Of course, Ivarr wouldn’t be afraid for me in this case. With no chance of me getting pregnant, I was in no danger here.
But how about him?
“THERE IS NO POINT IN living in fear, Katherine,” Ivarr replied to my worried questions when the two men left, and it was just the two of us in his suite again. He stood in the doorway of the bedroom as I sat on the bed. “You have a job you love in Seattle. And you can keep it if that’s what you want. I don’t care where we live, as long as we’re together.”
“Well, I’m good at my job. Doesn’t mean I love it that much. Definitely not enough to risk your life over it. Besides, how about your job here?”
“The show? It’s just a means to feed, not a job in the traditional sense of the word. Now that I have you, I don’t intend to go back.”
“Is that why Lucius quit, too?”
“Lucius? Yes, he’s met Shanayah. There is no point for mated Incubi to continue with the show, and there are more than enough unmated ones to keep it running.”
“How do you support yourselves if you’re not working?”
“Katherine.” He smiled. “I have enough money to last us a lifetime, no matter how long our lives will be. All Incubi have enough wealth accumulated to never worry about working for money. The show is only for feeding, nothing else. Any revenue money that’s left after paying the production cost goes to various charities. We keep nothing for ourselves.”
He came over and sank to his knees in front of me, bringing his face level with mine.
“You and I, we can go anywhere, live in any place you want, do whatever you wish. You’re my queen. Just say the word.”
“I don’t want to be a queen without a king.” I smiled and dipped my fingers into his beard to cup his face. “What Andras said really scared me. Let’s stay here for a little while. At least until things get sorted out. If we leave, I’ll be forever worried about you.”
Not that I wouldn’t worry about him here. But being close to other Incubi felt a little more comforting right now. I believed that it would be easier to get any updates from Andras if I got to see him on regular basis.
“Besides,” I added. “I’d like to get to know all the demons’ wives better. Now that I’m going to be one of them.”
A bright expression of delight spread on Ivarr’s handsome face.
“Can I call you my wife now?” He circled my waist with his arms, shifting me closer.
“If you ask me to be one.” I smiled, a giddy feeling of happiness dousing all my worries for the time being.
“Will you be my wife, Katherine? In sickness and in health? For as long as we both might live? May it be a few centuries or longer.”
“Yes, Ivarr.” I slid my hands to the back of his head, bringing his face even closer, his lips just a whisper away from my kiss. “I’ll be delighted to be your wife, my Viking.”
EPILOGUE
HE SWEPT THE NEIGHBOURHOOD with a quick glance, making sure there was no one watching him. Although the house he and Katherine chose was at the end of a very quiet street, well hidden behind a curve of the road, the old habit of always watching over his shoulder for prying eyes kicked in before he lifted the double-door fridge and effortlessly carried it inside the house.
The fridge came with free delivery. But after watching the two humans who delivered it huff and puff, straining themselves to unload it from the truck, he gave them their tip and sent them on their way.
It made little sense to watch them struggle with that thing all the way up the front porch steps and then across the main floor to the kitchen in the back, possibly dropping it on the way or damaging the walls in the process. He could do it himself in a fraction of the time and with much less effort.
“Hi, honey,” Katherine greeted him the kitchen, her lovely face flushed from the heat of the oven she had open.
“The fridge is here,” he announced, carefully setting it near its spot at the wall.
“I see that, my Hercules.” She smiled, blowing a strand of hair from her face. “If you’ve kicked the delivery guys out already, you’ll have to connect it all by yourself now, too.”
“Piece of cake.” He got a couple of tools he kept in the kitchen drawer out and sat on the floor next to the fridge, ripping the plastic and Styrofoam packaging from it. “Speaking of cakes. It smells nice in here.”
“I’m trying one of Andras’s recipes.” She took the cake dish from the oven and sat it on the countertop of the kitchen island. “Again,” she sighed.
“Don’t you try to compete with that demon,” Ivarr chuckled. “He has centuries of experience.”
“According to you, I now have centuries ahead of me, too. And I’m intending to use at least some of this time to beat him.” She laughed.
He had nothing to prove to her that he was one of the Forgiven now. Physically, he didn’t feel any different, except that the constant gnawing of torturous hunger had completely gone.
Other than that, he still was inordinately strong, could walk through walls and locked doors, and entered her dreams freely. Now that she was near him, he delighted enjoying her in every way, in dreams as much as in reality.
It would take years before her lasting youth would confirm it, but he felt certain of his forgiveness even without that confirmation. The powerful love he felt for her with all of his being gave him the absolute certainty. For centuries, he knew its taste and its appearance. He longed to have a woman experience it for him, and he never even dared to hope he’d feel it himself one day.
Until her. His Katherine.
The strength of his love for her thrilled and astounded him, giving him the absolute certainty that no other feeling could ever be as powerful.
“Well,” she said slowly, critically eyeing the cake on the counter. “This looks good. Definitely better than the last time.” She huffed another sigh. “Let’s just hope it tastes as good as his. Honestly, if I didn’t know Andras better, I’d swear he intentionally left out some important part of the recipe, just to mess with me.”
“It smells amazing, sweetheart.” He didn’t care for the cake, or for any human food for that matter, but the small blush of pleasure at his words inside her immediately looked enticing.
Holding up the tool he had just used to connect the water line to the fridge, he paused, giving her an appreciative once over.
Katherine wore her usual simple clothes, a pair of denim shorts and a loose grey t-shirt. The bright splash of colour came from her frilly apron, printed with large, red strawberries. He smiled to himself, thinking about all the things he’d do to her, to make that shy little blush inside of her turn the same scarlet colour of raging passion as the berries on her apron.
She intercepted his hungry stare.
“Don’t you look at me like that, mister.” She waved her hand at him. “I still need to ice this cake. And you have to put that fridge in place.”
Without taking his eyes off her, he plugged the fridge into the outlet and dropped the tools back into the kitchen drawer on his way up from the floor. “Done.” He gave the fridge a small shove with his foot, sliding it in its spot between the cabinets, then sauntered over to her.
“Really, Ivarr . . .” She leaned with her back to the island, hands pressed to the counter on each side of her hips. “I have to make sure this cake is good. I want to bake it for dessert for dinner on Sunday. Pam is really looking forward to coming over for a visit.”
There was no way of knowing if Pam had allowed Zander to enter her dreams yet. But everyone knew that they talked on the phone daily for last several weeks since the show. This was Pam’s first visit to Vegas since then, and it was obvious Zander was beside himself with anticipation and excitement at finally seeing her again.
“I’m looking forward to Pam’s visit, too,” he huffed a laugh. “Maybe then she’d take Zander out of his misery. He’s getting rather irritating in his pining after her.”
As much as Ivarr was ready to move anywhere with Katherine, he had
to admit he was happy staying in Vegas with her for now.
Somehow, over the centuries, he realized that Sytrius had become a close friend to him and living in proximity with other demons was as close to an extended family as he could ever give to Katherine. Seeing her building friendships with Alyssa and the other women filled his heart with gratitude and sense of belonging.
This month was the due date for Alyssa’s baby. And as much as everyone was excited, there was a definite worry about having a human-Incubus child brought into the world.
Cambion was what humans used to call offspring that a demon-human union might produce. Although all prenatal tests came back fine, the concern about what the baby would actually be was clearly there.
Right this very moment, though, Ivarr didn't want to think about any of this. His focus was firmly on that tiny little spark of blush inside his Katherine.
His hands firmly planted on the counter on each side of her, he leaned over, inhaling her sweet scent mixed with the warm smell of her baking.
“I really need to ice this cake,” she whispered, even as the spark inside her flared into a bright tendril of anticipation.
“Don’t you need to let the cake cool off first?” He slid the tip of his finger up her arm, watching the bright orange and pink wisps of her pleasure curl in its wake.
“I guess so . . .” She tilted back her head, and he noted her pulse flutter under the delicate skin on her neck.
Whatever control he had left him that very second, as often happened with her around. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he lifted her onto the counter, shoving the cake aside.
“Show me all the mesmerizing colours you can feel, my Mistress.”
Grand Master
CHAPTER 1
(Warning: Unedited and subject to change)
Clutching the window curtain in my sweaty hand, I stared at the dark street outside. The sole streetlight in front of my apartment building was broken. Again. And the only illumination came from some distant storefronts and from other lit windows around.
All lights in my apartment were off on purpose. It’s not like they could see me here, on the seventh floor, hiding behind the curtain. I was fairly sure, they wouldn’t even look up, expecting me to be ready and downstairs within minutes as soon as their black car with tinted window pulled over at the entrance of my building. Still, standing openly in front of a brightly lit window would make me feel too exposed and even more vulnerable than I already did.
Nobody is forcing you to go ahead with this.
I inhaled, attempting to calm my nerves that tied my stomach into a quivering mess.
It was true. No one made me stand here, wearing a tight black dress and a pair of hooker heels, waiting for a black vehicle to arrive and take me some place unknown to entertain a group of men I’d never met.
No one was forcing me, except for my insatiable appetite for adventure that my mom lamented would be responsible for my untimely demise one day.
Maybe this was the day she so often talked about?
As the youngest of five children and the only girl, I grew up spoiled, I admit it. But having four older brothers made me want to keep up with them in everything or die trying. Whatever sports any one of them played, I had to play too. And I needed to excel in them, no matter what it took—from scraped knees to broken bones.
Always chasing another adrenaline rush as I teenager, I'd tried every extreme I could—skydiving, bungee jumping, swimming with sharks, and surfing off the coast of Australia. I grew up fearless.
Dreaming of becoming a spy one day, I diligently learned Russian language from middle school and all the way through university. Never in a million years would I have guessed that by the age of thirty, I would end up having an ordinary office job in an international communication company.
Granted, my position was with their office in Minsk, Belarus—still far and fairly exotic for someone born and raised in a small town in Australia. And even though no actual spying was expected from me, my duties as a Communications Manager included organizing local events and socializing with people of many backgrounds from pop stars to government officials and local business moguls.
During one of such events—a party at a nightclub with a number of clients and politicians—I stepped outside to get some fresh air.
The mentality of Belorussian officials on sexual harassment was not quiet on the same level as that of the western world. I often found that I had to educate them on the proper work-place etiquette on case-by-case basis. The education was even more necessary at the parties like this, where alcohol was involved.
After batting off the advances of yet another middle-aged asshole in power, I simply needed a break, and leaned against the restaurant’s wall outside a few feet away from a young woman smoking a cigarette.
Everyone seemed to smoke in this country—that wasn’t what brought my attention to her. Neither was it her outfit of short skirt and mile-high heels or the way she glanced up and down the street, scanning every single passing car. She looked and acted like a prostitute waiting for a client, which wasn’t unusual for this place or time.
What made me watch her with more than curiosity was the obvious signs of extreme nervousness. Her trembling fingers all but crushed the cigarette with every long inhale she took.
Despite the mild spring evening, she rubbed her upper arms through her cheap pleather jacket as if chasing the chills away, and her knees shook every time she shifted from foot to foot. I didn’t think she was drunk or stoned, but she swayed in her stiletto boots, as if she was about to pass out any minute.
“S vami vse v poryadke?/ Is everything okay with you?” I asked her in Russian, fully expecting to get no response beyond maybe a suspicious glare.
She didn’t appear to be in a mood for a friendly chat. Besides, I’ve learned early on that people preferred to keep to themselves in this part of the world, not being particularly keen on conversations with strangers.
She swore under her breath and indeed threw a glare my way at first. Then as if thinking of something, she turned my way.
“Listen. I’m really scared here.” She threw the unfinished cigarette down and crushed it with her foot, only to get another one from her purse immediately after.
“Do you need a ride home? I can get you a cab,” I offered.
She shook her head so energetically, it appeared to be in danger to fall off.
“No fucking way. I could never say no to the kind of money they’re paying.”
“Is it enough to risk you life over it?” I didn’t need to know the details to guess that whatever she was up to might be rather dangerous.
She attempted to light the cigarette and failed—her fingers shook too much and her body vibrated with a sad nervous laugh.
“My life isn’t worth much.”
Without thinking, I reached over to move a strand of bleached blonde hair away from the lighter, lest she set herself on fire. She jerked her head away from my touch. Her eyes narrowed at me.
“Who are you? Are you a tourist, you speak with an accent.”
“My name is Jade.” I decided against getting into too many details about myself. “I’m here with the party.” I tipped my head towards the restaurant door behind us.
“Are you from England?”
“No. Australia.” I changed the subject back to her. “I’ll pay for the cab to take you home.”
She shook her head again and tossed the unlit cigarette back in her clutch purse then pulled the cellphone out of it instead.
“Can I get your phone number?” She asked out of the blue.
“What for?” I frowned, taken aback from her unexpected request.
“Here,” she shoved the phone with the picture of a somber teenager in my face. “This is my sister. Her name is Sveta. If I don’t call you tomorrow morning, could you let her know that I won’t be coming home?”
The harsh realty of life was often more brutal in some parts of the world than in others. There wa
s no solution, no one quick way to change it. The grim determination with which this girl seemed to have accepted the fact that she might not make it through the night was soul-crushing. Yet, I knew that if I were able to talk her into going home right now, she’d be out here again the very next night.
“Should I call the militsya instead maybe?” I asked.
“What’s the point? They’d do nothing.”
Sadly, there was a good chance she might be correct on that one. The local law enforcement seemed to be rather selective in their response. Besides, she sounded as someone who spoke from experience.
“So, you didn’t tell your sister were you went?”
“No. She is thirteen. The less she knows the better. Besides, she wouldn’t have let me go if she knew.” She stepped from foot to foot and anxiously glanced down the street again. “They’re here.” Her eyes widened at the sight of the black car turning from around the corner. “Copy her number.”
Hurriedly, she shoved her phone my way again, and I quickly punched in the numbers from her screen into my phone as the car approached.
“So, what’s your phone number, Jade?” She asked, stuffing her phone back inside her shiny clutch.
I told her just as the car pulled over in front of us and the back door opened as if on its own.
Hesitantly, she took a few steps towards it. Her shoulders hunched, she ventured a nervous peek inside the darkness of the open door then threw a quick glance over her shoulder at me.
“My name is Tanya,” she said quietly before getting inside the car.
The door closed almost immediately, and the vehicle drove off into the night.
My phone still in my hand, I quickly took a picture of its licence plate. I desperately hoped for Tanya’s call the next morning. But no matter what was about to happen to her, I vowed she would get justice, even if she didn’t believe that her life was worth it.
COMING SPRING/SUMMER 2019
More By Marina Simcoe
The Forgotten (Demons Book 2) Page 24
