by Domini, Sage
With the burden of her growing body, it was easiest for her to straddle him now. A patch of grass extended from the porch to the sidewalk and Deston lowered his body onto the ticklish carpet. Even before she mounted him he could feel the heat from between her legs. He could smell her unique scent and it drove him nearly wild. Still, he let her take her time conquering his body. She guided him to the moist slit which waited to be filled and he moaned beneath her. He let her take the rhythm, holding back as she rocked urgently on top of him until he could stand it no longer. His hands found her thighs and forced them wider as he came closer to climax. Alicia shuddered and he knew from the spasms which surrounded his engorged manhood that she was in the spell of an intense orgasm. He loved this about her; how she would take her pleasure without being coaxed. And so in the next moment he took his.
After his seed had released and the tremors had left him, he opened his eyes. That great silvery disc was rising to meet the night. Deston had always heard of the rumored man in the moon but when he looked he saw only the knowing face of a wolf.
“I love you,” he told her. He said it every day and knew hearing it still gave her joy. But just then she seemed sad as she gazed absently past him. She faced the direction of the beach and Deston wondered if perhaps she too heard the fury of the tides.
“I love you too,” was all she said.
Deston placed a hand on her naked belly and she covered his hand with hers. “You should get some rest,” he told her. In a few more months they would have the demands of the new life to deal with.
Alicia shook her head. Despite the possibility some errant passerby would witness their front yard nudity, she sank down next to Deston and put her head on his shoulder. For a long time he lay quietly stroking her skin, wondering at her thoughts.
***
Alicia liked to walk on the beach when Deston was away at work. The crash of the surf and the squeals of the seagulls brought feeling of contentment and security born of a happy childhood next to the sea. She scarcely recalled the people who populated that lost time. There was only the ocean. And then Magda.
She paused and gazed out to the horizon. A distant boat bobbed in the water. She had walked near enough to the surging surf that the sand beneath her feet was packed with moisture. The weather was cooling as autumn grew near and soon the water would be too unpleasantly cold to wade through.
The deep caw of Magda’s voice grew louder in her head each day. Her dreams always ended with the reach of Magda’s gnarled fingers, coming closer every night. Just that morning she had awoken in a silent scream with the scratch of the old crone’s nails across her cheek. Deston had been sleepily startled but she stroked him reassuringly and padded to the tiny bathroom. The cold water felt good under her hands and she splashed her face. As she bent to the basin, she caught a glimpse of her pale face in the small vanity mirror. A long red score ran the length of her left cheek. She blinked and it was gone. But the brief vision quickened her heart for she knew what it meant. They were coming closer.
Alicia and Deston had traveled farther than they had intended, high up the eastern seaboard in the hopes distance would shelter them from the coven’s grasp. Alicia had spent these months quietly refining the witch’s power which had nearly slipped away from her. At first she had been doubtful; the coven had always been the source and life of her magic. She was surprised to find the solitude and peaceful communion with nature did more than any rote recitations in the grim Phoenix house.
Alicia closed her eyes and breathed in as the salt spray washed across her face soothingly. She raised her arms and felt the cold water quickly swirl around her feet in a gentle whirlpool. She smiled, willing the water to hasten its circle. In her youth she had mastered the fire, but had never known power over water. It was rumored to be a rare craft reserved for only the most powerful and forbidding of witches. The water lapped at her feet, eager to obey. Alicia opened her eyes and gave a cry of surprise.
The beach had been utterly empty a moment earlier yet the woman who stood several feet away looked as if she had been waiting a long time. The woman smiled warmly. “You have a talent.”
Alicia was instantly wary. Instinct told her the woman was a witch. Her dress was cut quite low and the gauzy fabric fluttered in the breeze. All the witches of Alicia’s life were sternly austere and this creature was the picture of untroubled simplicity. There was an air of unguarded otherness about her as she quietly waited.
If she’s a witch she’s unlike any witch I’ve ever known.
She was unconcerned with Alicia’s penetrating stare, allowing her to patiently look her fill. Her skin was flawlessly smooth and tan beneath the breezy gown which sifted in the breeze and illustrated a fine figure. When she spoke her voice held a peculiar cultured lilt. “So many never search beyond the rules of their covens.” She raised an eyebrow at Alicia. “You are of a coven, are you not?”
Alicia found her voice. “I was.”
The lovely witch let her gaze fall to Alicia’s belly. She laughed. “Yes, I suppose they cast you out. The modern adaptation doesn’t allow that.” Alicia’s hands covered her stomach instinctively as dark eyes regarded her with sympathy. “Apologies, I am being rude. I am called Ester.”
Alicia’s arms relaxed a little, but she still retained caution. “My name is Alicia. And you are correct. No coven on earth would claim me.” She heard the bitterness in her own words.
Ester gazed at her with more intent interest. “You are a better witch without them.”
Alicia was shocked. Who was this witch and how could she say such things? “I have betrayed the laws, forsaken my sisterhood.”
“And now they hunt you? To make you pay for your sins?”
Alicia’s head dropped. She coughed. “Yes, I think so.”
“I know so.” Ester’s hand reached for Alicia’s shoulder. “They are nonsense. These new witches have perverted the craft into some bizarre specter of religion.” Her dark eyes searched Alicia. “All that superstitious drivel about denying the needs of the flesh and anointing themselves saviors of mankind.” She issued a merry chuckle. “It’s all invention, dear girl.”
Alicia was silent. Where had this odd witch come from? Ester’s words ran contrary to those long years of training endured under the watch of Magda. Yet she was filled with disquiet as she recalled the eager pull of the water and the burgeoning power within which responded when she desired it. Ester watched her serenely. There was something nearly otherworldly about her. Her form shone with youth yet she exuded a wisdom which spoke of ancient knowledge. Ester looked into her eyes and nodded as if she heard Alicia’s thoughts.
“How long have you been here?” Alicia whispered.
Ester shrugged with nonchalance. “Since the time which saw few men in these parts. And I will be here when few men survive.” She waved a slender tan hand. “Ah, young one. I will not frighten you with tales of my long and strange life. You had best head home.” Ester nodded at the horizon. “A storm is coming.” She turned on her bare heel and began to walk up the shoreline as Alicia stared mutely after her. Ester had not traveled more than a dozen yards when she turned around sharply. “And the father?” she called.
Alicia grew wary again. “What about him?”
“He is not human?”
Alicia saw no point in lying. “No,” she said. “he isn’t human.”
The answer seemed to please the strange witch and she smiled again. Just then a sharp wind carried from and the water and whipped Alicia’s long hair around her face, obstructing her vision. When the air stilled, Ester was nowhere to be seen.
***
Deston paused from hauling concrete to wipe the dripping sweat from his brow with his balled up t-shirt. It was shit work, but consistent. It was also easy to keep to himself as most of the rest of the crew spoke only Spanish and spent the hard hours working with quiet efficiency. Deston flexed his forearms, trying to dispel the restlessness which always lingered below the skin. As Alicia’s body
swelled, so did the werewolf’s urge to assume his wild form as impulse commanded him to protect his mate and the child she carried. He knew Alicia suffered too. Her sleep grew increasingly troubled, though she refused to speak specifically of her visions. Deston knew only that the vengeful witches were nearer than they had been since that desperate flight out of the desert.
He took a long gulp from his water bottle and surveyed the rise and fall of the backs of the other laborers. It seemed several eons had passed since that wild first coupling in the sweet desert rain. Where he had first possessed the witch who became his mate. He and Alicia had endured so many perils, yet more tender and passionate moments than he suspected many spent a lifetime acquiring. The night he had rescued her from a violent fate had spelled his destiny and he was not sorry for a moment. But the stakes were far higher now than when they fled the southwest, or even when they battled with the vicious pack who had discovered their sanctuary in the woods. There was to be a child. And Deston knew his wolf form would be virtually useless against one powerful witch, let alone a whole coven. Deston wondered if it would be best to take Alicia and leave this place too.
And go where?
His thoughts were bitter. It seemed the coven would never stop hunting. He shook his head, suddenly aware that he had been lingering for a long moment and had drawn the frowning attention of the foreman. He nodded at the florid man and bent to retrieve another block of concrete as the wind began to pick up. He could understand why Alicia loved the ocean. The roar of the water and the fresh scent of the beach occupied the senses so completely it was possible to forget that a wider world existed.
As he worked Deston noted the shift in temperature. He figured the thermometer had dropped about fifteen degrees in the last hour. Likely a storm was rolling in. The sky darkened with clouds and the wind changed direction. He stiffened suddenly as an unbidden low growl began to roll from his throat.
Blood.
Beneath the veneer of salt and surf the coppery scent was unmistakable to the wolf within him. His eyes darted around and his shoulders tensed. All around him workers hurriedly began cleaning up the job site for the day as the laborers glanced at the threatening sky. He could see nothing amiss, yet he was certain he was not mistaken.
“Hell of a squall movin’ in!” Deston recognized the speaker. The man was frequently one of the crew, but never seemed to be positioned close by during the backbreaking days. Bright blue eyes watched Deston from beneath a tousle of brown hair. Deston recalled the foreman growling “Gallagher”, a name which fit the lyrical accent.
Deston nodded as the man waited for an answer. He felt vaguely disconcerted but could not say why. Certainly the Irishman had done nothing to alarm him. Yet his nose recalled that brief whiff of death which still lingered. “That it is. But if we hustle we can wrap everything up before it hits.” He returned to the tedious task of cleanup.
Gallagher called after him. “Care to grab a pint afterwards?”
Deston kept at his work, frowning. He was not a drinker, and he didn’t begrudge those who did. Although alcohol and werewolves did not tend to mix well. The thought brought back the memory of the Piney Woods. He reminded himself that Kenny and his boys would have been foolish and lethal without their beer cooler. He started to decline, then thought better of it. It had been a long time since he had been offered anything resembling friendship. And with the cloud of the coven’s approach hanging over him and Alicia, any allies were welcome, even humans. He shrugged. “Sure, why the hell not?”
The man smiled. “Name’s Sean Gallagher.”
“Rick Deston.”
“Good to meet you Rick Deston. I’m fond of a pub on Main Street. Ray’s. Unless you have another suggestion.”
“Ray’s is fine.”
A half hour later the crew had finished for the day and Deston entered the dim closet which was Ray’s Bar and Grill. He figured Sean must be a favorite customer based on the enthusiastic greeting he received from the portly bartender. Sean motioned to the far end of the counter and Deston took the last stool. Outside the wind roared as the storm beat at the door of the small coastal town. Deston felt mildly anxious, knowing if he stayed Alicia would worry. He figured a half hour ought to be sufficient for the sake of civility. He sipped the amber liquid which had been amiably placed in front of him and listened as the bartender, presumably Ray, joked with Sean.
“How’s that fine old lady of yours, Gallagher?”
Sean took a long swallow and winked. “She keeps me busy.”
Ray gave a low whistle. “Well if you ever decide you’re altogether too busy, remember where I live.”
Deston would have been annoyed by the insinuation if it were Alicia being referred to but Sean only laughed. “Ah, I might mention it but I already know the lady does not share with your sort.”
“My loss.” Ray headed heavily to the other end of the bar and began cleaning shot glasses.
Deston found he was struggling with the means to make simple small talk. For so many months Alicia had been his only companion and there was no need for such artificialities. He started with the obvious. “So, you’re not from here.”
“I am not, but ‘tis my home now and always.” Sean stared into his beer mug. “The place I come from is long ago and far away, but it does not matter.”
Deston wondered if he were drunk from one swallow of beer or if this guy was intentionally speaking in riddles. “Oh,” was all he said and took another sip from his mug.
Sean was quiet and then several things happened simultaneously. The door to the tavern swung open as a customer entered, bringing with him a mighty gust of ocean air and Deston drew his face out of his beer mug and found the faint scent of blood which had troubled him earlier. A growl rose involuntarily in his throat as the other patrons sparred with Ray over the din of the storm.
“You won’t wish to do that here,” Sean muttered just loudly enough to for Deston to hear his words. He raised an eyebrow. “These boys won’t take kindly to creatures of the supernatural.” He took another swallow of his beer. “I promise.” He shifted the bar stool closer to Deston, closer than he’d dared venture thus far. Deston knew why Sean Gallagher had usually taken pains to stay on the other side of the job site, where in the mix of human sweat he wouldn’t be so easily detected by the sharp nose of a werewolf.
Now that Deston was beginning to process the shock, he noticed other things. How unnaturally light Sean’s eyes were, how pale his skin was. Whatever Sean Gallagher was, the word ‘human’ did not apply. As the wolf within him struggled to be unleashed, Deston fought the impulse to change. He breathed deeply a few times and leveled his gaze at Sean, who seemed blithely unconcerned with anything beyond the bottom of his mug. Deston glanced around but the bar was buzzing and no one paid them the slightest attention.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
Sean finished his beer and idly watched Deston. “I told you, my name is Sean Gallagher. If you want to know particulars I’ve been a member of this earth some one hundred and sixty two years.” He paused. “In one form or another. And I suppose it’ll be that last part which interests you. No doubt you’ve been told my kind are extinct but I can assure you that is only a rumor.”
After this brief speech Sean ordered another round. “Your kind? You are…”
“Not like them.” Sean waved towards the raucous customers who joked and parried. He lowered his voice. “And not like you.”
Deston’s mouth was dry. “You know what I am?”
“Of course. I knew that the minute you stalked onto my job site. But I wanted to watch you a while first. Didn’t take long to realize you were without a pack. And that you were on your guard, almost as if you expected the sky to open up and rain terror on your head.”
“Or fire,” Deston muttered.
“Fire,” Sean nodded. “The preferred weapon of the modern witches. I won’t ask you what you did to get on their bad side.”
“I wouldn’t tell you anywa
y.”
Sean regarded him curiously. “No, I expect you wouldn’t. Your one who keeps his secrets. That’s why I figured there wouldn’t be any harm in getting better acquainted.”
Sean’s words kept running through Deston’s mind like a giant marquee. Not like them, and not like you. “You’re a bloodsucker,” he whispered.
Sean scowled but his voice remained light. “Has political correctness suddenly become unfashionable? I am a vampire, my furry friend. I stay alive as long as I drink plenty of warm blood.” He raised his mug. “But beer is good on occasion as well.”
Deston was confused. “Aren’t you supposed to burst into ash in the sunlight?”
Sean Gallagher laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to eat babies for breakfast and ravage fair maidens? Let’s not indulge stereotypes, Rick Deston.”
A long moment of silence passed as Deston watched the vampire. His body remained ready to change in a flash of lightning if the wolf was needed but Sean Gallagher merely began sipping a fresh beer. Deston realized if he had intended any aggression he would not have chosen a crowded bar in the middle of town. He tried to recall all he had ever heard of vampires, but the list was short and dominated by the perversions of popular culture. He knew firsthand that the stories humans created about the things they did not understand were only that, stories. When he finally spoke it was with honest curiosity.
“What do you want?”
Sean grinned briefly, then considered the question carefully. His Irish accent was thickly prominent. “Only to extend the hand of friendship.” He held out a pale hand. “From one unwholesome creature to another.”
Deston hesitated for a moment and then took the offered hand. The flesh was unnaturally cool and hard. “Friends.” His mouth twisted wryly. “I have a short supply of those. A nonexistent supply actually.”
