Pieces of Autumn

by Mara Black

  I swallowed hard. It was time to talk about something else.

  "Before me, had you ever slept with a virgin before?"

  "Only once before," he said, after a long pause. "Daniela."

  Understanding began to seep into my mind, black and brackish and poisonous. I knew he'd hesitated for a reason, but I had no idea it was like this.

  "She didn't want it to be a stranger," he half-whispered, lost in the memories. "She begged me...I knew it was a bad idea, but..."

  Acting on instinct, I draped my arms around his body, snuggling close. I didn't want him to answer any more questions. I just wanted to hear him breathing until the sun came up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The New Rule

  We were fighting.

  I didn't know how it came to this. One minute we were eating breakfast in the kitchen, Tate in stony silence, because apparently he regretted our early morning conversation. Apparently, because I couldn't be sure without him actually telling me.

  God damn it. We were already turning into my parents.

  While I was reaching for something on a high shelf, trying to ignore him, my ankle twinged. I ignored it - which turned out to be a bad idea - and kept reaching anyway. I had the teapot just barely by the handle when a shock of pain sent me reeling, and I managed to throw the stupid teapot directly onto the marble floor.

  It shattered spectacularly. I winced, my eyes filling with tears.

  "What was that?" Tate stared at me, annoyed. I wanted to fucking punch him.

  "My ankle," I told him. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking."

  "I told you to be careful on it," he groused, going for the broom. "You have to take snakebites seriously."

  "Okay. Jesus." I couldn't believe this shit. What ever made me think I could actually get along with this man? He was impossible. "I'll clean it up."

  "I've got it," he snapped. "Just go."

  I stood there, fuming. "Seriously? You're mad because I broke a teapot? You break shit every time you wake up on the wrong side of the bed. On purpose."

  "If you can't reach it, just ask me to get it for you." He swept in quick, violent motions. "How many times have I told you?"

  "I wanted to do it myself."

  "Well, you shouldn't."

  "Well, I'm going to keep trying. Stop acting like this is my fault."

  He was silent for a moment.

  "You shouldn't have run," he said, quietly.

  "You shouldn't have thrown me in the God damn basement." I couldn't help myself, and he seemed to be in a passive mood. Something had changed. Not just since last night, but since the beginning - he was different now, unbalanced, like some fundamental belief about himself or his world had been challenged.

  He looked at me, sharply, but without any real anger. "I won't apologize again."

  "I wasn't after an apology," I muttered. "God knows, that would be asking too much."

  Whatever. In his fucked-up brain, he probably thought he needed to lock me away so he wouldn't be tempted to go full Marquis de Sade on my ass. I wasn't even going to touch that one.

  "I've already said I'm sorry," he said. "How many times have you apologized to me? For lying? For risking my life to protect yourself?"

  "Enough," I shot back. "You would've done the same thing."

  I couldn't stand it anymore. Stalking back to my room, I slammed the door behind me and threw myself on the bed.

  This wasn't going to work, if we couldn't talk to each other.

  A few minutes later, he opened my door without knocking.

  "Don't you walk away from me," he growled, stalking towards me. I stood up.

  "You told me to go," I pointed out, petulantly. "So I went."

  "You're wrong, by the way," he said. "I wouldn't have done the same thing you did. If I were you, I would have ended all this a long time ago."

  I felt like I'd been stabbed in the gut. Almost immediately, I understood it wasn't meant to be an insult, but how else could I possibly take it? He was telling me I'd be better off dead. As if I didn't already know that. I'd made my choice. Staying alive, at all costs, was all that mattered.

  "What a lovely way of telling me to kill myself." I couldn't keep the contempt out of my voice. "That's the difference between you and me, Tate. I know I can survive. As long as my heart's still beating, I won't give up. Even if that means humiliation and pain. Can you wrap your head around that? Just because no one cares if you live or die..."

  I drifted off, seeing his sharp intake of breath. A wicked part of me relished how easily I could hurt him, just with a few words. The Viper had a weakness after all. The first time might have been a coincidence, but he actually cared what I thought of him. As improbable as it seemed, I actually mattered. Probably because I was the only human being he'd spent more than five minutes with, since...

  Well, only he knew the answer to that.

  "You think anyone's going to be mourning you?" His upper lip twitched.

  I was frozen.

  A few days after my parents died, the thought crossed my mind.

  I wasn't the most important person in anybody's life. Not anymore.

  On the darkest nights, I really did wonder if it mattered that I was alive. Without anyone to miss me, why did I bother? It would be so easy to just...give up.

  The reason why Tate's words hurt me so much was that I almost believed them. I was worthless. Less than human. I didn't matter, and I deserved whatever happened to me.

  It was all my fault.

  It was an easy way out. Blame meant responsibility, and responsibility meant power. I understood why he preferred to wallow in his guilt, rather than accepting he'd been robbed of his ability to choose.

  It was better to be worthless than powerless.

  But I refused to give in. I'd made my mark on the world again. I could see it in his eyes, in the way his whole body stiffened when I entered the room. His mind would race, all kinds of conflicting emotions and memories and desires warring inside. I was indelibly written on his life now, more permanently than Stoker's brand on my chest.

  "You would," I told him, praying I wasn't wrong. Tears were swimming in my eyes, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

  The mood shifted.

  Anger dissolved into something else.

  He darted towards me, ever the Viper, but this time I was ready for him. The thread that connected us grew stronger every day, and it was now woven tightly enough to control our movements. From the crown of my head to the ends of my toes, I felt it. Pressing us so close together, intertwining our fingers, our tongues. His lips burned their way down my neck and shoulder, hands disentangling from mine just long enough to drag the straps of my dress out of the way. His hot breath left a trail of goosebumps in its wake. When his teeth grazed my brand, I let out a throaty moan that I didn't recognize.

  He kissed the mark, murmuring, "every part of you. Even this."

  He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. I felt it vibrating through my chest, just as if he'd said it out loud.

  Belongs to me.

  Trembling, pulse pounding, I grabbed his hand from its wandering path down to my thigh. Tate growled in protest, but was slightly mollified when he realized I was laying his fingers on the S. I needed him to reclaim that part of me, even if I'd never felt truly owned by them. Even if I only spent a few days of my life there, not knowing where I would go. What I would do. Whether I would survive.

  No matter how long I spent there, in silence and solitude, I never could have imagined this.

  "If you want me to, I'll cut it off." He smiled darkly, his forehead resting against mine. "But I can't promise it won't hurt."

  "No." I stroked the inside of his wrist with my thumb, absently, loving the way his whole body reacted to such a light touch. His little shiver reverberated through me. "I want to keep it. It's how I got to you."

  Swiftly, he kissed me, before pulling back again to search my eyes. "You would miss me," he said. His fingers trailed do
wn my body, coming to a rest between my thighs. "Here, if nothing else."

  I nodded, swallowing hard, because there was no point in denying it. I'd miss him with every cell in my body, but I supposed he probably knew that.

  "I'm glad you want to keep it," he whispered, grasping my dress again and pulling it further, until the fabric ripped slightly as it passed over my hips. "It's just as fucking beautiful as the rest of you."

  I laughed breathlessly. He glanced up at me, crouched down at my feet with a ghost of a smile on his face. The dress was crumpled all the way to the floor.

  "What?" He stroked my leg, slowly. "Tell me that's not going to offend you, pet."

  "Of course not." I arched an eyebrow. "I'm just surprised."

  "Oh?" He was on his feet in another moment, grabbing me close and whirling me around to face the wall. With one hand between my shoulder blades, he shoved me forward until my breasts pressed hard against the wood. I turned one cheek to the wall, allowing myself to see him out of the corner of my eye. Before I could catch my breath, his cock was sliding into me.

  "Surprised?" he murmured into my ear, as he filled me up to the hilt.

  I gasped at the sudden invasion. My body was ready for him, but at the same time, it was never truly ready. He fucked me for a minute or two, not quite long enough for my body to adjust, then slipped out again and spun me around.

  "I have a new rule," he said, his eyes fixed on mine, dark and endless. "I'm the only one allowed to touch you like this." To underscore his point, he slid two fingers into my cunt without warning.

  I swallowed hard, closing my eyes against the onslaught of sensation. "Who else would? You know there's nothing...not with him, not with anybody..."

  "I don't know," he rumbled, curling his fingers inside me, making me gasp and moan. "I don't care. It's a rule. You don't fuck anyone else. This belongs to me."

  Eyes still closed, I nodded my agreement.

  "And this." His mouth covered mine, briefly, his tongue swiping into my mouth for only a moment.

  "These," he rasped, his hands covering my breasts, squeezing and massaging them, teasing my nipples until they felt as stiff as his cock pressing against my hip.

  "And this." His hand, still wet from my arousal, snaked under my ass and brushed the tight pucker of muscle nestled between my cheeks. I hissed, squirming away from him instinctively.

  "Stop," he commanded, his other hand clamping down on my arm. "You don't run away from me. When the time comes, and I want to own that part of you, I will."

  My heart felt fit to burst out of my chest.

  "Yes, Sir." I whimpered.

  His hand finally slid away, ever so slowly. He guided me to the bed and laid me down, before he climbed after me.

  Sliding his body on top of mine, he angled his cock just so, where I was wet and ready for him. I let out a small sigh of relief.

  Tate chuckled. "No, not today, pet. But someday. You'll be ready for me, won't you?"

  At the sound of his voice, so deep and resonant, I felt myself calm. It washed over me, so much more than just a sound - my whole body reacted to it, melting, resistance burning away like so much morning fog at sunrise.

  "Of course," I whispered.

  I would always be ready for him. For anything. He never let me forget how strong I was.

  With one sharp thrust, he was inside me again. I gasped, tilting my hips up to meet him, instinctively pulling my legs back so that my knees almost met his shoulders. He undulated slowly at first, building anticipation, nudging deeper and deeper as my body re-adjusted to him.

  I let out a frustrated sigh. My inexperience still felt so obvious, like some parts of me were stubbornly clinging to my virginity, in spite of my best efforts. It must be doubly frustrating for him.

  "What's wrong?" he breathed, his lips brushing against my forehead.

  "Nothing," I insisted, punctuated with a hitch in my breath as he bottomed out inside me. "I just..."

  "What?" he asked, sternly this time. "Tell me."

  "I hate that you can't just...fuck me. It's always this process."

  He tiled his head, curiously. "I could," he said. "But I don't want to hurt you. Not like this, anyway."

  "I know!" Tears were gathering in the corners of my eyes, and I hated myself for that. "I'm sorry. Forget it. I'm fine. Just..."

  "Autumn," he said, heatedly, rocking his hips against mine. "You're perfect. I love that I have to coax you open, every time. I love that your body's not used to me." He grabbed my hips, holding on while he fucked me, with a crooked grin. "And I'll love when it is, and I can just throw you down and fuck you whenever I please, without any resistance. But for now, this is how it is. And I love it. I love what it means. I love how innocent you are. I love..."

  He stopped short, his lips still moving, but no sound coming out of his throat. His eyes widened slightly, then he leaned in closer and nipped at my ear before he picked up his quick, brutal thrusts. I was almost ready, and that was perfect. The ache magnified every sensation, and I moaned his name.

  He almost said it.

  He almost said...

  He didn't need to say it. I knew it was the truth.

  The realization burst in my chest like fireworks, and I stared at him.

  Sparks of pleasure sizzled and popped inside of me, and I gave myself over to it. He nudged something deep inside, and I was gone. The feelings spiraled and I let my head fall back, exposing my throat to him, inviting his teeth. He didn't disappoint.

  I loved every mark and bruise from his teeth, the sign of his claiming. I never wanted one to heal and disappear without many others taking its place. With the sharp burst of pain, my climax unfurled.

  He collapsed on top of me a few moments later, panting, pulsing inside me.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered, against my forehead.

  I breathed against him, heart pounding, aching to say the words he wouldn't.

  Instead, I whispered:

  "I know."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Plan

  Tate

  I woke up curled around Autumn.

  It took a moment to realize where I was. What was happening. That it was, in fact, real.

  My joints were stiff and aching, more than usual, and my eyes felt like sand. My head was heavy, my brain stuffed with cotton, and I couldn't remember the last time I needed a piss this urgently.

  Leaning against the bathroom wall for what felt like an eternity, I realized what was wrong.

  I'd slept.

  Of course, I always slept. Technically speaking. But never for more than a few hours at a time, in fitful bursts, waking up with my heart pounding and sweat on my palms. I tried to remember last night. After I drifted off, what happened? How many times did I wake up?

  Had I really slept through the night?

  It seemed impossible, but all signs pointed to yes. I rubbed my eyes and stared at myself in the mirror.

  I still felt groggy, but sharp. Aware of myself and my surroundings in a way I hadn't been, for a very long time. Leaning my head from side to side, I winced at the popping sound in my neck.

  Returning to the bedroom, I padded over and sat down gently on the mattress. Autumn stirred, but didn't wake.

  I fucking hated myself for picking a fight with her. Over nothing. Nothing. She was still in pain because of the snakebite, because of me, and I acted like it was her fault. Because I didn't know what to say, how to act around her.

  In the early morning darkness, I'd revealed too much.

  She pushed you. It wasn't her place. How dare she?

  A nudge was all I needed. It had been festering for too long. All of it. But now, she knew my secrets.

  Why did that frighten me so much?

  Gently, I swept away the waves of auburn hair that fell over her face as she slept. Now that she'd been spending more time outdoors, a dusting of freckles had appeared across her cheeks, and the bridge of her nose. The sun also brought out a golden glow in her hair, rem
inding me of endless summers.

  Oh, but I wasn't in love with her, or anything.

  Just the thought of that word was enough to bring the panic itching into my brain. I'd promised myself it would never happen again. And until now, I had every intention of carrying out that promise.

  I heard a slight noise. Just a creaking, barely noticeable, but it meant something - or someone - was standing on my front porch.

  Grabbing my revolver, I slipped into the hallway and took the stairs down, two at a time. I didn't allow myself to breathe until I was at the peephole.

  God damn Joshua.

  For a moment, I considered telling him to fuck off. But really, what was the point?

  I pulled the door open.

  He blinked once, twice. Keeping his eyes carefully on my face, he said, "is this a bad time?"

  "Always." I smiled. "Won't you come in?"

  Joshua sighed, following me into the main living area. "This is childish, you know."

  "You're childish," I countered. Not my best work.

  "Your girlfriend would probably want you to put on some pants." He raised an eyebrow. "For that matter, I'd really like for you to put on some pants. You've made your point."

  "I'm not sure I have." I smirked. "You're the one who knocked on my door at this ungodly hour."

  "It's eleven o'clock," he said, his forehead creasing.

  Christ.

  I shrugged. "I guess I didn't realize how late we were up."

  Joshua sighed again, sitting down heavily on the sofa. "All right, I'll play this game as long as you will. I need to talk to you. I'd prefer it if you weren't naked. I'm sufficiently intimidated. Later on, we can engage in a ritualistic display of plumage. But first, I'm still calling on that favor you owe me."

  I really did still owe him. My snippy, half-assed advice didn't come close to matching what he'd done for me. As much as I hated to admit it, I didn't know how I would have tracked Autumn down without him.

  And he was selfless enough to help me. He cared more about her life than he cared about letting her go.