by Ines Johnson
For them, I would run into certain danger. I would give my last drop of blood. I would face the sun.
Would I do the same for Marechal?
23
Marechal
As I swirl the liquid in my glass, the dark red of the wine catches the light. The taste on my tongue is bold, lusty, full-bodied, yet somehow clean and pure. There’s a depth to the Serrano vintage that can only be brought forth by time and age.
With my right hand, I lift the glass to my mouth for another sip. With my left, I lift the vine to glance at the plant. It’s been out of the dirt for days now, and it shows no sign of dying.
There are techniques to pluck the vines from the ground, then air-dry them for months, causing the plants to shrivel—much like hanging dried flowers for decorative purposes. When done with a grapevine, the technique causes the grape to lose its water mass, which increases the alcohol content of the resulting wine.
The Serrano vine, whose grapes haven’t even flowered, isn’t shriveling. It hasn’t lost any water mass since I plucked it the other night. The pimple-like splotches are increasing. In fact, they look like they’re growing, like the disease is spreading, along with the plant that isn’t receiving any sunlight or nutrients from the earth.
It should not be possible. But the facts are in the palm of my hand. No science supports what I am witnessing. Could this be the curse Zahara spoke of? It wouldn’t matter if it is. I don’t believe in magic.
I take another sip of the red wine. It hits my tongue chilled but quickly warms, spreading a buzzing heat through my mouth that slides down my tongue. Images of Gaius sipping from my lips, delving his tongue inside me—everywhere—light my mind.
The memory of his fingers on my flesh brings goosebumps to my arms. Tingles ripple across my legs. Embers spark between my thighs.
I remind myself that I do not believe in magic. But the simple thought of that man calls me a liar.
I raise the glass to my mouth again, eager for more of the sensation. The glass is fully empty. I could pour another from the bottle, which is half full.
Gaius’s note said he’d be here at sunset. That was over an hour ago. I was never the type of woman to wait on a man. I was always too busy to be bothered.
However, today, I took the day off. I walked past the stack of paperwork on my desk. I turned off the office phone’s ringer and let all calls go to voicemail. I kicked off my shoes, pulled up a lounge chair on the back porch, and simply sat all day. Looking out at the vineyard, my vineyard, as the clouds moved across the sky and the sun sank was the most peaceful day of my existence.
I am back in control. I am back in charge of my life. There is no one to tell me what to do or—
My cellphone’s ring is shrill in the quiet of the night. I drop the wineglass as I dive for it. The glass cracks but it doesn’t shatter.
“Mare?”
“Oh. Coucou, Carignan.” This past year, the sound of my sister’s voice over the phone only brought worry. This is the first time it’s brought disappointment.
“Hey there, yourself.”
“How are you, mon chou? Where are you?”
“I’m at home.”
That gets my attention. I sit up in the chair, whirling around as though I can see her coming into the house. “You’re here?”
“No—no,” she stutters. “I mean, I’m back in the room. At my hotel. With Hadrian. We spent the day out.”
I can tell my sister is lying to me. Cari has never been one for minute details unless she’s telling a story. Why is she lying now when she says she says she’s so happy in her new life? Likely the same reason I started drinking after the sun went down and there was no ring at my doorbell of a French gentleman coming to request my attendance.
“Mare, listen.” Cari’s voice takes on the rushed, squealing quality from when she was back in high school, on the phone gossiping with her little girlfriends. “I overheard Hadrian talking to Gaius.”
“What did I tell you about eavesdropping?” It’s so easy to slip back into maternal mode, even though I’m dying to know what Gaius said. “Wait, is Gaius with you two?” Is that why he didn’t show at sundown?
“No. They were talking on the phone. Hadrian was on his cell phone. He had it on speaker. While I was in another room—the bathroom. So I overheard.”
Lots of detail. Another lie.
“They were talking about you, Mare.”
Cari lets the silence linger. I bite my lip, warring between finding the lie and learning the details.
“But you’re right,” Cari singsongs. “You did raise me not to gossip. So…”
“Spill it, you little brat.”
Cari giggles. I realize how much I’ve missed that sound. For the past year, since our father died, I haven’t seen my sister smile. I definitely haven’t heard her laugh. She’s hiding something, but her happiness is real. I’ll get the truth out of her later. Right now I need her to spill the T.
“He really likes you, Mare. Like, likes you likes you.”
I try to swallow. “What exactly did you hear?”
“I know you slept in his bed last night.”
My forehead connects with my palm as I groan. So, Gaius is a kisser as well as a teller.
“No, no, Mare. You don’t understand. Gaius is a player—”
“That, I understand.”
“He doesn’t sleep with women. He screws them. Usually at the club—”
“What club?”
“—but he never brings them home. Or sleeps with them, like lying down in the same bed. He did that with you.”
I’m not sure what to think about all this. The man I’m interested in is a confirmed player, who apparently screws women in a club, and has never committed. On the flip side, I’m practically a prude, who rarely leaves her vineyard and has never cared enough to engage in a relationship. Don’t we sound perfect for each other.
“Gaius told Hadrian he couldn’t get enough of you. Hadrian thinks he might be falling in love with you.”
I forget how to breathe. I swallow, and the sweet tang of the Serrano red wine left on my tongue goes straight to my head.
“It’s possible, Mare. It happened fast with me and Hadrian. He said he knew the first time he saw me that I would be his.”
My mind latches onto those words. The possessiveness of them. Thinking of the words coming from Hadrian’s mouth in reference to my sister draw my ire. But when Hadrian’s face and voice are replaced with Gaius referencing me, my heart is in my throat.
“The two of you are so alike. Gaius has held his brothers together through some truly awful things in their lives. You’ve done the same for me and Arneis. I think you two deserve each other. You need to let someone else take care of you for a change.”
A sense of peace rushes over me at the thought of Gaius taking charge of me. My head feels light, which is apt, as all the worries have skirted away. My shoulders settle back into the chair; not an ounce of heaviness touches them. When I look up out into the moonlit sky, I see a dark form walking towards me.
My every instinct is to run to the man. To fall down on my knees when I get to him. To spread my thighs and offer him passage into the deepest, most secret part of me.
“I’ve gotta go, Cari. He’s here.”
24
Gaius
I walked all the way here. But walking is a relative term for someone like me. My feet moved fast across the varied lands. Crunching swiftly over dry patches of desert, then squishing into fertile pastures. Neither the cracked earth nor the lush terrain slowed me down in my efforts to get to Marechal.
Cari had just picked up the phone when I’d left the house. She and her sister’s conversation couldn’t have taken more than five minutes, even though we live a twenty-minute drive distance from each other. I hear Marechal’s voice before I see her. When she comes into my line of sight, she steals my breath.
Marechal sits barefoot in a lounge chair. Instead of her usual fitted skirt and button
ed-up shirt, she’s wearing a white sundress. Her dark hair is loose around her shoulders. Her face is devoid of any makeup. She looks like a virginal sacrifice. I am the monster who will most certainly lay her out on an altar and feast on her this night.
My feet move steadily towards my prize, the treasure that I covet. I’m barely aware of the plants, animals, or other beings around me. Barely aware, but not entirely oblivious.
It’s the stillness of the night that catches my attention. The vineyard should be teeming with the sounds of nightcrawlers. Squirrels, raccoons, rabbits, possum, maybe even a few deer should be poking around in this lush buffet now that the sun has gone down. I scent not a hair or bushy tail. Yet eyes flash at me in the dark.
Eyes at eye level. Not from the ground or under bushes.
A couple dozen women stare at me from the rows of vines. They all have baskets in their arms and ripe grapes in their hands. Cari mentioned that the Durands had moved to night harvesting a few years ago. What she didn’t mention—because as a human she will not have known—was the fact that her workers are shifters.
Vampires and shifters have a contentious relationship at the best of times, blood-soaked at the worst. The majority of shifter species aren’t at the top of the predatory chain. There are plenty of foxes, minxes, and high-tailed bunnies who play at Club Toxic. But there are wolves, bears, and lions that make their home in these parts as well.
Lucius struck a deal with the alpha of this territory not long ago. I get another whiff of these women and I note they do not smell like wolves. I can’t place their breed, and I don’t intend to ask.
Not a single one takes a defensive stance as I approach. They make no signs of aggression. But neither do I smell an ounce of fear on them.
From the darkness of their hair, the rich tan of their complexions, and the patterns on their colorful clothing, I assume they are Native American. I don’t know much about the tribes here, having been born in sixteenth-century Europe. I wonder if they know anything about the magics in my soil? They likely do. Due to their tight-lipped and watchful expressions, I doubt they’ll clue me in.
That’s a matter for another night. Tonight, my business is with the mistress of this land. From what I can see of the cleared vines, these workers are loyal to Marechal. Or perhaps to her money. I don’t sense they mean her any harm. They’re likely just here for the paycheck. We supernatural beings still need to work for our living.
Right now, I just want to live in this moment with the angel on the porch.
“I think you two deserve each other.” Cari’s voice is clear to me over the phone line, as if she’s standing next to my ear. “You need to let someone else take care of you for a change.”
“I’ve gotta go, Cari. He’s here.”
I have seen women naked. I have seen them in artfully placed strips of fabric that draw the eye. I have seen them bound by rope. I have seen them dripping with my cum all over their faces and breasts. The sight of Marechal, flushed, and mostly covered, has my dick instantly hard.
“Hello,” she says. “You said sundown. I wasn’t sure you were—”
I stop her talking with my mouth. I’m leaning down over her, crowding her in the chair. She lets her head tilt back, offering me her surrender as I wrap my arms around her. I lift her to me as I plunge my tongue into her mouth. Her ass is not a perfect fit in my palms. Some of her flesh spills over my fingers. I need to sink my fangs into that excess soon.
“Which way to your bedroom?” I demand.
“Down the hall and to the left.”
I slide the glass door open and step inside. Though I know there is a potential threat outside, I don’t bother to close it. A slab of wood and a lock is nothing to a supernatural being. If anyone or any being dares interrupt what I am about to do to this woman, they do it at their peril. I will gut any man, woman, or beast who tries to come between us.
I try to keep my steps slow as I make my way through the house. I fail. Marechal doesn’t notice the speed at which we move as she reclaims my mouth. Her nails dig into my scalp. Her feet lock at my lower back. Her hard nipples poke through the fabric of her dress.
My eyes are closed as I feel my way through the maze of halls. All of my attention is on Marechal’s lips as I revel in the sensation of her lips against mine. How have I spent so many years without kissing? Suckling Marechal’s mouth is nearly as good as licking her sweet cunt. I’ll need to make a full comparison, noting the pros and cons of each set of her lips. But that will have to be later.
Once in her room, I toss her onto the bed. She lands with a thud. The fabric of her dress rides up her thighs. My fingers itch to rend the material into strips and tie her down.
I’m distracted when she places her hands over her head and parts her thighs for me, the dark space there beckoning me in. The position of surrender threatens to bring me to my knees.
Here lies the strongest woman I’ve ever met, and she offers me her submission. No command. No restraints. No deals or ultimatums.
It’s a gift. A blessing. A treasure.
I place one knee on the bed. Then the other. Instead of reaching for her, I sink back on my haunches. I have the urge to say a prayer of gratitude.
I have never been a religious man, even though I served during the Inquisition. I tortured men, not for their confessions, but for my own sustenance. I used my skills to get women to confess to crimes they didn’t even understand, let alone commit, so that I could make their veins thick with the endorphins of sweet blood.
And for all my sins, Fates has delivered me benediction.
“Are you going to tie me up?”
“No,” I whisper. “I’m going to worship your body. Will you hold still for me, minou?”
“No.” She grins, biting her lip. “I’m going to hold on to you.”
She reaches for me then. I swallow hard, holding myself as still as possible. My heart races as she lifts up. My breath quickens as her fingers come slowly towards me. Her palm connects with my jaw, and I gasp. Marechal’s flesh against my face is the softest thing I have ever felt in my life.
She cups my face in her hands and kisses me. A small brush of her lips against mine, and I am undone.
She could flay my skin and I would let her. I would welcome the pain. But all her fingertips deliver is pleasure.
“Are you okay?”
She asks because I am shivering. I cannot hide it. I cannot stop it.
Marechal’s hand moves to my chest. My heart thumps against its cage, desperate to reach her. I cover her hand with my own and press her palm to feel its beat.
“I want you inside of me,” she says.
Does she understand that I need the same thing? With her hand on my chest, Marechal gives me a shove. She is only human, but the nudge knocks me over. My back meets the bed, and she climbs on top of me.
I have never been on the bottom in sex. I have never allowed any woman to place me in this position, not even Domitia. With Marechal on top of me, I reach my hands behind my head, grabbing onto the headboard, preparing to let this woman have her way with me.
25
Marechal
I have no idea what I’m doing when I straddle Gaius’s hips. I have never been in this position before. I have had power over men in academic situations, in social situations, in business. But I have never been in charge in bed.
I start with what would be practical. For sex to happen, clothes should be off. That is logical.
I grab for the hem of my sundress. The fabric whispers over my thighs as it rises up. Gaius doesn’t help. He lies back and watches me, lips pursed as he holds his breath, fists clenched as he withholds his touch.
My fingers shake as I pull the dress over my head. I’m not scared. Or nervous. I want this. I want it so bad, I’m shaking for it.
When I pop the clasp of my bra, my chest heaves a sigh. My nipples point at what they want. Gaius licks his lips, but he doesn’t lean in. Is he purposefully denying himself? Does he want me to de
ny him as he did me? To bring him to the edge again and again before letting him fall over into bliss?
If so, it’s too bad. I’m not playing that game. I’m going to run to the edge this time, and jump off. And I’m taking him with me. If my damn fingers can work the buttons of his shirt.
He smirks at my frustration but makes no move to help. With desperate hands, I rip the rest of the shirt open. Knowing Gaius, it cost a small fortune. He only chuckles at its destruction.
I stand when I tug his pants from his legs. With his long legs, it feels like it takes forever for them to pick up the slack and get to the end. He’s commando underneath all those layers. I take a moment and simply gaze down at the length of him, as well as the length of him.
Am I really about to put all of that inside of me?
“Viens ici, mon minou.”
I do. I go to him. I climb back onto my bed. I crawl over his large feet. I scale the length of his thighs. I rise up the range of his chest. When I come face to face with him, I have arrived.
All of the fighting I’ve done to earn my place in life, all the battles I’ve waged to be seen and heard, all of my struggles to keep it together—my family, this business, my sense of self—all of it was to get me to this moment with this man.
Looking down at Gaius, I get the sense he feels the same way. We are both open. Our defenses are down. He could gut me in this moment. I could hurt him too.
Cari said Gaius was the glue of his family, the backbone of their business. Like me. We’ve both left those worries outside the door.
Right now, right here, there’s only the two of us. The trust between us is a fragile thread, but it’s there. The fibers are strong enough to hold us together in this moment. We both reach for it at the same time. Our fingers come away entwined, our lips together.
The kiss is brutal; thorough. Gaius sips at my soul. His tongue penetrates so deeply that I can feel the pulls deep in my core. Can I orgasm just from his kiss? I bet he could make me.
