by Faith Gibson
The sun’s angle changed quite a bit, alerting Sixx to how long he’d been walking. If he turned back now, he’d make it home in plenty of time to take another shower before he needed to leave for Sinclair’s. On the way back, he spotted a house for sale. Memorizing the phone number on the listing sign, he considered living closer to the water. If he was going to spend his time surfing, a house on the beach would certainly be more convenient than the one in the hills. He wouldn’t have as much privacy, but it wouldn’t hurt to look at it.
When he arrived home, Sixx reached out with his senses, searching for Urijah. The Goyle was out back, so Sixx made his way to where his friend was relaxing. He must have been back a while seeing as there were several empty beer bottles on the table. Sixx pulled a longneck out of the ice-filled bucket and sat down at the patio table. “How is the armory?”
“It’s coming along nicely for the most part. Sinclair has done a great job with the specifications I sent.”
“He is a Di Pietro, so I’d expect nothing less.”
“Truth. The old building wasn’t bad, but the modifications will make it much easier for me to forge the type of weaponry we need should there be a war.”
“I know I’m not the only one who prays it doesn’t come to that. With Jasper taking Theron’s head, I wouldn’t be surprised if Alistair retaliated.”
Uri grabbed another beer and twisted off the cap. “Yes, but will the old fucker risk his beloved Kallisto?” Urijah had kidnapped Alistair’s adopted human daughter to use as leverage against the King of the Greeks.
“That’s the million-dollar question. For someone who despises humans, he sure has a funny way of showing it.”
There was a comfortable lull in the conversation until Uri asked, “How was the beach?”
Sixx couldn’t help but smile. “Peaceful. Home. I didn’t realize how much I missed being around the water until I stood inches from it. What is home for you?”
Uri didn’t answer right away. He gazed out over the beaches in the distance, his blond hair blowing softy around his shoulders. In that moment, Uri didn’t look like a Norse god; he appeared to be a lost young man. “I can’t say I have a home. I’ve been wandering this planet for nearly eight hundred years, and I’ve yet to find the place that calls to my soul.”
Sixx wanted to tell the Goyle that sometimes it wasn’t a place but a person that was home, but he didn’t want to cause him any more hurt than Uri already felt.
“It will take us about an hour to get to Sinclair’s. I need to make a quick phone call then I’ll be ready,” Sixx said, changing the subject.
Urijah downed his beer and stood, sighing. “Let me change clothes. I’m ready to get this shit over with.”
Sixx didn’t see anything wrong with the way Urijah was dressed. He glanced down at his cargo shorts and t-shirt. Of course he needed to put on something less casual. He didn’t want to offend his host nor his King. After he made the phone call, Sixx ran through the shower and changed into dress slacks and a polo. So much for the new dress code.
Urijah walked through the kitchen wearing dark jeans and a button-up shirt. His long blond hair was pulled back away from his face in a man bun. The faint scent of cologne lingered after he stepped into the garage. Sixx smiled. Whether it was on purpose or not, Urijah was going to look good for his friend.
Since this was Uri’s first trip to California, Sixx pointed out places he thought Urijah might be interested in. He also told the Norseman about living on the West Coast, including his time with Rae. “I freaked, man. When I walked in the bathroom and saw the bite marks on her neck, I knew I had to get out of there. I fell for her. Hard. But I wasn’t Sinclair. I couldn’t marry a woman only to watch her grow old and die.”
“That’s fucked up. I don’t know how he does it.”
“He says the pain in the end is worth all the love he gets while they’re together. It’s been over a hundred years since he took a wife, as far as I know.” Sixx and Sinclair had been really close when he lived in California. From talking to Sin on the phone, he gleaned that Finley now had the coveted spot at his right hand. Being the second oldest in the Stone family, Sinclair was heir to the throne were something to happen to Rafael. That is until Rafe’s son was born, and he wasn’t due for several months.
“Here we are,” Sixx said aloud as he pulled up to the gate. He spoke his name into the security box and drove through when the gate opened. The driveway was longer than his own since Sinclair’s house was more of a fortress than the villa. His property backed up to the Angeles Forest. Several vehicles were parked in the driveway, most of which were high-end sports cars. They angled out of the Veyron, and Sixx led Urijah to the back of the house. He knew his way around Sin’s home as well as his own. Voices and laughter met them from the large patio that separated the back of the house from an infinity pool.
Sinclair met them with a beer in each hand. “Urijah, welcome to my little slice of paradise. Sixx, welcome back. Please, make yourself at home while you’re here. Once everyone has arrived, I will make the introductions.”
Both men took a beer and looked around. Sixx took pity on Uri and said, “The bathhouse is down the path to the left, should you need to take a piss. The path to the right leads to a garden. It isn’t nearly as large as the one at the manor, but it is peaceful, nonetheless. I’ve found myself meditating there many times.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll check it out.” Uri took off walking, and Sixx made his way to where Rafael and Kaya were sitting at a high top patio table. Rafe was sharing the story of Dante’s rescue of Isabelle and Conner with someone who looked vaguely familiar. Since he had heard the story on more than one occasion, he allowed his attention to drift to the others in attendance. Sixx knew most of them by face considering he was back home, even if it was twenty-four years later.
Finley arrived not long after he and Uri had, and Sixx noted that Fin was alone. None of the others had brought a date. Other than Kaya, the only other woman in attendance was Sin’s housekeeper, Ingrid. He figured she and Priscilla must be related, because the woman was just as motherly and protective of the Goyles as Rafael’s housekeeper. She was getting on in years, but she wasn’t letting a little thing like age slow her down.
Fin said hello to Rafael and Kaya before approaching Sixx. Instead of saying anything, he lifted his nose to the air. If Sixx hadn’t been looking at Fin’s face, he’d have missed the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll be right back,” he said before taking off down the path that led to the garden. Those two confused the hell out of Sixx, but he had his own mate to worry about. While on the beach, he had come up with a plan and a timeline. By Friday, he would know one way or another whether he had a chance in hell with Rae.
When Sin was ready to get supper underway, he searched the area. “Where’s Finley?”
Sixx thumbed over his shoulder. “He and Urijah are in the garden. Would you like for me to retrieve them?”
“No need.” Sin let out a whistle that resembled a bird call. Sure enough, Fin and Urijah found their way back to the patio soon after.
Chapter Three
When the doorbell rang, Desirae froze. Nobody should be visiting, not with Desi on the road. As quietly as she could, she padded to the door and peered through the peephole. A delivery man was standing on the porch holding a large bouquet of flowers. Nobody sent her flowers, not even her son. Maybe he was feeling bad about being on the road, leaving her alone for several months, especially right before her birthday. She unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.
“Good afternoon. These are for Desirae Rothchild,” the older man said with a hint of an accent.
“That would be me,” she told him.
He handed over the flowers, tipped his hat, and said, “Have a lovely evening.”
“Wait, let me get you a tip,” she called after him.
“No worries, Miss. It’s been taken care of.” He tipped his hat again and ambled do
wn the sidewalk to where the delivery van was parked.
Now that she was inside with the door securely locked, she noticed what she was holding. Instead of the standard vaseful of roses, Desirae held in her hands an array of orange flowers. Asiatic lilies and smaller Peruvian lilies surrounded her favorite, Birds of Paradise. There were smaller greeneries woven throughout to offset so much orange, and the backdrop was several stalks of bamboo. She placed the brown wooden dish on the coffee table and searched inside for a card. When she found none, she hurried to the door and unlocked it, throwing it open to look for the wayward plastic stick that must have fallen out of the arrangement somewhere between the van and the door. Dammit! Why hadn’t she looked at the van long enough to get the florist’s name off the side?
Once back in the house, she sat down on the sofa and stared at the flowers in front of her. A chill ran across her spine when she remembered the last arrangement of flowers she received. The week before Michael left her twenty-four years ago, an arrangement almost identical to the one she was staring at arrived at her small apartment. The thought that her old lover, Desi’s father, could be sending her flowers unnerved her.
If it was Michael, why now? Had he finally seen a photo of Desi online and figured out he had a son? Desmond was the spitting image of his father. Sure, Michael was in his mid to late thirties when they were together, but there was no denying who Desi belonged to. How sad was it that she didn’t know anything about Michael, like his birthday or how old he was? Where he’d been born, how many siblings he had? She knew nothing personal about the man who had invaded her mind and body for several months. Anytime they had talked, it was all about her. Whenever she tried to steer the conversation his way, he distracted her with his skillful mouth or his adept hands. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about the way he used his cock to keep her occupied for hours on end.
In the few years after Desi was born, Desirae attempted to date other men. More often than not, it ended in disaster. Either the guy didn’t want a woman saddled with a kid, or they had the stamina of a cheetah. Out of the gate quickly and then bam! Done. Michael Gentry ruined her where other men were concerned. To top it off was the fact that she wasn’t aging. At all. How did she explain to a potential date that she and her son looked like brother and sister? Had Desi received any of Desirae’s genes whatsoever, they could pass for twins. Most women would give anything to keep their youthful appearance, but Desirae felt like a freak.
When Desi was in the lower grades, it wasn’t as bad. Desirae didn’t look any younger than most of the other mothers. Once Desi hit high school, and his friends started macking on his mother was when trouble began. He wasn’t pissed at her, but as soon as Desi was old enough to drive, Desirae sequestered herself inside their small apartment, only going to work and the grocery store. In the beginning, her friends and co-workers joked with her about not aging, but when the remarks became snide and referred to her having surgery, she found a job an hour away where nobody knew her.
She didn’t have to worry about explaining things to her Catholic parents. As soon as she told them she was pregnant and the baby’s daddy had left town, her holier-than-thou father told her she was dead to them. Her mother, being the doormat she was, never said a word. Desirae raised Desmond by herself, with no help from a soul.
She found out she was pregnant during her last semester in college. She was able to graduate and find a job with a graphic design firm before she gave birth. After changing companies a couple of times, Desirae had enough experience to start her own business from home. Freelancing allowed her the anonymity she needed along with the income to keep a roof over both her and Desi’s heads. They didn’t have a lot, but they never went without. Once Cyanide Sweetness signed a record deal, Desi was able to chip in on the expenses and move them into a larger place.
Rae was blessed when it came to her son. She was honest with him from the time he was old enough to ask questions. She told him the truth about his father. She also told him the truth of her agelessness – she had no clue on either account. He took it all in stride as long as his friends weren’t hitting on her, and they became the best of friends.
She often thought back to the bite marks Michael had given her on their last night together, causing her to speculate that her lover was a vampire. Since she had seen him during the daytime, she would laugh at herself and wave it away. His being a monster wasn’t so far-fetched, not with the Unholy running the streets at night. She didn’t believe her child’s father was a creature of the night, but she still had no explanation for why she never aged once she had Desmond.
The possibility that Michael was back in California was real. She had dreaded the day she would come face-to-face with him again for twenty-four years. Desirae wanted an explanation for why he never came back. Why he never called. He had never confessed his feelings for her. She knew what they had was purely physical. At least for him. She had been stupid enough to allow emotions to worm their way in, but she never kidded herself that Michael loved her. While she wanted to know why he never came back, she desperately did not want to see him. She didn’t trust herself not to fall for him all over again.
If he was the one who sent the flowers, he knew where she lived. The next knock on her door could be a tall, middle-aged man who would no doubt be just as devastatingly handsome all these years later as he had been the last time she’d seen him. As much as she allowed herself to pretend she hated Michael, there was still something deep inside she was terrified to acknowledge. Some inexplicable tether tying her thoughts and dreams to a man who didn’t want her. Even after all this time, she had no control over the pull he had on her, rendering thoughts of other men futile.
Rae stood from the sofa and went to the cabinet in the kitchen where Desi kept several bottles of liquor. Even though he was a famous rock singer, Desi rarely drank, so most of the bottles were full. She only drank wine on occasion, but her nerves were shot at the thought of seeing him all these years later. She pulled out the Patron and poured some into a shot glass. She didn’t have fresh limes, so she grabbed the bottle of lime juice out of the refrigerator. It had been a long time since she had “licked, slammed, and sucked” a tequila shot, but she was preparing to do just that. She grabbed the salt shaker, licked the skin between her thumb and forefinger, and tapped salt onto her wet skin. She took a deep breath and licked the salt. She tossed back the glass and quickly shot some lime juice into her mouth, chasing the fiery liquid down her throat. Desirae growled and shook her head. She hated the way tequila tasted, but she loved the way it took away her cares.
Steeling her resolve, she took two more shots before putting the tequila away. She hadn’t eaten supper, so the alcohol was taking effect quickly. Desirae had to prepare herself mentally in case Michael did show up. She had rehearsed the words she would say to him a hundred times, but now that the possibility was real, she honestly had no idea what she would say or how she would feel. She sat back down on the sofa, staring at the beautiful flowers. While she tried to picture an older Michael in her mind, her phone dinged, letting her know she had a text message.
Of course it was from Desi. No one else messaged her. Just rolled into New Oakland. Getting ready to grab supper.
Did you send me flowers?
No. Did you get flowers?
Rae didn’t want him to worry, so she played it off. Yes. They must have the wrong address. She knew that wasn’t the truth, because the kind delivery man had said they were for her specifically.
Are they at least nice flowers? She could count on Desi to keep it light.
They’re ok. You have a good dinner. Love you.
Love you too Pretty Momma. God, her son was the sweetest.
Their texts were never lengthy, just long enough to let her know he was safe. Desmond had grown into a respectable young man, even if his music was hard core. Desirae happened to like his music, but then she had always listened to heavy metal, much to the dismay of her parents. She adopted the hard core m
usic scene along with the laid back beach life, mixing the two to find her own style. She had the lean, tanned physique of a surfer. She got her first tattoo the day she turned eighteen, and she became fast friends with the older girl, Starr, who had inked the small tribal symbol on her arm. It didn’t take long for Desirae to get addicted, and soon her arms were covered in designs and patterns that meant something to her. Luckily her focus of studies had been graphic design instead of something much stuffier like accounting. She found that the companies who hired her for her computer skills didn’t care if she had tattoos as long as she did a good job.
Michael loved her ink. He had spent hours tracing the outlines with his fingers, teasing the colors with his tongue. Her right hand covered her left wrist when she thought of him. Buried deep within an array of kanji symbols was the nickname of the man she first fell in love with. The only man she had allowed herself to feel so strongly for. She had Starr place the four letters on her wrist in remembrance of the whirlwind affair, not knowing he would disappear from her life for good. She still couldn’t listen to Mötley Crüe without a wave of sadness hitting her in the chest.
Rae grabbed the flowers from the coffee table and moved them to a small table on the wall behind the sofa. It was the one place she wouldn’t see them every time she turned around. Even though it wasn’t late, she turned out all the lights and grabbed her laptop. She padded down the hallway to her bedroom where she would sit in the middle of her bed and use work to keep her mind occupied until she could no longer hold her eyes open. Hopefully then she would have a peaceful night’s sleep instead of one filled with visions of Michael Gentry.
