Placing his arm around my shoulder, him now comforting me instead of the other way around, he picks back up where he left off. “After that, I learned lots of skills that my privileged peers had no clue about. I taught myself to cook from watching Paula Deen and Rachel Ray episodes, and had YouTube to teach me how to wash clothing… That was an experience the first time, as I’d measured out too much soap and filled the facility with bubbles. The Dean was not happy that day. Not with soap suds up to her knees.”
I can’t help but laugh at the image he’s painted. One where a younger version of himself is standing, covered in bubbles, and having no idea what to do. He, too, lets out a small chuckle, and I find I enjoy the way it rumbles from his chest and into me. Or maybe, I just enjoy being pressed close enough against him that I can feel it.
“Were you punished? I mean, it was an accident,” I say, prompting him for more details, but his laugh dies off, leaving me trying to figure out what I said to change his mood again.
“No, I wasn’t punished. I’m never punished for anything. The council fears what would happen if I were.”
Gone, is any touch of happiness in his tone, and I have to pull away, to put a little space between us as his temperature starts to rise from whatever dark thoughts have taken root. Needing to know more, I ignore the warning bells that tell me not to push him further. He never talks about himself, and if this is to be the only time, I’m going to use it. I crave more from him, and knowing him better gives me that.
“Why, Maksim? Why not punish you? I know the laundry accident wasn’t intentional, but you must have done something throughout the years to warrant being disciplined,” I say, trying to understand. Finally returning his focus to my face, I swallow at the hollow look I find there.
“I never get punished because they fear what will happen if I lose my temper. If my control slips and I shift, things could go very badly, very quickly. It’s why they keep me close, so that they can monitor me. Don’t you wonder why, Rhia? Why I’m the last of my kind?” he asks almost frantically, pulling his hand away with self-loathing thick in his voice, and I find my eyes transfixed on his face. Though anger cuts a sharp line across it, pain is there too, and that’s what keeps me from retreating from his heat and the small flames I see growing in his eyes.
Never one to back down, especially not when a friend needs me, I reach out and force myself to take his hand again, using my magic to soothe his heat, like an arctic breeze blowing across a wildfire, and calming the flames. Closing his eyes in either pain or pleasure, which I can’t be sure, I ask, “Why are you the last cherufe, Maks? Why were you alone?”
Never opening his eyes, still seeming as if he's relishing my breeze, he answers quietly, "Because all the other cherufes burned out. Like the sun, they eventually burned too hot, exhausted the flames that gave them life, and died. It wasn't an asteroid that killed the dinosaurs, Rhia. It was a tribe of my ancestors that burned out at the same time. No one knows what caused it, but it was enough to destroy the entire tribe and decimate an entire species. I'm watched so closely by the council because they expect I'll either go one of two ways. Like my parents, and most of my kind before me, feeling my control slip and ending myself before that control disappears completely, or like my ancestors, abandoning myself to the fire, and destroying everything I've ever known. There's never been a third option."
Stunned by his words, and with no idea of how to comfort him, the only thing I can think to do is just continue to hold onto him. To show him that unlike others before me, I’m not going to run. Even if I can’t hide the faint tremor of fear that moves through me, I stay. I’ll never abandon him, but his story has left me positively shaken.
Meatloaf
"I'm bored. Let's go do something," Gavril suggests, pulling my eyes away from a game of cards with Declan, and I can't help but agree. We've been in the old farmhouse for three days now, and we’re all starting to get a little stir crazy. Plus, a new setting may give me the nerve to talk to Satine, who is growing weaker every day she goes without feeding.
“Hell yeah, man. Let’s go!” Declan cries, jumping from his seat, and sending our cards sliding across the table. I’m not mad though. I’m as ready to be out of here as him.
Satine rises from where she appeared to be sleeping on the couch at Gavril's suggestion. As she moves over, her feet almost seem to drag and her normal hip-swaying walk is nowhere to be seen. She's still beautiful, but her once glowing skin is pale, and her hair though still nice, lacks its normal shine. "While we're out, I need to find a bar or something," she mumbles, not meeting my eyes, and my chest squeezes at what she's implying. I knew that it was coming, but I can't help the jealousy I feel at the thought of someone else feeding her. I want to be the one to be there for her.
Noticing where my eyes linger on hers, Maksim steps up and places a warm, soothing hand on my shoulder, and I lean into his touch without thinking about it. "Some time out will do us all some good. Let's take half an hour to get dressed, then we'll meet back here and see what this town has to offer," he suggests, squeezing gently before walking toward the room he's claimed. While I share one with Satine, Declan and Gavril share another. Neither of the guys had argued about Maksim bunking alone. Something about how hot it gets while he sleeps. I'm not sure if that's true, but I still feel bad watching him retire to bed alone every night.
Realizing that the others are staring at me as they wait to hear what I think, I look away from Maksim's retreating form and plaster a smile across my face. I can't change Maksim's past, no more than I can change Satine needing to feed off of others. These are just parts of them that I either have to accept or allow to tear us apart. The latter is not an option I can willingly choose.
“A night out sounds great. I’ll see you all in a bit,” I finally say, and turn to head toward the bedroom, mentally cataloging what I have in my suitcase and how I’m going to broach the subject with Satine. I can’t feed her always, but I can tonight, and if she’s eating, I’m determined to be the one on the menu.
"Well, it's not the Playhouse, but it's more than I expected," Declan says dryly, eyeing the single-story building in front of us.
Reading the sign that says, ‘Sonny’s Bar and Grill will be open until one a.m. every night but Sunday,’ I’m not so sure I agree. The place doesn’t even look like it had seen better days. I was pretty sure it was just always this decrepit.
"Well, let's not keep the locals waiting. I'm sure they will be more than thrilled to have a bunch of strangers visit on their popular Friday night meatloaf buffet," Gavril replies sarcastically, pointing to a sign that does, in fact, boast of Sonny's award-winning meatloaf.
Looking around, I notice that there are a number of other cars in the parking lot, and I can hear some song playing within the small space. I’m starting to second guess if we should even bother going in when I notice Satine stumble out of the corner of my eye. It isn’t much, but for a moment, her steps lacked the sureness and grace that she normally carries herself with. Unwilling to force her to stand out here longer than necessary, I wrap an arm around her waist, trying to play it off as if just wanting to be closer to her, but a subtle nod from Maksim shows he caught the misstep too.
Instead of saying anything, I give her a small squeeze, and she looks up at me with tired eyes, her exhaustion clear.
"So, a gargoyle, leprechaun, and cherufe walk into a bar…" Declan starts, joking as we move inside, but none of us laugh.
It’s hard to appreciate his humor with the looks of curiosity and some downright disdainful ones, pointed our way.
"I don't think anyone is in the joking mood," Gavril says, the music playing on the old jukebox the only noise as the previous conversations died with our arrival.
It's dark inside, the hardwood floors, ceilings, and walls making it more so, and cigarette smoke floats above most of the tables, leaving the air stale. Yet, despite the shadows, it's easy to see we're not welcome. Uncomfortable with the local's glares, but kn
owing Satine doesn't have the energy to stand around, I start us forward, face straight as I walk to an empty booth in the back. We make it halfway there before a high-pitched voice reaches us.
"Well look at you. You sure do clean up nice," Candy says, stepping into our path and devouring Maksim like he's on the menu. Irritated, but more worried about Satine than a clearly drunken woman, I move around her and continue to the booth.
"Well, hello to you too," I hear her say to my retreating figure, but I don't stop to reply. She can think me rude, Satine is my priority.
Finally arriving at a booth, the sounds of the patrons finally pick up as the novelty of our arrival dies down, I allow Satine to scoot in first before following after. The cushions of the booth are worn but still comfortable, and with the dim lighting, I don't feel quite so much on display.
A touch to my leg draws my attention, and I look down to see Satine’s hand rub across my jeans before settling on my inner thigh. The touch has things low in my body stirring, and I lean in closer to her for a kiss, right as the others claim their seats. Declan and Gavril look as if they’re fighting not to laugh, and Maksim has a scowl on his face. The absence of Candy makes me think his sour mood has something to do with her, and as curious as I am to know what she did to make him so angry, I don't ask him about it. With the heat pouring off of him in waves, his shift is too close to the surface, so talking about the petite redhead will likely only add fuel to the fire.
"Hey y'all! Welcome to Sonny's. I’m Dolly, I’ll be your waitress this evening. Can I start y'all off with some drinks?" a woman, maybe in her late thirties asks, arriving at our table with a big smile on her face. Feeling only good vibes from her, I give her my own wide smile back as I accept the laminated menu she passes my way.
"That would be great! I'd like some sweet tea, please. Lemon on the side. What's good to eat here?" I ask, and after she takes the drink orders from the others, she motions toward the slightly sticky menu I hold.
"That menu has our regular items, but tonight we have Sonny's world-famous meatloaf. Now, I know what you're thinking, how can you make a meatloaf famous, right?" she asks brightly, and at our nods she smiles and continues on with her sales pitch, leaning in as if she has some secret to tell us. "Well, the trick is, Sonny makes his own ketchup. I'm sworn to secrecy about the details, but you folks look like the trustworthy type. Anyways, he says it's all about the portions of salt, sugar, and tomato that make it so good," she adds, and I wonder that if our magic wasn’t cloaking our true forms, if she'd still be so eager to share secret recipes.
Smiling widely, Gavril answers, a realistic southern drawl to his voice that causes my toes to curl inside my shoes. "Thank you, ma'am. We sure won't tell anybody about that. Y'all have a nice establishment here too, and I for one, am ready to try some of that meatloaf."
Shocked into silence, we all mumble that we'll have the same, and Dolly takes our menus back before walking away. Our silence lasts for only as long as it takes for Dolly to get out of earshot before Declan practically bursts out of his seat. "Dude! What the hell was that?" he asks, staring at Gavril likes he's grown two heads.
Appearing unbothered by our gaping, he asks, "What?" Like the fact that he just spoke in a perfect southern accent is an everyday occurrence.
"What do you mean, ‘what’? When did you turn into a 'good ole boy'?" Maksim asks, and I find I'd like to know too.
Sighing, Gavril turns to look at the guys. "I like The Duke," he says as if that clears everything up, but when he sees that it confuses us even more, he adds, "John Wayne. I like his movies. One winter break, my family stayed on the steeple of this one church. Well, every Sunday after the service had ended and the people had gone home, the caretaker would turn on a small portable DVD player and watch John Wayne movies. I didn't have anything else to do but watch them, and eventually discovered that I like them too."
We all let that sink in, and the table is quiet while we do. This is just another piece of the puzzle that is Gavril, and though unexpected, I find it adorable how easily he slipped into the role of a southern gentleman, even if I'll never tell him that.
Before we can question him further, Dolly arrives back carrying a large tray with our drinks and five plates, overflowing with their enormous portions, and my eyes grow wide as I take in the mounds of mashed potatoes, fried okra, and steaming meatloaf.
"Thank you, ma'am. This looks mighty good. I don't reckon we need anything else," Gavril says, again using that feigned accent, and with one last smile, Dolly tells us to enjoy before walking to another table.
The guys dig in immediately, giving up any semblance of manners, while I use my fork to cut off a slice of that famous meatloaf. Bringing it to my lips, I can't help the moan that releases as I take my first bite, and realize that I owe Sonny an apology. I hadn't said it aloud, but while Dolly had bragged about the flavor, I'd thought that there was no way it could be as good as she described. An error on my part.
Quickly taking another bite, I only stop when I see Satine pushing her food around with her fork, looking as if she'd rather do anything else at that moment but eat. "You okay? We can order you something else if you'd like," I say, lowering my voice, but she only looks at me, her expression apologetic.
"The food’s okay. It's just, it's not the food I need. I have to feed, Rhia. I don't think I can put it off any longer," she says miserably, and with those few words, the meatloaf turns bitter in my mouth.
The table quietens as the guys look anywhere but at us, and despite their half-full plates I look at them pleadingly. "Can y'all give us a minute," I ask, hating to interrupt their meal.
Not needing to be asked twice, they grab their drinks and plates to take with them and rise from their seats. "We'll be over at the bar. Just yell if you need anything," Declan says, and there's a look of pity in his eyes that I can't bear to see. Turning away, I look back at where Satine is sitting beside me, and I hate how weak she looks.
"I know you've been putting off feeding. And I know that what you’ve been getting isn't enough to sustain you. Just like I know that you're suffering because you don't want to hurt me," I say, cutting straight to the point. Looking up at my words, I swallow hard as I see the tears that have built in her eyes but haven’t fallen yet.
"Oh, Rhia, it's not just not wanting to hurt you. It's that I don't want anyone but you. It sickens me to think about being with someone else, to have their hands on me, but if I don’t, I'll die. So I’m stuck in a lose-lose situation and don't know what to do," she says, and the first tear finally falls. I hate to see it there, sliding down a face made for angels, so I lean in and kiss it away.
I take a deep breath and hope I have the courage to lay it all out there, before taking her hand and bringing it to my lips in a kiss. "Satine, I care about you. A lot. You know that I have feelings for the others, and you accept that. Just like I accept this part of you, but…”
“But what?” she asks, voice smaller than I’ve ever heard it.
“But I want to be the person to feed you. Let me be the one to breathe life into your soul. If it becomes too much for me, then we can figure out another way, but if you'll have me, I'd like to try," I tell her, honesty making my words soft, and I watch another tear fall from her thick dark lashes.
She slowly brings one of her hands up to the back of my neck, as her lips tremble, and looks directly into my eyes. “I’d try anything for you, Rhia. I just don’t want you to feel bad if it's not enough, okay? For this to work, we both have to be one-hundred percent honest with each other. That means, if I’m not getting enough from our feeds, I tell you. And–”
“And if I feel like I’m giving too much, I’ll tell you. I promise, Satine. I’ll tell you the truth. Even if it doesn’t work out, I’d rather know we tried,” I say, and she pulls me down to meet her lips, hers brushing softly against mine.
We stay like that, my body beginning to grow hot as she deepens the kiss, but the hairs on the back of my neck begin to stand on e
nd, and a feeling like ants marching down my spine causes me to pull away. Not understanding what I’m feeling, but sure that, whatever it is, isn’t good, I tighten my hold on Satine, and pull her in as if we’re embracing again. When I put my lips to her ear, I make sure to speak as quietly as I can. “Something’s off. I don’t know exactly what it is, but there’s something wrong. Or, better yet, someone wrong. I think we’re being watched.”
Following my example, Satine moves her head, ensuring ours stay close enough together that the casual observer will just assume we’re making out, and lowers her voice to match mine. “It could just be one of the customers here. I mean, how often do they get to watch two hot girls make out?” she asks, but it does nothing to ease me. This isn’t the feelings of a casual customer.
“No, it’s not that. I can practically feel them watching us, and whatever their intentions, they're not good," I add and feel her tense slightly in anger or fear. Good. Let her be afraid. Being afraid will keep her on her guard, I think, knowing that anger can do the same.
Still sitting with our heads together, I say, “I think we should get out of here. We'll get the guys and go. Is that okay with you?”
She nods her head against mine, and I'm glad that she's taking the threat seriously. Holding hands, we slide from the table and make our way toward the bar as I help support her, but the closer we get, the more irritated I grow.
On either side of where the guys sit, girls surround them vying for their attention as they eat what looks like another serving of meatloaf. I can't help but roll my eyes as I see Candy lean so close to Maksim that she's practically perched on his chair with him. She somehow doesn't see or ignores the fact that he's leaning so far away, that it looks like the chair may tip at any moment.
“Now, no need to be shy boys. Me and my girls grew up in this area. The place we’re going camping is very secluded. No one will bother us there,” Candy is saying, and the three women that stand near her are nodding their heads along, like puppets on a string.
Wishes to Burn Page 3
