by P. G. Forte
The pipe would teach her discernment. Wasn’t that what all the elders had claimed? Well, then, let it teach her. Let it open her eyes for her, and show her where her path lay, which way it wanted her to go. It wasn’t something she’d ever thought she’d be comfortable doing but... what the hell? What could she lose, after all?
Not her virginity, certainly. And, not even much of her heart; not unless he really was the one she’d been praying for. Her medicine partner. Her lifemate. If such a one even existed.
She smiled at her brother. “Stop worrying about me, Chay. What I do with Liam has nothing to do with any of that. Trust me. I know what I’m doing. I’ll be fine.”
It was time for Chay’s next set. He shook his head as he got to his feet. “I don’t know, Little Dove. I sure hope so.”
“White Dove,” she reminded him, still trying for asperity, even though she couldn’t help but be touched by his concern. Little Dove was a name for a girl, a child – not a woman. “My name is White Dove now.”
“I don’t think so,” Chay replied, shrugging a little as he picked up his flutes, sounding a lot like the annoying big brother she remembered from her teenage years – the one she thought she’d heard the last of years ago. “Maybe someday. When you act like it, perhaps. But, not now, Chen. Not from where I’m standing.”
Chapter Seventeen
Gregg lay on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for Cara to emerge from the bathroom, while he contemplated the evening that had just passed. It had not been pleasant, and it had left him in a dangerous mood, edgy and unsettled. He didn’t much like the feeling and, considering he had Cara to thank for it, he didn’t suppose she was going to like it very much either. But it was her own fault if she didn’t, and he didn’t feel the least bit sorry for her.
The evening had begun badly, and any improvement it had undergone was marginal, at best. Cara’s absence had thrown him off his game, and he still wasn’t certain which infuriated him more, her failure to return on time, or his inability to think of anything else.
But trying to hide his annoyance from a room full of empaths – that was an experience he was not in a hurry to repeat. For that inconvenience alone, he owed her a beating.
And then she’d arrived, with her eyes red and swollen, as though she’d been crying. Well, he’d give her something to cry about, he’d thought, as he studied her closely. She looked guilty, too. And nervous. Although nowhere near as nervous as she ought to have looked, given the circumstances. In fact, even with the tears, he thought she was looking insufferably smug about something.
It had been all he could do to get through the rest of the service without betraying his anger. Without pulling her aside and demanding an explanation for her behavior. Or, without ordering that Liam be dragged outside and beaten until he got an explanation from him, instead.
But, why even bother? The careful distance the two maintained between them, the worried glances the boy shot in her direction, the studious way she avoided his gaze... surely those were explanation enough? Something had happened between them. Something that had left them awkward, uncomfortable around each other. And made them late getting back. Something that they were now attempting to try and hide.
Or did they really expect him to believe the convenient story they’d produced? A flat tire? How likely was that?
His jaw clenched as he thought about it. Damn it, he needed to find his psychic. He was full up with empaths. He had more vague impressions and emotional resonance than he had use for. What he lacked was someone who could give him facts, details, visions. And he needed it now. Tonight. Before he killed the little bitch over nothing, and denied himself the pleasure of keeping her around a while longer.
And it was a pleasure to keep her. Entirely too much of a pleasure, in fact. One he’d grown a little too used to. That was something he’d realized just last week, when her incessant whining about Lauren had caused him to come frighteningly close to confiding his plans to her.
There were things he needed from Lauren, all right. Just as he told her. Important things. Like the information that would allow him to dispatch her ex-husband, and frame her for the crime. He supposed it was lucky for Cara that she had not understood what he’d been talking about, or, he’d have had no choice but to arrange an accident for her, as well.
Even now, even angry as he was with her tonight, Gregg could not help laughing once again at Cara’s self centered naiveté, at the pout on her lips, the hurt in her eyes. Big tits. Fuck, yeah. Round, ripe, full to bursting; just the way he’d always liked them. That’s what Lauren had – in spades.
It was strange, though, that neither the sight nor the feel of them had done as much for him as he thought they would. Maybe his tastes were changing? He didn’t like the thought of that. It begged the question, why? And he was already sure he wouldn’t like the answer. Either he’d been fucked once more by that bitch-hag Time, who’d stolen his youth, and now was out to make a pussy of him. Or that brat, who was taking too long in the bathroom yet again, had corrupted his mojo.
Either way, he wasn’t happy about it. Either way, something would have to be done.
The sound of the bathroom door opening caught his attention, he glanced over as Cara emerged, looking entirely too chaste in a silky, little tangerine colored slip of a gown.
“Where in the hell did you get that thing?” he asked, making no attempt to hide his displeasure. Why should he, after all? He was angry tonight, and if she hadn’t already figured that out, she soon would.
“Don’t you like it?” she asked, looking crestfallen. Her hands smoothed down the front of the gown, as though she found the feel of it comforting. A tiny smile touched her lips as she murmured, “I think it’s pretty.”
“Oh, do you?” Had he asked for her opinion? “Well, why don’t you come over here. Maybe it’ll look better close up?”
She bit her lip. “You’re not gonna rip it, are you? Please, Gregg? I’ll go change, if you want. I’ll put on something else. Please?”
“Oh, just get your butt over here,” he sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for a fashion show. He was too tired to have her parading around in one dumb outfit after another, asking him what he thought, wasting his time. He didn’t care what she wore. He wanted her here. In his bed. With his dick in her mouth. Although, first– “What did you end up doing today?” he asked as she climbed into bed and cuddled up beside him.
Cara shrugged. “Well, I told you. I went shopping. And, I uh... I got you some stuff. Wanna see?” There was a suspicious blush on her cheeks. And since when did she ever ask, before she showed him what she got him?
What was making her so uncomfortable all of a sudden? He narrowed his eyes. “Not yet. First, tell me, what was Liam up to, while you were shopping?”
“I dunno.” She frowned slightly. “I think he saw some friends. He knows some girl in the bakery. I think he said she gave him a massage.”
“A massage?” Was she fucking joking? What kind of idiot did she take him for? This was worse than the bullshit tire story. Gregg felt his temper explode. “In a bakery? What’d she do? Work him over with her rolling pin? Knead his dough? Tell, me, did he get to slip his baguette between her buns when she was done with him?”
Cara crossed her arms tightly and scowled. “Well, how would I know what they were doing? I wasn’t there.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you’d like to give me a massage, too? Maybe you wanna massage my dick with your tongue?”
Two bright spots of red appeared on Cara’s cheeks. Her scowl deepened. “You don’t always have to talk to me like that, you know. You could say something nice, once in a while.”
“Nice?” He moved suddenly, grabbing her by the shoulders and pinning her to the bed beneath him. “You want nice, little girl?”
She looked at him uncertainly, and then nodded. “Sometimes. Couldn’t you?”
Gregg let his fingers tighten on her arms, not enough to leave bruises, though – not yet. “Does
Liam say nice things to you?” he asked softly, watching for her reaction.
Cara shrugged and looked away. “Not always,” she answered in a sad little voice. For once, Gregg took no pleasure in her unhappiness. “What did you do today?” he demanded again. “Why were you late getting home? Answer me.”
She turned her head to look at him again, still frowning. “I told you, Gregg. The tire–”
“I don’t want to hear about that. I saw you when you got here. You’re not gonna pretend you were crying over a flat tire, were you? Did you break a nail trying to change it? Is that what made you cry?”
Her eyes widened. She shook her head. “No. I was scared. I was afraid you’d be mad.”
“Why?” he demanded again, determined to make her admit to her crimes. To tell him what she’d been doing all day with Liam.
“What do you mean, why?” she asked, looking more confused than guilty. “I broke the rule. I came home late.”
More bullshit. “You’re always breaking rules, pet,” he answered grimly. “There’s no reason to cry over that. It’s what you do, isn’t it?” Over and over again.
To his surprise, she shook her head again. “Not that one,” she said, as she met his gaze squarely. “I’ve never broken that one, Gregg, you know I haven’t!”
No, she never had. He nodded. “That’s true. You haven’t.” It was a damn good thing, too. It had always been dangerous, letting her out of his sight. It was risky. Unpredictable. Intoxicating. That was the very reason, he enjoyed it so much. It was the ultimate test of his power over her. And, up until now, she’d given him no cause to doubt her total devotion.
“And I wouldn’t. You know I wouldn’t. Never on purpose. It’s not my fault, this time, Gregg. Honest.”
“Okay,” he sighed as he rolled off her and propped himself back against the pillows. A whole array of unpleasant emotions were flooding through him. He didn’t like the feeling.
Cara lay where she was for a moment, staring at him, almost as though she were afraid to move. Slowly, she sat up. “You believe me, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “If that’s your story.”
“It is,” she insisted. “Really.”
“Then, I guess, there’s nothing else to talk about. It’s not your fault you were late, and, I can’t punish you for something that’s not your fault. Can I?”
“No.” Relief shone in her eyes as she shook her head. She sighed deeply. “That’s just what Liam said you’d say.”
“Oh, did he?” It seemed like Liam had had a very busy day, the little cock sucker.
“Mm-hmm,” she murmured as she rested her head on his chest and hugged him tight. “I promise it won’t happen again. I- I’ll check my tires before I head back... or, or something. And I’ll call if there’s a problem, and... ”
“Fine,” he said, patting her shoulder absently, not really listening. He had a lot to think about. And her chatter was nothing but a distraction.
“So you wanna see what I got you?” she asked again, looking up at him eagerly.
“No,” he answered. Whatever it was, it could wait. He didn’t feel like playing with her at the moment, anyway. He was too old for these games. Time was a whore. She took and took and never gave back. And, tonight, she had him by the balls.
Cara’s eyes widened. “How come?”
“Because I’m hungry,” he lied. “Run downstairs and make me a snack.”
“Okay,” she agreed eagerly. She kissed his cheek, then slid out from beneath the covers. “I’ll be right back.”
Don’t hurry, Gregg thought, as he watched her go. This thing between her and Liam – whatever it was – had ceased to be amusing. He didn’t like the way she dragged his name into every conversation. Come to think of it, he didn’t like the way she said his name, at all. Her voice got all soft and warm and cuddly, like a kitten, right before you snapped its neck.
And he was not the only one to notice that there was something a little too protective in Liam’s manner toward her lately. A little too… possessive. He’d heard the same complaint from several members of his flock already this week.
It was time to teach the candy-ass prick a lesson. And it was past time to nip their little infatuation in the bud. But, how?
Gregg folded his arms behind his neck and thought of the options. A ritual death, for one or both of them, perhaps? Now there was something he hadn’t enjoyed in too long. It wasn’t the same with animals. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying.
But he already had something like that in the planning, and murder was the type of thing it never paid to rush. Besides, surely there were other things he could think of; more creative ways in which to punish the two of them – things more lastingly painful than death or a beating could ever be.…
* * *
Liam had been lurking in the hallway for what felt like hours. Waiting. Pacing. Worrying about Cara. Listening for any sounds of distress coming from inside Gregg’s room. The door was thick, however. Old. Solid oak. Hard to hear through. And it would be even harder to break through. Just thinking about it made his shoulder ache. But, hard or not, he’d go through it if he had to. Even if it did set back his hopes of finding Jim.
The expression on the Gregg’s face tonight had forced every other consideration from his mind. There was an icy, vicious glimmer in the older man’s eyes when he looked at Cara. It made Liam’s blood run cold, even now. It was his fault if Gregg was angry with the girl, and, he couldn’t just stand by and watch her suffer because of him, could he? He told her he wouldn’t let Gregg hurt her anymore, and he meant it.
He was just about to creep a little closer, when the door he’d been watching suddenly swung open, and he had barely enough time to hide before Cara emerged from the room, and headed for the stairs. At least she wasn’t crying. He supposed that was something to be grateful for. On the other hand... did she look a little too happy? And why was that?
But did he really want to know? Did he really want to follow her downstairs, to ask how she was, only to see her face flushed with pleasure she’d just received at Gregg’s hands? No, sir, he did not. Hell, he’d already been in a state of semi-arousal ever since they’d kissed. The smell of sex on her skin right now – that might send him over the edge, and make him do something stupid. Or, on the other hand, maybe it was just the slap in the face he needed to get his mind back on track.
He crept downstairs in her wake, following the sound of her. He could hear her bustling around in the kitchen long before he reached it. Was that what she was doing? Cooking? At this hour? A little post-coital snack for her over-age, stud muffin, perhaps? How very little-wifely of her.
Well, that would be perfect, Liam thought angrily; that would be just what he deserved. It would fix him good and teach him not to waste valuable sleep time worrying about nothing.
He edged open the kitchen door and looked inside. She was in front of the refrigerator, rummaging around for something in the crisper drawer. The short skirt of her gown barely covered her butt when she stood up straight, but, now, if she bent over just a little more...
Oh, Christ. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else, but it didn’t help. Damn it, he did not need this right now. Couldn’t she have thought to put on a robe?
He opened his eyes again. “Hi,” he called softly. “How’s it going?”
She jumped and spun around in surprise. “Oh, God, you scared me.” She pressed one hand to the center of her chest as she frowned at him. “What are you doing down here, anyway?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, moving toward her. He studied her expression. She looked nervous, but she didn’t look scared. He’d seen her scared, this wasn’t it. It probably wasn’t even nerves that had pebbled her nipples, either. Most likely, it was the fact that she’d had her chest stuck in the refrigerator for the past few minutes that had done that to them.
The gown was one she’d bought today, he recognized it from this afternoon; and she looked even better in it
than he thought she might. Sleek and pretty and perfect. The way the apricot silk molded itself around her creamy, pale flesh, gave him a whole new appreciation for the term cream-cicle.
“Nice outfit,” he said, as he continued to look her over. He’d wanted so much this afternoon to see her dressed like this, and never thought he would. He was feeling an indecent amount of pleasure now that he’d been given the chance after all. “That’s um... a really good color for you, too. Goes with your hair.” A good color? Yeah, that didn’t sound too lame or anything, did it? Sheesh.
One of these days, he really ought to learn to keep his mouth shut. Maybe keep his eyes to himself, as well. But better his eyes than his hands, he supposed – that’s what he really wanted to use on her. That and his tongue, and his dick, and maybe a couple of other things. He’d had that gown in his hands this afternoon. He knew the feel of the fabric as it slid through his fingers, he knew the weight of her body, warm in his arms. He wanted to feel them both again. Together. Now.
Color flared on her cheeks. “You really shouldn’t be here,” she murmured, sounding breathless. “You should go back upstairs.”
“I know,” he agreed, forcing himself to stop while there was still a good foot between them. “I should.” But, I can’t.
“I- I have to make a snack for Gregg,” she told him. “Are you hungry? I could make you something, too. An omelet?”
Oh, he was hungry, all right. But not for food. And, if he had been, the mention of Gregg’s name would have probably been enough to spoil his appetite. Still, he nodded yes. It would give him an excuse to stay and talk to her. To stay and look at her. To stay and torture himself a little more.
He settled himself at the table while she set about melting butter and scrambling eggs. Despite the blush and the lack of clothing and the lateness of the hour, she didn’t have the look of someone who’d just climbed out of her lover’s bed. The thought pleased him. And probably not for any good reason, either, like her age. As it happened, that little fact had developed the annoying habit of slipping from his mind at every opportunity.
