by Ali Vali
“I’m positive the pagans named their beloved for you.”
“Henri’s growing stronger as we stand here talking. You cannot wait too much longer.”
As with the first time Kendal laid eyes on her one constant for three thousand years, something inside her stirred. She was almost Kendal’s opposite in every way. Petite in stature, pale skin extenuated by blond hair so light it seemed almost white. The eyes that had seen the passage of time were their only common feature.
“Is he ready to take over the world tonight?” she asked, stepping closer. Now that she had finished her ride and stopped moving, the sweat on her skin made the cold air more pronounced.
Morgaine laughed. “No, not tonight.”
“Then let’s talk about something else, since we both realize the price of failure.”
Morgaine held her ground as Kendal moved closer. From the flare of Morgaine’s nose, she had detected the citrusy cologne Kendal had started using during the French Revolution. Morgaine held her breath, as if anticipating the first touch of her callused hands made rough by years of wielding a sword.
She went slow, savoring the taste of the brandy Morgaine must have had while waiting for her return. Her lips parted, encouraging Kendal in to explore, so as she stroked Morgaine’s tongue with hers, she slid her hands down her sides until she cupped her bottom.
“Better yet, I suggest we talk of nothing at all,” she said, picking Morgaine up and moving to the front door. She didn’t stop until they were in the master suite. There she put Morgaine gently on her feet and cupped her face in her hands. Just as gently she pressed her lips again to Morgaine’s, enjoying the feel of her. “I’ve missed you.”
Morgaine ran her hands up Kendal’s chest and stopped at the cord holding the shirt closed. “And I you, warrior mine. I’ve never had your like in my life.” With one tug the knot came loose and she laid her palm against the warm chest.
“The saddest day of my existence was when I had to give you the gift of immortality. As your watcher I’d never have a life with you, no matter how much I care for you.” She pulled Kendal’s shirt from the riding pants and up over her head. Kendal’s body hadn’t changed at all from the first night they had spent together.
By the time they had left the haven of the desert, everything and everyone Kendal had known was a memory, but Kendal told her that the only things she mourned losing were her father and her, once they had to part.
Over the years Ora had come to both hate and fear the best slayer Morgaine had ever trained. The exploits of the warrior Asra had become almost mythical, since none of Ora’s followers had ever come close to defeating her.
Kendal was her greatest student not only because of the way she fought, but because of her ability to morph, always changing to fit her environment, serving whenever and wherever the Elders sent her to do their bidding. Now it was her time as Kendal Richoux, but it was also her time to finish the work she had begun as Asra.
“It’s been so long,” Kendal said as she placed her hand at the center of Morgaine’s chest. The sound of Kendal’s voice interrupted her memories.
“You’re as beautiful as you were the night I gave you life, Asra.”
“And you excite me just as much,” Kendal said as Morgaine unfastened her belt and lowered her pants, dropping to her knees with them. With a little encouragement, Kendal pulled her head forward toward her sex. Morgaine loved sharing herself with Kendal since she understood so perfectly her needs and could match her strength.
Kendal moaned when Morgaine sucked her hard clitoris against her tongue. She smiled when Kendal flexed the muscles in her legs; only focused concentration kept her on her feet under the pleasurable onslaught. “Let go for me, Warrior, for the war begins tomorrow.”
*
The sound of birds in the branches of the oak outside the master suite made Morgaine turn her head toward the French doors that led out to the veranda. Standing naked in the dim dawn light, Kendal stared out at the front lawns. She had never visited Kendal at Oakgrove during her life as Jacques St. Louis, wanting to give her those years to pursue and romance someone who could have made her happy for a short while. Since Kendal’s life would never be normal, Morgaine would never deny her the few moments of happiness she could snatch along the way.
“What do you see?”
“The beginning of another day,” Kendal said.
She rose and pressed her naked body to Kendal’s back; the abdominal muscles she’d tensed the night before so she could rub against them twitched slightly under her hands. “Don’t tell me you’re getting bored with the prospect.”
“In the beginning I thought I would,” Kendal said, with her usual honesty. “Wandering aimlessly forever, with no chance at a family, watching everyone you love die, didn’t seem too appealing once I gave it serious thought.” Kendal turned in her embrace and led her back to the large bed. Morgaine snuggled up to Kendal’s side as they continued their talk. “To know my life would revolve around killing brought an incredible sadness to my heart.”
“Asra, your life was one of a soldier when I found you. Did you forget you were skilled enough to be the leader of the pharaoh’s elite squad, even though you were a woman? Your duty was to kill on command. What was the difference?”
“Back then my life would’ve ended. The killing would’ve stopped with time, and someone else would’ve been waiting to take my place since some people are eager to face war in any lifetime, if history’s any indication. Just look at the world today. How different are people now than those who lived when I served?” Kendal wrapped a strand of her hair around her fingers. “You always smell like roses, even when I’d never seen the flower.”
She kissed Kendal as a reward for her continual sweetness. “The difference is the wise ruler you once served had more patience for talk. I would think that after all this time you would’ve grown bored with politics and the ups and downs it puts people through. My way’s much more gratifying, don’t you think?” She poked Kendal in the ribs, making her laugh. “Are you really tired?”
“Try some of that patience you’re fond of lecturing me about,” Kendal said, pinching her cheek. “Awe replaced the sadness quickly. It was the simple things at first—the forging of stronger steel, the printing press, the sound of an orchestra when I first heard it, and seeing man fly. These changes made facing each new day worthwhile. I’ve come to love life and those who cherish it like I do.”
Morgaine lifted her head and looked into Kendal’s eyes. “And the fighting?”
“I fight for those who can’t do it for themselves. It’s not only my obligation but also my honor. The killing doesn’t bother me now because those I destroy really aren’t human anymore. When I heard Henri speaking to me the other night, I couldn’t bring myself to turn and look at him for the longest time,” Kendal said, exhaling at length. “Three thousand years is a long time, but not enough for me to finally understand why he chose to become such a pathetic creature.”
“Why didn’t you want to look at him?”
“Because he may resemble my brother, he may sound like him, but he isn’t him. From that very first night he came to kill me, I couldn’t stand to see what he’s turned into. I’m going to destroy him and hunt down the witch who made him,” Kendal said, and the passion Morgaine wanted to hear was back after years of rest. Her warrior had awoken.
“He’s grown powerful, you know.”
“Yes, but so have I.”
She laughed and bit the nipple closest to her mouth. “You sound incredibly sexy when you talk like that.”
“Are you kidding? I sound incredibly sexy all the time,” Kendal said as she rolled them over, pinning her to the bed with her hands above her head.
Morgaine had delivered the message from the Clan, so she would have to leave eventually to attend to other responsibilities. She planned to make the most of their remaining time. Kendal’s life would become dark soon enough until the job was done, so now they should rejoice in th
e pleasures life could bring.
“Ah, I see the cocky captain I first encountered is back. And here I thought time would tame you.”
Her clit got hard and she arched her back off the bed when Kendal sucked on her nipple hard enough to make her sex clench. “Do you really want to tame me?”
With almost equal strength she broke her hands free and squeezed Kendal’s ass. “Never,” she said, spreading her legs wide and feeling the morning air against her wetness. “But enough talk.”
Kendal placed her thigh between her legs and kissed her in a way she seldom allowed because it was so possessive. They knew each other’s strengths, so they had no reason to show restraint. With only the hard muscle against her clitoris, she broke the kiss by pulling on Kendal’s hair. “Take me,” she said as Kendal hovered over her. “I want you.”
As if to torture her, Kendal went slowly after removing the little bit of relief by sitting up. Kendal held her knees apart, further exposing her, and the twitching in her clit made her want to beg, but she waited. The night before had been explosive since they’d tried to subdue each other, but now Kendal was looking down at her with familiarity.
They cared about and knew what it took to please each other, that had never been an issue, but they also knew not to become too attached. Their place within the Clan wouldn’t allow them more than these stolen moments, so Morgaine savored these times when she could see Kendal’s soul in her eyes.
“It amazes me still how beautiful you are,” Kendal said, touching her as if she were suddenly made of porcelain. The calluses on Kendal’s palms and fingers felt delicious as they skimmed her stomach and nipples.
“If I had the ability to dream,” Kendal said as her right hand moved lower, scratching along the blond hair that topped her sex, “this is where I’d spend my nights when you aren’t with me.”
She couldn’t help but close her eyes when Kendal wet her fingers and flicked them gently against her clit. “Please, Warrior, take me,” she said, unashamed to plead.
The bed bounced when Kendal moved to put her face between her legs, blowing softly and making her arch off the bed again. “You taste as sweet as you smell,” Kendal said after she dipped her tongue just deep enough for her to miss the contact when Kendal lifted her head.
“Do you taste as good?” Morgaine asked, suddenly craving the uniqueness of Kendal. Her question made it easy to roll Kendal to her back as she slid in the opposite direction. She bucked her hips as Kendal started sucking on her and had to concentrate on doing the same in return.
From this position she could enjoy almost the length of Kendal’s skin under hers, moaning with Kendal’s hardness against her tongue. Rocking her hips in time with Kendal’s mouth started her orgasm, which washed through her so thoroughly that she shivered as her entire body tingled. She rode it out, feeling Kendal tense under her, and the moment ended too quickly, but left her boneless.
Kendal lifted her and lay back with her arms around her so they could enjoy the morning from under the covers. Their fire didn’t burn often, but perhaps that was best. Anything this hot had to burn out if lit too long, and it was her responsibility that Kendal live forever.
*
The sound of rain against Piper’s bedroom window reminded her of all the times she’d spent daydreaming in her old room at her grandparents’ place. Those hours pasting together fantasies of her future instead of sleeping whenever it rained had helped heal but not forget those parts of her heart she thought would always be broken.
She stared at the ceiling, not focusing on the moving patterns the streetlight painted as it filtered through the landscaping foliage her housing development prided itself on. The raging storm and the booming thunder that sounded close had woken her two hours before the alarm.
“The weather guy finally got it right,” she said, turning toward the window. It was early, but she wasn’t tired.
“Do you still see me, Daddy?” She spoke in a normal voice instead of the whispers she’d used as a child so she wouldn’t upset her grandparents. Daydreaming when it rained always made her feel connected to her father. The report on Mackey’s car accident had concluded it was just that—an accident. Only he’d lost control on the straightest part of River Road and hit the huge oak dead-center, almost as if he’d aimed right for it.
It had been raining that night too, and thinking about him dying out there alone still haunted her. She wished she’d fulfilled her most recurring daydream of having someone in her life who’d hold her when her head became too crowded with memories. A few moments of comfort, though, weren’t worth saddling herself with anyone she’d ever met.
“Get a grip,” she told herself, and laughed as she sat up.
The room was chilly when she pushed the covers off, but not enough to flip on the heater, so she pressed the control panel for the coffeepot. Today she’d enjoy the weather as she finished her proposal for the bank. It was a long-shot pitch, but she didn’t have any tricks left to play since enemies had surrounded them.
Financially, with or without the business, she’d be fine because of the trust her parents had set up, but the hundreds of employees working at the shipyard didn’t have that luxury. She didn’t want them to remember her for stripping them of their livelihoods and futures.
When the coffee was done, she reread her proposal, then moved to the comfortable chair in her den with the couple of books written about Oakgrove and the man who built it. That mysterious place was often the subject of her rainy-day mental vacations because it was walled off from a modern world. Growing up next door had ignited her imagination about the house and Jacques St. Louis from an early age, but the fence was as far as she ever got to unlocking the plantation’s secrets.
“What does Kendal Richoux have to do with Jacques St. Louis?” she asked the sketch of the house on the first page of the thickest book she owned on the subject. It was one of the only images of the plantation you couldn’t see from the road, and since practically all the acreage was fenced, it wasn’t visible from her grandparents’ place either.
“You’d think someone would’ve cracked the story by now.” She kept talking to herself as she flipped through the pages, trying unsuccessfully to find a picture of Jacques. She rested her head back, reading the almost clinical information, and before long it put her back to sleep.
*
“Damn, just when it was getting interesting,” Henri said to Troy, both of them standing outside Piper’s place getting soaked. It was the first time he’d opened his eyes since Piper had woken up. “She’s so accessible.”
“Who is she, sire?” Troy asked, adjusting his coat as the rain made it heavier.
“Someone who could be useful to us.” Henri opened his mind again, trying to reconnect to Piper’s thoughts, but sleep had surprisingly raised her defenses. Her hatred of Asra was almost like an embrace. “Remember this place, but leave her alone.”
When they reached the fence surrounding the complex, they both jumped effortlessly to the top. Sunrise was in an hour, but Henri wanted to feed before he returned to his sleeping chamber. He led Troy toward the older section of town, but kept searching for an easy target. He found it right outside the French Quarter when he spotted a middle-aged man slumped in the doorway of an abandoned house. From his appearance, the guy was probably homeless and drunk, but Henri only cared that he was alive.
He stopped close to him, smiling when the man opened his eyes and stared at him. “Can you loan me a few bucks?” the man asked, alcohol on his breath.
The silence seemed to unnerve the man since he straightened up some and looked startled. “I ain’t got no money,” he said, his voice slurred, but he talked faster.
“I’m interested in something else.”
Henri grabbed him by the front of his coat and lifted him to his feet with one hand. The strength of Ora’s blood never ceased to awe him, and he held the man almost completely off his feet, widening his smile so his canines were visible. When the guy saw them he t
ried to get away, making Henri laugh when only the tips of his toes hit the ground in a running motion.
The prickling in his skin signaled that dawn wasn’t far off, but Henri could concentrate only on the hammering carotid artery that pulsed with blood and terror. The man’s skin had a strong sour smell, but that wouldn’t ruin the feast. As he broke through the artery and his mouth filled with the first gush of salty thick liquid, his euphoria made him hard. He was as excited as the first time Ora had pressed her wrist to his lips.
He remembered how his strength had left him one sip at a time, his fear and his life force abandoning him as he floated in Ora’s embrace. That same bliss was making the man in his arms stop struggling. This brief moment was the only thing that reminded Henri of his life before Ora. As the heat of someone else’s life force coursed through him, he almost felt his humanity again.
The man dropped like a rag at his feet, and Henri looked into his eyes until they completely dimmed in death.
“Please, sire,” Troy said, standing behind him, “we have to go.”
“Go on, and remember what I said about the girl. Don’t take any of the others there.”
He trusted Troy to follow his orders, so he turned and moved away so fast that Troy couldn’t follow. Troy was his creation, but he trusted no one with the location of his resting place. No one could betray him with information they didn’t have, one of the few lessons he’d retained from Raad.
He arrived at the house in the Garden District and closed the door to one of the only basements in New Orleans as the first rays of light cut through the sky, the storm now north of them. Henri stripped off his wet clothing and left it in a pile, having no problem moving around in total darkness.
When he shoved the heavy capstone over the crypt, he thought of Asra before he gave in to the oblivion of sleep. The Elders were getting ready to unleash their slayer, but he felt comfortable with his plan. “You’ll be so busy with my young ones that you’ll never see the trap I’ve set for you. Once I bury you, the old ones will bow to Ora’s will or they’ll face the same fate.”
