The Mephisto Mark: The Redemption of Phoenix

by Trinity Faegen

  Kyros walked with me to the dining room and continued through to the kitchen. When we were there, before I could ask Hans for something to eat, he said, “In the future, don’t lie for him. He has a serious problem, and covering it up only enables him.”

  “Why do you think I lied?”

  “Because you’re Jordan’s sister. The only time she won’t look me in the eye is when she’s not being completely truthful, and you just did the same thing. The similarity is amazing. So where were you, really?”

  “Can I tell you later, Key? I really feel sick, I’m so hungry.”

  For a moment, he looked like he’d press the issue, but he didn’t. Instead, he waved his hand at Hans. “Let’s get something for Mariah to eat. Lots of protein.” Hans asked if I’d like steak and eggs. I nodded, feeling uncomfortable. I suspected Kyros knew what happened to me, especially when he said, “Have your supper, then get some rest. Sleep is crucial right now.” As soon as Hans’s back was turned, he leaned in and whispered, “I know he kissed you. I can tell a difference. You’re becoming Mephisto.”

  He appeared to be extremely happy about this, so I went along, glad he didn’t suspect I was now immortal. “I didn’t really want to tell anyone. It’s personal.”

  “I can see why you’d be an extremely private person, Mariah, but you’ll have to get used to everyone knowing everything. All of us in one house would make it difficult to keep secrets, but we’re also all connected, so it’s next to impossible to hide what happens.” He pulled one of the stools out from under the counter and waved me toward it. “Have a seat. If you need anything, I’ll be in my office.”

  I sat and he squeezed my shoulder at the same time he bent and kissed me on the cheek. “I’m so glad you’re staying,” he murmured.

  Then he was gone, and it was just Hans and I, speaking German, talking about omelets.

  ***

  Phoenix never showed up. After my shower, I finished the book about the perfect woman with the robot brain, hoping he’d turn up at my door. At midnight, I accepted he wasn’t coming and went to bed. Lying in the dark with Olga, I wondered where he was. I was hurt, which pissed me off. I did not want anyone to have any kind of hold over me, emotional or otherwise. I would necessarily have to be dependent on Kyros for money and my living, but it wasn’t exactly a handout. I’d be expected to work for my keep, which wasn’t so different than working for Marta, or, if I had become a doctor, I’d work for money to pay for living. It seemed a fair trade: I’d take out the lost souls and Skia, Key would feed and house me and give me money to play.

  As soon as I was able, I would go to Egypt. I’d go by myself and see the pyramids. I would like it and not care I was by myself.

  Screw Phoenix. If he did show up sometime before morning, I’d tell him he couldn’t stay, that I wanted distance.

  Because I couldn’t live like this. I wanted him, badly, and that meant ceding a measure of control over my emotions. I’d just have to back off for a while and get my bearings, and then we could be friends.

  Feeling slightly better, I eventually drifted into sleep. I dreamed about Hell on Earth, and in the sea of faces, Emilian stared up at me and begged me to help him. I laughed, dangling an apple, taunting him. He began to cry, which made me feel bad, so I threw him the apple. The others covered him immediately, and I heard his screams as they ripped him to shreds.

  I woke with a gasp, shaky and perspiring. When I sat up, blinking, reorienting myself, Olga meowed and rubbed her head beneath my chin. I petted her absently, sucking in great gulps of air. I didn’t want to go back to sleep. I couldn’t have that dream again. The other one, the one I had over and over, was preferable.

  Out of bed, I went to the windows, opened the drapes and pushed up one side of the square panes, welcoming the frigid air on my hot body. After a while, I went to the chair by the fire and sat to stare at the banked coals, but they reminded me of the walls of Hell on Earth. I switched focus to the painting above the bed, soothed by the moors and the heather. Someday I’d go to England. I’d find out when the heather bloomed and go then.

  I dozed off, and when I next awoke, I was in bed, cocooned in warmth, my arms and legs entwined with Phoenix’s. “You’re here,” I murmured.

  He kissed me, tasting mostly of toothpaste, but underneath the mint was the flavor of whiskey. I reminded myself of my decision to tell him to leave. I gave myself a lecture about how I was only getting in deeper and it would make it that much harder and more hurtful when he did what it was his nature to do. He’d leave. I’d be alone again. He’d come back for this, for conversation and company, and when he’d had his fill, he’d leave. It would be eternity of this, and I’d be hurt over and over again. I wanted so much more. I deserved more.

  I kissed him back. I listened to him whisper that I was beautiful, that I became more beautiful to him every day. I ran my fingertips across his bare back, loving the smooth heat of him, his thick muscles, the odd comfort I found in his huge body. By rights, I should have been scared to death of him.

  I wasn’t.

  I pulled back and lifted my pajama top over my head. Then he was kissing me again.

  Nothing felt real. I was hazy and sleepy and deliriously happy, captivated by the feel of his warm, strong hand on my breasts, surrounded by the sweet tangy scent of oranges.

  Something was different and my muddled mind sought to capture it, to define it. He was more intense, more focused, more determined.

  I knew how this was going to end and I was evenly split down the middle – inwardly shaking in terror and jubilantly shouting, Yes, thank God, finally.

  Maybe if I hadn’t been so foggy and caught up in the moment, I’d have done something different. Like pushed him away and demanded he get out. Maybe I’d have gotten off the bed to pace around my room and methodically go over every step and tell him how I felt about it, so he’d know, so he’d not scare me. In all my boxes of terrible memories, there was logic and order. Self-protection. But it seemed so inconsequential, maybe even irrelevant, held up to this overwhelming need. I was so lonely, so alone. I craved intimacy and affection like a crack junkie’s desperation for his next hit. I’d chosen immortality primarily because of the Mephisto and my sister. Family. A place to belong. People who wanted me, who needed me, who liked me.

  “Mariah?” he whispered.

  “It’s okay.”

  “Oh, God, don’t hate me.”

  “I could never hate you.”

  “Don’t let me do this to you.”

  “I want you to do this with me.”

  “Semantics, puica.”

  I loved that he called me a Romanian term of endearment. It was what sent me the last little bit into absolute certainty that I wanted this to happen.

  He was up on his elbow, hovering over me, kissing me, his hand drifting from my breasts, across my belly, beneath the waist of my pajama bottoms, and there, to a place I never allowed myself to think about, a part of me that was pain and disgust. “You can’t want to touch me, Phoenix,” I mumbled against his mouth.

  “I can, and I do. I want to touch you . . . I want to be a part of you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in a thousand years of living.”

  “But I’m dirty and . . . used, and—”

  “What you are is the sum total of everything in your life since you were born, and you’re all I want, what I need. Soft, gentle, beautiful. Jaded and naïve at the same time. You’re smart and wise and passionate.” He kissed me yet again, slower this time, gently sweeping his tongue across mine, while his fingers dipped into my most private place and I . . . instinctively, I wanted to close my legs, to clench myself into a tight wall of resistance. Desire, something I’d never known until today, insisted I open up and find out for myself if the earl’s wife and Danielle and the robot heroine were all figments of their creators’ imaginations, or fiction imitating real life.

  Despite this insistent need I felt throughout my body, even though I reasonably thought there had to be
something amazing about sex, I couldn’t distinguish between now and then. His hands on my body felt right and wrong, all at the same time. I wanted so badly not to freak out, but I could feel myself beginning to lose my breath, lose myself. My mind was trying to take me to the braided rug by the fire and I didn’t want to go there. I wanted to be here, with Phoenix.

  He raised up at the same time all the candles in the room were lit. He knew it would be better in the light. “Stay with me, Mariah.” His fingers were doing interesting things down there and I moved my legs restlessly. “This is what feels good. This is what makes you wet and ready. This is . . . no, don’t look away. Stay right here with me. You see, it’s just me, and I’d never hurt you, ever, and the instant you tell me to stop, I will. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

  “I’m not beautiful, Phoenix. You’re infatuated with me because I’m Anabo. Because I’m your Anabo.”

  He gave me a wry smile. “Infatuated. Is that what this is?” Lowering his head, he kissed me again, and his fingers never stopped. “Your lips, your mouth . . . I could kiss you for hours and hours and still want more. Until the end of time, I’ll want to kiss this perfect mouth. So full and soft and . . .” He slid his lips across mine, smiling. Shifting slightly, he was closer, his chest against my breast, his erection pressing against my thigh. And still, those fingers.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Just keep looking at me, and don’t think about anything but how this feels.”

  “This is so strange, Phoenix, and I’m embarrassed and awkward. Maybe you should just go ahead and—”

  “Not until you’re ready.” He dropped his head so that his mouth was just next to my ear. He whispered, “When we were reading about Danielle and Rupert, what were you thinking? How did it make you feel?”

  I laid there and blushed like I was twelve years old. “I think you know.”

  “Good. Then imagine we’re them. You’re Danielle, an innocent, and you’re wild about me, Rupert, and you were never hurt, never taught that sex is horrible. You’re a blank canvas and everything is new and intriguing.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was Danielle, that I was innocent and this was my first time. I moved my arm and my hand brushed against his penis. I jerked it away, then hesitantly moved it back. He had on long boxers and I thought Danielle would be curious enough to slip her fingers beneath the elastic band and . . . it was incredibly hot. Hard, but the skin was so soft. I still had my eyes closed, but I kind of wanted to look.

  “I’m not nearly as pretty as you,” he whispered, his face still next to mine, “but maybe you should see what I look like. Danielle would look.”

  “She was a painter. Of course she would.”

  “All right, so you have to paint me, nude – shouldn’t you study the subject?”

  “Will you take your boxers off?”

  He chuckled as he rolled away and complied.

  When he was back, he said, “You’re blushing so hard, you may wind up with a tan. It’s okay, Mariah. It’s just me. Open your eyes and look.”

  I turned my head at the same time I opened my eyes and he was smiling at me. So good looking, it was a sin. No guy should be this spectacular. He kissed my nose. “Are you going to look? I’m starting to feel shy.”

  “Liar. You probably walk around naked all the time.”

  “True, but I’m alone.”

  I touched him first, then moved my head to look down at my thigh, at the length of him stretched across my skin. I spent some time inspecting him, touching him, and other than a couple of deep breaths, he didn’t do anything. When I looked back at his face, his eyes were heavy and his expression was intense. “You said you wouldn’t do this. Why did you change your mind?”

  “Can we talk about it later? I’ll explain everything, I swear. For now, I want you so much I’m close to begging. I want you to like this, want you to understand it’s not painful, or ugly. I want you to know what it’s like to completely let go. There’s nothing like it, no way I can describe it so you’d understand. Please, Mariah, just stay with me and talk to me. Tell me if you’re unhappy with anything.”

  “Did you bring . . . do you have a condom?”

  “It wouldn’t do any good. They lose effectiveness because there’s some kind of chemical reaction that . . .” he cleared his throat, “they disintegrate when we . . . well, after we . . .” He took a breath. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t carry any kind of disease, and even if I could, it’s been a hundred and twenty five years. And I can’t get you pregnant unless you’re immortal and you want to get pregnant.”

  “All I have to do to prevent pregnancy is just not want it?”

  “That’s all.”

  With my hand wrapped around him, he shifted again and was half on, half off of me when he kissed me, his fingers never stopping. My legs moved, then my hips, and I focused on how he tasted, and the scent of oranges, and the feel of his big body beneath my palm. I have no idea how long we kissed, how long he touched me, but when he moved to slide my pajama bottoms off, along with my panties, I wasn’t alarmed, wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t on the braided rug. I was in bed with Phoenix, and while I was enormously anxious, I honestly didn’t know if it was fear, or desire. I knew I was ready and told him so.

  Still kissing me, he lifted me up, moved my body and slid into me sort of sideways. He wasn’t on top of me. He knew it would be too much like my memories, and in that moment, I knew I was doomed to fall in love with him. For all that he was difficult, he was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

  “Oh, hell,” he murmured, looking down into my face. “You’re crying. God, have I—”

  “No, it’s . . . I’m just a little . . . that you did this like, that you knew . . . not on top, Phoenix.” I slid my arms around him, clung to him, and when he began to move, I moved with him. It was extraordinary and nothing at all like I’d imagined, or feared.

  He kissed me again and again. He was all over me, enveloping me, and yet I didn’t panic, wasn’t afraid. If I’d told him to get away from me, if I said stop, I was unequivocally certain he would. He’d be frustrated, disappointed, and terribly unhappy, but he’d do it. That knowledge gave me comfort, made me at ease, allowed me to be in the moment.

  The meeting of our bodies, his inside of mine, the look in his black eyes, which I’d call love if I hadn’t known better, the scent of his skin, his soft words of encouragement, the realization that I was irrevocably putting my past behind me forever – every moment was glorious.

  “This is not infatuation,” he murmured against my mouth. “Do you understand?”

  I mumbled something incoherent, losing my ability to think of much beyond what my body was doing. Every nerve ending was on high alert, my senses overwhelmed, and my muscles took on a will of their own.

  He lifted his head and stared down into my eyes, his expression fierce and determined, his rhythm increasing, his body slamming against mine. “Do . . . you . . . understand?”

  “Yes . . . no.” I grasped his upper arms and held on, rising to meet very thrust, losing my breath, losing my mind.

  That side of himself he hid so well came fully awake and shoved his calm, controlled façade off of a cliff, and then it was only me and the real Phoenix in my bed. Honest. Wild. Uninhibited.

  This was who he was, who I would love. I knew I would. And it would never be easy to love him or be with him, but I’d been born for difficulty. And it wasn’t as if I was exactly easy.

  He nipped at my throat and his voice was hoarse and raw. “Give over, Mariah. Give me what I want. Do it now.”

  I had never had a climax. I’d never touched myself in any way that was sexual. I had no clue what it would feel like, or how to make it happen. “Kiss me.”

  He did, and his hand slid across my body, down to where we were joined.

  One touch and I jerked my mouth away from his to suck in a deep breath, my back arched from the bed, and I closed my eyes. I shook
uncontrollably as pure pleasure radiated from the center of me, from a place I’d long considered taboo, a place I refused to even think about. That such an exquisite feeling could come from the same place that had brought so much agony completely blew my mind. When the feeling subsided, I was breathing hard, as if I’d been running, and I watched his face when that feeling came over him. He opened his eyes in the midst of his climax and looked at me with so much joy, I almost cried again.

  Then everything got dicey. I began to burn, deep inside, and struggled to get away from him. “Phoenix, it hurts, it burns. Oh, my God! Ah, damn!”

  He held me close, stayed inside of me, wouldn’t let me go, never looked away from my eyes. When I was still, when the pain was gone, he said, “It’s not fair to you at all, and I should be sorry for marking you, but I won’t lie and say I’m sorry, because I’m not.” He came closer. “Tomorrow, everything will be settled, but for now, you’re mine. You’re everything. You’re my whole world. And no matter who you’re with, that will never change for me.”

  “Why do you think I’ll ever be with someone who isn’t you?”

  In a blink, he was back to calm, controlled Phoenix. He gave me a lazy smile and didn’t answer.

  Instead, he kissed me, and I was so exhausted, physically and emotionally, I let him get away with avoiding the question.

  Chapter 17

  ~~ Phoenix ~~

  I’d only intended to sleep with her, to kiss her, and when we woke, I’d tell her everything. It would end what we had, and I’d want to die, but I’d have this night to remember what it was like when she was mine.

  Instead, I’d had sex with her. No doubt Lucifer would shake his head in disgust. I was just the worst kind of person. Of all your brothers, you are most like your father. Selfish always, except when it was convenient not to be. M could be generous, even jolly, but when it came to his own pride and comfort, it was always all about M. Even his love for our mother hadn’t been enough for him to do the right thing. I thought Eryx’s life must break her, over and over, even in Heaven. All because M didn’t love her enough.