’t think beyond the teeth that nibbled at her bottom lip, or the hands that rubbed heated little suns of fire in her arched thighs. Damn him. Damn her.

  “See what you make me do, Fanchon Marie?”

  Damn guilt.

  This wasn’t him. Well, it could be. It would be. But not right now, now this was....

  A weak and shattered voice crawled from her throat in shame. “Luca, stop.” Though, she didn’t sound like she really meant it. He must have thought the same thing since, instead of pulling away, he raised her higher while his mouth traveled lower, opening the top buttons of her pajamas with his teeth.

  “Please, Luca, stop. You don’t want to do this.”

  Another button.

  Luca’s words were muffled. Seems he didn’t see much reason to separate hi
s mouth from her skin. “This is exactly what I want to do.”

  “I poisoned you.” Lord, it hurt her to say it. She waited for his famed Roma wrath, for his hatred, his disappointment...his hurt.

  “No, you did not. Take you pants off and shut up.”

  She didn’t, however, expect that. Poor thing. He didn’t understand or couldn’t accept what she’d done to him. Fanchon Marie felt him lower her a bit to take her nipple into his mouth. It should have been wonderful, but instead of exciting her (much), it caused tears to well up in her dark eyes. What he’d done last night had been horrible, but he had only revealed her true desires, not created new ones as she’d done to him.

  Luca’s delicious torture stopped. “Are you, are you crying? Oh no, baby. Fanchon Marie, stop those tears. That’s enough of that.” She should be grateful, but couldn’t. The big idiot tried to comfort her. She bowed her head, unable to face him.

  She started to apologize. Then she felt it coming. His rage. Luca’s whole body shook with it, and it made hers to vibrate as well. Slowly her neck rose up, then her eyes. He was....

  Laughing?

  Apparently unable to hold back any longer, the damned man doubled over in delight. One hand grasped his stomach, while the other held her a little too tightly around the wrist.

  “Luca?”

  “My little, foolish Vodou imp. You cannot poison or hex a Romani with items from his own lands and household. A hex, maybe. But poison? No, love. I am in the ground. I am the earth and the foundation of this place. Do you not think I would have put protections to prevent something like this from happening?”

  Damn.

  The arm that once held his stomach eased up her side until his hand reached her face. “Your little potion aside, I have enough powerful items in my fields to lay waste to the city, let alone myself. Most Roma do the same. We all lay down similar precautions as soon as we arrive to a new home.” Getting mildly serious, his smile wavered the tiniest bit. “Having said that, we need to set down a few ground rules.”

  Luca slunk into her then the weight of his full body reduced her to nothing. “First, this gris gris. You never take it off. I presume you made it here?” Luca’s tongue dragged across her neck while he awaited her response.