by Chloe Adler
I set my jaw. I love these men, yes. All in different ways. I may even be in love with Rhys and Caspian, but what good is that love if it comes with such pain? Living with them, here in the Grove, presents too many problems. Problems for them. They’re so busy having to look out for me, but who looks out for them? I botched everything with Nolan. With Rhys. And now even with Dominic. I’m not safe for them to be around.
“Let me take him up the steps.” Caspian’s voice is so soft it sounds like a rustle in the trees. “Then we can go after Nolan.”
“How?” I despair. “Even if we catch him again, the amulet I made obviously isn’t enough if Nolan’s puppet master can send another ghoul to rip it off him again.”
“Regroup first. Argue later,” Dominic gasps.
“Agreed,” Caspian says.
Dominic attempts to drag himself up onto the first step into his cabin, but he wobbles, listing away from Caspian. I’m at his side in a flash but he’s too heavy, falling into me. On top of me. I crash under the weight of him and he lands with a thud on my arm. Yelping, I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. The pain is sharp and white. If he breaks my arm, I’ll be out of a job completely, at least until next season. A circus performer with one arm to climb the silks? Not possible.
“Iphi.” Caspian pushes Dom off me, leaves him groaning on the ground. Then he throws his arms around me, pulling me into his chest, cradling me there.
I clutch at him with my other arm while he pets my hair and kisses the top of my head. The intensity of his love pushes the air from my chest, deflating me like a balloon animal twisted crazy tight, air leaking with a hiss.
He hasn’t said the words, yet here they are, wrapped around me and holding me safe and snug and trapped.
Gently he leans back to look at me. Tears silently pour from my eyes but I don’t care. He loves me. Caspian is in love with me. Would he still love me if he knew what I’d just done to his brothers?
“Here, let’s get you inside so I can make sure nothing’s broken. Can you walk?”
I can’t respond, not from the pain radiating down my arm, but from the intensity of this new discovery, one I have to pretend I don’t know.
Tenderly he places an arm below my knees, the other stretching to cradle my neck, and he carries me up the steps and into Dom’s house. Dom.
“Dominic,” I rasp.
“Let me put you down inside first and then I’ll come back out and get him.”
I close my eyes and sink into him, letting him carry me into the tiny house one last time.
Caspian
Always putting others first, my darling Iphigenia. I carry her to the smaller couch and lay her down. Dominic’s tiny home has two couches in the living room and two chairs. No television, just an Echo Dot. Such a serious house for a serious therapist. His priorities are talking and thinking and avoiding fun at all costs. He’s the intellectual one, and if he knows he’s sprained Iphi’s wrist, he’s never going to forgive himself.
When I get back out front, he’s struggling to stay upright, already on his front porch, pressing his body against the stacked logs of his cabin. His nose is swelling an angry, mottled magenta.
“Is she . . .” he trails off. His eyes are wild, unfocused. His dark, usually manicured hair is disheveled. He’s not wearing his glasses and I hold up a finger to him as I leap off the porch to retrieve them from the grass. Back on the porch I hook his black horn-rimmed glasses around his ears, circle his arm around my neck and walk him inside, leading him the short distance to the longer couch and placing him down on it. The two of them lay lengthwise, facing each other. Both of their eyes are open and they’re staring. As if starstruck. A tiny invisible gremlin squeezes my heart. Sharing Iphigenia with Rhys is something I’ve accepted. That type of arrangement works for us; we’d done it before in the past, successfully. Granted, I never loved any of the women we shared before, and the love I have for the angel lying on that couch is larger and deeper than a chasm.
“Are you hurt?” she asks Dominic and his grunt is thick in return.
“Are you?” he responds.
She cradles her wrist in her other hand. “I’ll be fine. What about your nose and your neck? The amount of blood he took from you? I know it was more than a quart.”
“What possessed him?” I ask. Rhys has shown nothing but complete restraint our entire lives.
Iphi’s head shakes and even lying down, those blond ringlets sway in and out of her eyes. “I think it was the smell of blood.”
“He’s smelled blood before, plenty of times.”
“Must have been his anger too.” Dominic’s voice is thick and nasal. Someone’s got a busted nose.
I walk the few steps into his galley kitchen to grab an ice pack from his freezer. I wrap it in the kitchen towel hanging off his oven and bring it back to him, placing it across the bridge of his nose. “Do you need ice for your wrist?” I ask Iphi and she nods. I repeat the process, sitting down next to her on the couch to hold her injured hand.
“Can you move your fingers?”
She furrows her brows and shifts on the couch, then moves each finger on her hand, wincing in pain when she gets to the last two.
“When’s your next performance?”
“In four days.” Tears well in the corners of her eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” Dominic says. “You won’t be able to perform with that, will you?”
She shakes her head. Shit. We need to figure something out.
“Would you be opposed to drinking vampire blood?” Dominic asks the question I was afraid to broach.
“Can we talk about this later?” Finally her eyes shift from Dom’s to mine.
My brother asked what needed to be asked, took the bullet for me. Iphi reaches for my hand, smiling up at me, and even though Dom doesn’t sigh out loud, I can almost see him shrink back into the couch cushions.
“Bed?” Iphi mouths the word.
“You can put her in mine,” Dom grunts. He sounds like an elephant is perched on his chest. A really heavy one.
I lift Iphi and carry her up the stairs nestled between the living room and kitchen into Dominic’s loft. After placing Iphi on his patchwork quilt, I open the glass doors that lead to his large second-floor balcony.
“The air feels good.” Iphi stretches her body out like a cat and I rush to sit next to her. She reaches for me, pulling me to her, and our lips meet. Hers part the slightest bit and her warm breath pushes through my lips.
“Oh Iphi,” I whisper, “we shouldn’t.”
“Dom doesn’t mind,” she whispers back. “He wants . . .” She grasps my mouth with her own, tugging my lips with her teeth. “I need this. I need a connection. I’m lost at sea, Caspian. Pull me back.”
I caress her soft body while she holds on to me as though I’m a life raft and she’s chum in a sea of sharks. “Cuddling?”
“Yes, please,” she whispers into my hair, tugging on the longish ends. “And just rest your hand . . .” She puts my hand between her legs, pressing it to her hot cleft. “No movement, just hold me there. It’s grounding.”
I do as she asks. I do what she wants. Happily, I serve her. I spread my hand over her sex and cup her there, laying my body along hers lengthwise and wrapping my other arm around her back.
She nestles into me, sighing through her nose, and a little moan escapes.
Downstairs, the door clicks open and then closed.
Chapter Three
Rhys
What did I do? Have I driven my brothers away? Have I hurt the woman I love? I want to crawl into a hole. Letting my emotions rule me like that? I thought I’d gotten my impulsivity under control years ago. I’m not mad at any of them for shoving me back, putting me in my place. I’m not angry at Thorn for burning my arm either. My face. I’ll heal in less than twenty-four hours, quicker if I hadn’t waited so long to drink. But if I don’t drink soon, I’ll weaken even more and then I’ll be of no use to anyone. Maybe that’s best. That
way I can’t hurt them.
Thorn makes a racket in the kitchen and I slide off my chair to see what’s going on. The scene is out of a comedy. Or maybe a horror movie. My brother the minidragon perches on the counter in front of a cup of water, breathing fire on it. The rest of the counter is littered with broken cups and spilled liquid. The marble top is scorched black in several places and wet tea bags litter the floor.
“You think this is being helpful?”
He looks up, blinking those lizard-slitted eyes at me, and I imagine him shrugging. Instead, he walks toward me so slowly it looks like he’s stalking me.
I hold both my hands up. “Not looking for another fight, buddy.”
He blows a puff of smoke from his nostrils. It’s frustrating for all of us, having him stuck in his minidragon shift, but for him, it’s got to be hell. I can only imagine how it would feel not to be able to transform back to my original shape—like wearing a coat that’s two sizes too small and not being able to remove it.
“We have to get you changed back. I know it’s Iphi’s priority. You won’t be stuck this way forever.”
He blows out another puff of smoke, then screeches, inclining his head toward my front door.
“Someone’s here?” I sure hope it’s not Nolan or one of his ghouls because there’s no way I could fight anything off right now. I can barely walk without leaning on something. Dominic’s rap rings out, two knocks, followed by a pause and then another one. He insisted on having a special knock after he walked in on me in a compromising position one too many times. Surely he knows I’m all in with Iphi now and if he knows where she is, he knows I’m alone.
“Come in, Dom,” I call out and he opens the door but stands in the threshold, not coming in. I don’t blame him.
“Thorn here?” he asks.
Thorn flies up and over to Dom, landing on his shoulder.
“Good to see you, man,” Dom says. “Thanks for saving my ass earlier.”
Thorn nuzzles his cheek. Great, now I’m the bad guy.
I hold up my hands. “I’m sorry, Dom. I wish I could take it back, turn back the clock, make it right.”
“You can.” He still doesn’t enter.
“How?”
“Give your blood to Iphi. I accidentally fell on her hand, sprained her wrist, and she won’t be able to perform otherwise.”
“I’d do anything for her, you know that.”
“I’m sure at this point she won’t want you anywhere near her, but we’ll have to solve that problem later.” Dom looks me up and down, wearing a smugger than usual smile. Thorn’s protective stance on Dominic’s shoulder is not lost on me, reminding me that I’m not really one of them. I grew up the outcast, with Nolan.
I breathe deep into my belly, trying to douse my abandonment issues before they can flare up, hot and dark. I can’t blame Thorn; Dom is his brother and Thorn’s been protecting him since they were kids. I’m the one who came along later, and even though Thorn took me and Nolan in and basically raised us—a kid raising kids—Nolan and I knew our place was on the fringe. Not siblings, not cousins. Not shifters, not vampires. Something in between and nothing safe.
It wasn’t until we all came to the Edge, to the Grove, until they made sure I had my own tiny home without me asking for one . . . It wasn’t until that moment that I finally felt like a legitimate part of their pack. No longer the dirty little secret, another annoyance or another mouth to feed. My stomach twists, like a ball of undigested blood has coagulated into an angry lump.
“First,” says Dom, “you need to replenish yourself so you have something to give Iphi, and there’s no way you’re drinking from me again.”
I grit my teeth. “Of course not.”
“Do you have a donor, ? One you can get immediately?”
A donor is the last thing I want, but for Iphi I’ll do anything. “Sure thing.”
“Do you have someone lined up for this week?”
“I let all my donors go.”
“Who’s on call?”
I pick up my phone and open the vectum app to check. I hate going into any of the vectums and drinking from someone in public. It reminds me of the places we used to sneak into when we lived on the streets of New York City. Whorehouses, usually, or gambling dens. Wherever adult humans were too busy to notice a few rug rats. We’d slither in like snakes, undetected, or we’d shift into our small forms and enter that way. One time a prostitute fell in love with one of us in a shift and we kept returning daily so as not to break her heart. I can’t go to Ichor, our local vectum, where I teach martial arts in the basement. You don’t shit where you eat. San Diego is too far to drive safely in a weakened state. I’ll have to find someone I trust enough to make a house call.
“Amber’s on call.” I turn my phone around and hold it up so Dom can see.
“Didn’t she move in with a vampire in Hillcrest to be exclusive?”
“She’s splitting her time between there and here, and no, she doesn’t want to be exclusive until after her surgery. She almost has the funds and I’m happy to contribute. Plus, she won’t . . .”
“Expect sexual favors?”
I nod once and sigh.
Dom finally softens, offering me a smile. “You’ve always been the perfect playboy. Just like Carter but without the motorcycle.”
“Until Iphigenia.”
“Those witchy sisters have a lot to offer a partner.”
“Or two.” I wink and Dominic stiffens. Thorn spreads his crimson wings wide and squawks. Point taken. Not the opportune time to gloat that I’ve had Iphi and they haven’t, but when I’m being treated like a second-class citizen, it’s difficult to pull punches. And yet, for her, I need to man up. I look down at my phone and click on Amber’s profile. Less than a second later she’s accepted. I look up at my brothers. Cousins, dammit. I had forgotten that. I clear my throat. “She’ll be here in an hour.”
Iphigenia
“Are you sure?” Caspian returns to the loft bed with more ice and an ace bandage. The way he wraps my wrist is more intimate than a kiss. The way he’s taking care of me brings my needy out. I want more. He loops the fabric around and pulls it taut, applying the optimal amount of pressure to the injury. I know, being a circus performer equals injuries. But the way he does it, so gentle and sweet, that’s love. Beautiful, unconditional love. It seeps from his pores but I’m not worthy of it. He has no idea of who or what I truly am, what I’ve done, what I’m capable of.
The wind wafts through the open balcony door, and the smells of the late summer night fill the cabin. Salt, pine, and the fresh vanilla of heliotropes, one of my sister’s favorite flowers. Sadie loves the simple scent, but my reaction to it is far more complex.
My closest childhood friend, Sophia, always smelled of kitchen spices, the slightly sweet, velvet and comforting scent of vanilla most of all. We once danced around her mother’s kitchen together while the woman whipped up delightful sugary treats. Sophia and I met in nursery school while I was concentrating on building a sugar-cube house with white glue. After each child completed theirs, Sophia looked at me and giggled. Then she looked back at her own house. I heard her silent dare: Who could eat theirs faster? I jammed the thing in my mouth so fast that Sophia looked at me, dumbfounded, before she did the same.
After that, people called us the sugar-cube twins. When I was afraid to go down the new crazy slide at the park, she sat behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist so we could go down it together. When she was too afraid to swim without a floaty, I held her hands and remained by her side in the shallow end of the community pool. It didn’t matter that I was a witch and she was a human. Back then, we saw no differences.
The day she fell and skinned her knee, I cried and cried. So determined to soothe her pain, I dove deep into her emotions, down and down with her until I saw into the most secret place in her mind: she’d planned it to get attention. I shrank back, confusion propelling me out of her head so fast my own throbbed for minutes a
fterward. My cries no longer came from Sophia’s pain, but my own.
When the teachers came to help, I blurted, “She’s fine, she just did it for attention.” Sophia was so angry. She called me a freak, spread rumors about me and shunned me. The other kids did too after that. It was the moment I ceased trusting anyone with my secret and it was also the moment I realized how disingenuous and manipulative people could be. Chose to be.
I hated Sophia for so long, but she was right. I am a freak, only now it’s worse. I’m not just blurting out their secrets, I’m hurting them. I should leave, run out that door and go home where Mother will keep herself and everyone else at a distance from me. I should, but I don’t. I need the physicality of him right now, even if I am living a lie. I hate myself for being so selfish.
As soon as he’s finished, I grasp his hand with my good one, intertwining our fingers and bringing his to rest on my chest. On my heart. Can he hear the thumping? I want him. I need him. Fully. Not a pity fuck, but to feel. To give back and assuage my guilt just a little, and to feel a part of someone that matters. Someone that counts. I want this one last chance at intimacy. With him.
“I want to feel you inside me,” I whisper. I don’t dare explain all the reasons why. We haven’t had intercourse yet and I can practically taste his desire. I won’t have to tell him my thoughts or that sex is the perfect distraction to the never-silenced empathic part of my brain. If I told him any of it, especially that I’ve formed some sort of crazy uplink where I can bend him and his pack to my will, I’d lose him for sure.
“Do you need a distraction from the pain in your wrist?”
Shit. I don’t want to lie to him. But withholding isn’t the same as lying. “I need a distraction, yes, but I also need you.” That’s the truth. I’ve never been one to turn to sex as a Band-Aid, but right now I can give myself to him as an apology, like a consolation prize for all the pain I’ve caused and the pain I have yet to cause. The lack of control I have over my “gift.” My curse. I want to feel close to someone who loves me. I don’t expect him to make me whole again, but in this moment I can pretend, can’t I?
