Ever since Claire left.
I’d spent most of my time that wasn’t devoted to training and work sitting in my house and brooding. At first, I tried to drink until I felt numb, but I could never get numb enough. I knew better than to frequent clubs, or return to my previous lifestyle, and even if I didn’t, Larry was there to constantly remind me.
I’m aware that I’m in a depressive slump, but I’ve been trying desperately to pull myself out of it. I arranged for my brothers to start coming around once a week for dinner, and even Larry and his kids came by a couple times to break bread.
Not my best idea ever, maybe. They kind of hurt more than they help sometimes. After all, they really liked Claire, everyone did, and even though they don’t say it aloud, no one believes that I woke up naked in bed with a stranger. Hell, if I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t believe myself either.
I flip the final burger patty onto a plate with the rest. Cade hasn’t returned, and I can’t hear a peep from the front foyer. Cade damn well better not be talking to a reporter. At first they were everywhere, and I had to have security monitor the front gate. After a few weeks, when nothing much happened (as in no naked chicks- no chicks at all actually), the media dwindled, and I cut back on security. I know the paparazzi, though and there are those who are nothing if not unethical. They’ll climb fences, twist words, use telephoto lenses.
I growl in frustration, and toss of my apron, the apron I bought to make Clair giggle that says “Rub My Meat” on the front. I storm to the foyer.
“Fuck’s sake, Cade, what’s wrong?” The moment I appear, Cade turns and looks at me with a sheepish grin, then ducks away into the living room, and I find myself face to face with my wife.
“Claire,” I whisper. She smiles coyly and a tingle rushes through my entire body. My limbs suddenly feel like jello.
“Hi, Jett.”
She looks thin, like she’s lost some weight, and there are dark circles under her eyes, but she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. There’s so much I want to say to her right now. I want to tell her that I’ve missed her. Hell, I want to tell her that her leaving feels as though my hearts been hacked out of my chest with a chainsaw. I want to say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that even though nothing happened that night with Bimbo Barbie, I’m sorry for ever being the kind of man that would make her suspect something might have. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to hurt her and everything I’ll ever do in the future, and that if only she’ll let me, I’ll promise to spend every second of my life devoted to her and never, ever give her a reason to doubt me ever again.
“It’s… been a while,” I say dumbly.
“It has,” she agrees. “One might say it’s been too long.”
“Yeah. Yeah, one could say that.”
She takes a step towards me, pushing her hair behind her ear. I want to touch her, to hold her, but I’m afraid to do anything to scare her off or make her leave. A pink tinge creeps up her cheeks.
“One might also say that your wife was unfair to you,” she states, “and that perhaps your wife should have given you the benefit of the doubt and believed in you, or at least heard you out.”
“Do you think one would be right about that?” I ask, my heart is racing in my chest. Is she saying what I think she’s saying?
“Yes. One would definitely be correct about that,” she replies. Her eyes fill with tears. “Especially after your wife found out that her ex-boyfriend set up the whole thing just to punish her for leaving him.”
“Wow.” I shake my head. I can’t stop the huge shit-eating grin from spreading over my face. “One could say that my wife’s ex-boyfriend is a real shitstain.”
“Yeah.” Claire is grinning slightly now, too. “Your wife should have known better, she was a real bitch to you.”
“Hey, don’t talk about my wife that way,” I scold her softly.
Claire smiles gently, and a lone tear trails down her cheek. “I miss you, Jett.”
I wipe her tear away with my thumb, “I miss you too. So, so much, Claire.”
“I know. I got the cards.”
We both laugh.
“Think you can forgive me?” she asks, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
I pull her towards me and wrap my arms around her. We settle against each other, content in the feeling of our bodies side by side once again. I kiss her forehead and sigh happily.
“There’s nothing to forgive, beautiful. I just want my wife back” I tilt her chin up and press my lips to hers.
How could I hold a grudge against the woman I live and breathe for?
THE END
THE VAMPIRE’S MUSE
STORY DESCRIPTION
April Hanley is a loner and newly appointed curator at an art gallery. When she finds and procures a rare Dobronravov masterpiece, strange things start to occur.
First, she experiences bizarre dreams of a mysterious stranger that plague her and leave her body writhing in wanton desire.
Very soon after, reality becomes intermingled with her dreams, and her life takes a crazy and dangerous turn. She finds her life threatened by an unstable leather-clad dominatrix. She goes head to head with a couple of rival motorcycle gangs. And, she comes face to face with the handsome stranger from her dreams who throws her on the back of his decked-out, futuristic Harley.
But, for April, the most jaw-dropping revelation is when she’s told her handsome stranger has been deeply in love with her.
For centuries.
Chapter 1
The damn Jeep was making a rumbling sound, or a rattling sound. It was hard to tell. Whichever it was, it all of a sudden escalated to an almighty bang that shook the whole thing like an earthquake. I had to fight with the wheel to keep it in my hands. The Jeep swerved to the left, but I brought it back to the right. It swerved to the right, but I brought it back to the left. Then, when black smoke started filling the interior, I wrestled it off to the side of the road.
When I got out, more smoke was wafting slowly from the tailpipe. A quick stoop down in my four hundred dollar heels revealed a thick, dark liquid puddling under the engine. I blew out a long slow breath. Well, I’d had Carleton, my Jeep, since I’d left for college over ten years ago, but it looked like it might be time to say goodbye to the old guy.
Damn. Things had been going so well today, too. I’d had another great day at the gallery which led to Owen, the owner, asking me to dinner. ‘Purely professional,’ he’d said. Fortunately, he wasn’t lying.
“April,” Owen’s voice had taken on a serious tone near dessert, more so than he’d had throughout the main course. I glanced nervously around the restaurant. It was a classy place in the wealthier part of town where Owen lived. There was low lighting, soft piano music, and the waitresses were all gorgeous and dressed in black cocktail dresses. Not what you’d find at your average TGI Fridays which was my typical ‘going somewhere nice for dinner’ destination. The thing that had been worrying me since we’d arrived was the more than one distinguished male patron hiding in a darkened booth with a significantly younger and considerably more attractive female companion. It certainly appeared to be a wining and dining spot for older men to bring younger female employees when their main goal was to see them naked. Please, don’t let that be it. I prayed. I loved my job, and would hate to lose it. I’d also hate to waste the tastiest wine I’ve ever had by tossing it in Owen’s face as I told him where he and his sexual advances could go.
I took a constitutional sip of wine.
“April,” Owen said again, “I know you’ve only been with us…?”
“Just under a year,” I helped him out. The wrinkles that were creasing his forehead under his thinning salt-and-pepper hairline as he struggled to remember, vanished in gratitude.
“As you say. And I notice that, although you’re friendly with the staff at our gallery, you don’t seem to have forged any close friendships.”
Not that it was any of his business.
“Quite the opposite, in fact,” Owen smiled again. “It’s precisely because of your uniqueness that I think you’d be the best choice for curator when I retire next month.” I almost choked on my wine. “Well, that, and your superb work in securing the long lost Dobronravov painting last week.”
So, a fantastic day that was now ending with a little hiccup, but then again, it was extremely likely that a new car was now warranted. I needed to figure out where I was so that I could call for help. I could see the lights of the freeway but I couldn’t hear the noise, meaning I was at least a half-mile away. Looking around, there was a dark, empty-looking factory across the street, a motel with a faulty green neon sign in the opposite direction from the freeway and about the same distance, and a patch of yellow scrub grass behind a tall, chain link fence beside me.
Stranded in the semi darkness under a dim orange streetlight was more than a little creepy. My heart rate was elevated. It was past ten at night and I was breathing hot, fetid air in one of the worst parts of San Antonio’s South Side. Not to mention I was dressed in my favorite short, black mini-dress that hugged my butt and was oh-so-good at lifting my bust line up just where I liked it to be. Oh, yeah, and my coveted four hundred dollar heels.
Alright, well, I guess I’d have to describe my surroundings to AAA since there weren’t any road signs anywhere. I grabbed my cell out of my small clutch purse, and Fuuuck! Dead. At that moment, I saw a light that looked like it might be heading this way.
Please be a cop. Please be a cop.
I repeated like a mantra. But, my hope disappeared as the roar of a motorcycle engine grew louder and nearer. I thought about getting back in the Jeep, but before I could reach it, the motorcycle engine crescendoed to a deafening level and then abruptly ceased.
“Having some trouble, little lady?” The man’s voice was high-pitched and mocking. It was accompanied by a squawking, earsplitting woman’s cackle. My mom always taught me never to judge a movie by the DVD cover, I think, but the sound made my nerves jangle and I was trembling slightly as I turned around.
The man striding towards me was of average height and build, but his expression gave him the honor of having the evilest face I’d ever seen in my life. It contorted his forked beard, and scars rippled up extending over his battered and bald head.
Behind him, sitting on a big black chopper, was a scrawny girl of maybe twenty-five with straggly, greasy blonde hair falling limply around a face that might have been pretty once. Drugs? Whatever it was, something had ravaged her looks, and she held the same sinister visage as her partner. Her self-confidence appeared to be unfazed though. Her stocking tops showed clearly from under her short leather miniskirt, and her breasts were crammed into a tiny bikini top and barely hidden by her patched leather vest.
“It… it just banged and shut down,” I managed to say sounding, at least I thought, mostly calm. As he continued towards me, his eyes ran slowly up and down my body. I saw his vest was similar to the girl’s. The left breast bore the name ‘Rectum’. Before I had time to process his lovely moniker, he walked right past me.
“Sounds just like Darla over there,” he grinned, earning a middle finger from his girlfriend. “Well, let’s just see what we can do, shall we?”
He opened the Jeep door, popped the hood, and then walked around front to shove his head under it. A small sense of relief flooded me. Maybe mom was right about those DVD covers. I read the name ‘Angel Dogs’ from the gang patch on the back of Rectum’s vest, and I thought maybe he was my unlikely savior.
“You see here?” he called, beckoning me over, his head still in the bowels of my motor. I stepped cautiously towards him, still trying to save my heels. Suddenly, a vice-like grip clasped my left arm at the same time as thin, sharp fingers coiled around my throat. Before I could release a sound, Darla’s piercing screech split the night and Rectum’s eerie, sneering grimace emerged from under my hood.
“Now here,” Rectum brought his face so close to mine I could almost taste his fetid breath, “is where you’re completely fucked.”
Chapter 2
My legs turned to Jell-O. If Darla didn’t have such a firm grip on me, I’d have been on the ground. I tried to scream, but her iron-grip tightened, choking off any sound from escaping.
“Don’t worry, baby,” Darla hissed in my ear, “you’ll get your chance to scream. We’ll make you scream.” She let out another high-pitched cackle and then ran her wet tongue run down my cheek.
“I love a lady with some curves,” offered Rectum as his gaze scanned my body. He reached his dirt smudged hand forward and, with seemingly no effort, ripped the front of my dress clean open, right down the middle, exposing my bra-covered breasts.
“Yeah, she’s hot,” gloated Darla. “Fuck her blue, Recky-baby, then it’s my turn.”
I tried to fight. I struggled, trying to cover myself up, but Darla was unbelievably strong. There was nothing I could do but pray that I would come out of this relatively unscathed. Not much hope of that though.
Rectum’s filthy fingers trailed down my stomach. He was going to tear the rest of my dress away, and my underwear too, no doubt. He was practically drooling from his disgusting pie hole when he abruptly froze. His head turned sharply to gaze down the road, back the way they had come. That’s when I heard it too. The low rumble of another motorcycle.
Tears welled at the back of my eyes. More Angel Dogs coming to join the party? So, now I was to be passed around like a rag doll? I wouldn’t be able to withstand this.
“Hear that?” asked Darla, sounding worried.
“Ah, fuck!” snapped Rectum. He grabbed me by the shoulders and casually tossed me towards my Jeep.
I landed hard and painfully. My head smacked the metal of the wheel well and bounced off. Face down on the sidewalk, all I could hear for a few minutes was white noise. I was too stunned to move, so I lay still, somewhere between sleep and consciousness. Sounds of the world around me started to penetrate, but it all seemed surreal, like the sounds were background noise from a TV.
I heard another motorcycle pull up but it sounded different from a normal cycle engine. It was bassier, brassier, ballsier. There were angry voices after the engine died, then grunts, screams, maybe cloth tearing, and something like moist ripping and cracking that reminded me of pulling a drumstick off a roasted chicken. My head throbbed and my eyes were so heavy. Someone must have kicked a bucket over. There was a quick splash, and thick warm liquid pooled around my bare legs before I finally succumbed to sleep.
I was standing in a field, my breath misting on the air. Even though my dress was ripped open to the navel, I didn’t feel cold. My feet, now one bare and one clad in a dirty, scuffed, four-hundred-dollar heel, made a soft crunching sound through white snow that blanketed the ground. Oddly, my skin still felt the radiating warmth of an August night in South Texas.
There was fencing around the field, and beyond that, a long way off, a city skyline. Not a tall, angular, modern skyline, this was lower, with church towers, dome-shaped building tops, and smoke stacks. It reminded me of an old European city from two or three centuries ago. London? More like Vienna, Budapest, or St Petersburg.
As I turned, the view was similar in every direction until I spotted a figure in the distance. Just a small dark shape, but definitely a man with a hat and cane. I glanced to my left for a brief moment, and when I looked back, he was standing at arms distance before me. I could see little of him except a long
black cloak and a plain black tricorn hat. His cane, penetrating the snow and held at a relaxed angle in his gloved right hand, was also black, except for the head of a hunting dog intricately carved out of silver on the handle.
He lifted his head revealing a pale face with penetrating but sad gray eyes, a smooth, firm chiseled jaw, straight nose, and full lips. He looked about my age, but his eyes held the look of lifetimes of wisdom. He was incredibly handsome by any standards and I felt my body reacting accordingly.
As his gaze met mine, I’m certain I noticed a glimmer of happiness cross his face, but only for a moment. His eyes travelled the length of me. Up and back down. I tried to speak, but I couldn’t open my mouth. My mouth was disconnected from my brain and just wouldn’t do what I commanded. The man trod a slow circle around me. I wanted to turn with him but, again, my body was unwilling to follow the commands of my brain. I sensed him close behind me, felt the soft leather of his gloves on my shoulders.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, his mouth very close to my ear, the words dripping sweetly like honey. My stomach twisted as he gently slid the fabric off my shoulders, allowing it to drop to the snowy ground. I did manage to eject a small gasp this time. I tried to cover myself, except again, my body would not comply. It almost felt as though my body longed for this man. It made no sense. He continued circling me slowly, stepping around to face me again, his eyes absorbing all of me.
My heart was racing and my throat was dry. My tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of my mouth. I should have been cold standing in a snow covered field in my underwear. I should probably have felt embarrassed standing in my underwear being ogled by a perfect stranger. I didn’t though. What I felt was a craving, a fierce hunger for this man. My body was crying out for his touch.
CLAIMED BY THE ALPHA UNDERBOSS Page 13
