Inextinguishable Love: Firefighter and Interracial Romance

by Kathleen Bunker

  A howl of joy escaped her mouth, warbled with Raegnor’s member dancing with her tongue. “Captain, get ready,” Bearyan said. “The second load is well on its way.”

  “I’m with you, there,” Raegnor spouted, pulling Aileen’s hair tight.

  Bearyan wrapped his hand around Aileen’s waist, and with one immense thrust forward, Aileen exploded again with raging ripples plundering through her. Their orgasm was the definition of perfection, and Aileen felt for one second that she was part of some miracle—while her own secretion flooded out, she got the strong taste of Raegnor’s smoldering load—a light taste of bubble gum from the all the fizzure he drank.

  Nothing could have prepared her for the for the oceanic current from Bearyan’s rod—she felt like a hose—or more accurately a fire hydrant—had been pressed against her and the torrential blast forced her forward into Raegnor’s groin.

  With the bliss inflating Aileen, she jumped in fear as something rocked the ship. Bearyan and Raegnor shared a look of concern.

  “What was that?” Raegnor asked. With Raegnor pulled out of her, she saw that his cum was the same bedazzled blue as his eyes.

  “Could have been debris,” Bearyan said, pulling out.

  The Tower Cadet rocked again, throwing the three of them to their sides. “Get dressed,” Aileen ordered. “I don’t think this is debris.”

  She fastened her clothes on and ran down the corridor to the cockpit. Outside she saw hundreds of mountainous ships from the Intergalactic Armada’s fleet, and all of their canons pointed toward the Tower Cadet.

  *****

  Aileen’s jaw dropped. “Why are we being barricaded and shot at by the Intergalactic Armada?” she begged.

  Another shot hit the side of the ship, tipping it from side to side. They’re not trying to kill, Aileen though, they’re only trying to send us a message.”

  “The want us to surrender,” Bearyan said from behind her. “They want us to come out with our hands up, if you take the meaning.”

  “Why the hell would they want us to do that?” Aileen asked. When they departed Woes Ëan, she thought she had done the planet a favor, killing a hideous Lysthaurus and saving hundreds of Woes Ëans in the process.

  “I might have something to do with that,” Raegnor piped up, the blue from his eyes adding a glow to the darkness of the cockpit.

  “Speak, Raegnor,” Aileen urged.

  “When we were at the Armada’s base I may have taken more than the bio-nanodevice,” Raegnorchirped, the smirk on his face like a dagger.

  “What do you mean, ‘may have taken more’?” Aileen asked, anger flowing through her neck with each heavy breath.

  “When in the digital database I also took the designs of your father’s ship they stole,” the pride in his grin unaltered. “And now the only way they can reproduce it is by taking the real thing.”

  “What?” she cried. “Just give them back the design. It’s not worth throwing away our lives.”

  “This design can save a lot more planets than just Earth,” Raegnor said with conviction.

  “He’s right, Captain,” Bearyan confirmed.

  “We can throw the ship into V-Speed and bypass these slugs with ease,” Raegnor continued. “Your father was a genius, and you’re a genius. You can fly us out of this with your eyes closed.”

  Aileen blushed. Even with hundreds of canons pointed at her she felt so lucky to have Raegnor and Bearyan at her side.

  “If we can get the bio-nanodevice to Earth,” Bearyan said, thinking out loud, “then we can fly to Fulgurator and keep low. It is the last place they would expect us.”

  She knew that deep down Bearyan was missing home, too.

  “Ready the turbines and the thrusters,” she said, taking her place in the pilot seat. With her hands on the controls, Aileen felt a new sense of purpose rush over her.

  “My pleasure, Captain,” Raegnor said, his voice ripe with pride. He turned to exit the cockpit, pressing the red button on the stereo. A wild, upbeat jam erupted from the small speaker. “Now we’re talking,” Raegnor finished, making his way to the turbines.

  “Well, Captain,” Bearyan said, “I’m happy to be at your side. I’ll be here until the bitter end.”

  “And I will welcome you every step of the way, Bearyan,” Aileen said. “Now let’s go save the Earth.”

  She felt the ship vibrate as the turbines went into V-mode. In moments the Tower Cadet would propel past the Intergalactic Armada’s fleet at light speed. Bearyan wrapped his arm around Aileen, holding her close. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his firm chest. Looking up, Bearyan was staring right down at her—their eyes locked. As the ship hummed into light speed, Aileen reached up and grabbed a handful of Bearyan’s mane. They smiled at each other and held on tight as the ship careened through the blackness of space.

  THE END

  Another bonus story is on the next page.

  Bonus Story 22 of 44

  Immortal Souls

  August Delacroix walked the streets of Paris alone. Finally, she had left the glory of the wealthy streets behind her. She now wandered wherever her feet carried her. It had been so long, so painfully long since she had laid eyes upon her home. It had been well over a century ago. Her heart shattered. August was lost in her misery when she suddenly found herself walking a dimly lit street that harbored houses of the old nineteenth-century fashion. Her senses picked up a scent that she had not witnessed in many years. It smelled of a mixture of old pine needles and lavender.

  As August drew closer, she could not believe her eyes. Somehow, after all this time, August’s feet had brought her back to the old estate where she had resided as a mortal child, along with her father and her brother, The Rue Chavern. She stopped sharply and looked up at the abandoned building. Most of the estates on the street were also boarded up and lonely. She fondly remembered the days when the old street had been thriving. So many memories in that place.

  August knew that she shouldn’t enter the one place that had caused her so much turmoil in her mortal years, but a strength within herself told August that she had to face that which harmed her. She may be immortal, eternal, but she too could feel anguish just as mortals felt it.

  Using her senses, she found the back entrance to the Rue Chavern, boarded and untouched. The place had been abandoned for years. The wood that covered the windows was old and weathered, falling apart from age. August tore off the long board that held the back entrance shut and threw it into the jungle garden. It fell into the grass with a hiss. She entered the big house with her heart racing and her fear prominent.

  August didn’t know what she was expecting revisiting her childhood home. Coming back here couldn’t turn back time, or could it? She wasn’t sure why she was still grieving for a life that was lost to her over two hundred years ago. She didn’t know if she was grieving; she didn’t know what it was that she felt.

  As soon as August entered, she felt the old dusty room reach out its arms to embrace her in a welcoming gesture. It was strange that she felt so comforted stepping inside a place of death, but it was rather fitting. Everything remained as it had been on the last night that she had been mortal.

  The downstairs was completely overrun with cobwebs that disguised the small square dining room table that had once graced the kitchen. In the distance, she could hear the faint noises of rats. It smelled old, the Rue Chavern, and it felt so very old. It smelled of musk and dust. A pleasant smell, she thought. To her, it smelled of home.

  Looming in the far corner stood the shadow of the old winding staircase that led up to the bedroom. Ever so slowly August approached it. Her eyes were fixed on the stairs as if she could not look away. She knew what she was doing to herself by even being in the vicinity, but there was no turning back for her now. Carefully, August ascended the staircase, its old, withered fragility creaking beneath her heavy boots. She reached out to caress the hand rail that was laden with thick dust and cobwebs. The dust and cobwebs clung to he
r hair and face as she went higher and higher, her heart threatening to burst from out of her chest.

  Then August saw the bed as she reached the top. A silent rage suddenly consumed her as she stood motionless, staring at the bed where he and August had lain together so many times. She wanted to tear it apart, wanted to destroy and then burn it before burning the rest of the place to the ground. But she knew that she didn’t have the strength to part with such a memory. She loved this house as if she was still mortal. She would always love it. Always.

  August approached the bed carefully. It was beautiful, made from dark oak wood of the finest nineteenth-century fashion. It was what would be called an antique if mortals managed to get their hands on it. She wouldn’t allow that, though. This bed was too precious a gift from her mortal lover than the cursed dark gift that he had bestowed upon me a year later. Everything was still intact. The lace curtains hung at the bedside, partly drawn in a bow-like fashion just the way he liked it. The bed itself was a mess; the blankets disturbed.

  It all flooded back to August then, the night of her creation. He had made her in that bed. A shiver shot through August, cold and painful. With a shaking hand, she reached out to touch the lace, her fingers gently caressing the soft fabric. Then she turned mournfully to the bedside table and her heart sank.

  August just couldn’t believe it. She wondered if it was even possible for it to still be here after so many centuries had passed? But there it lay on the dusty table, next to a wax candle that had burned to its hilt. Her old journal. Her mortal journal. She wasn’t sure how she had forgotten such a precious gift in her mortal years. But there it lay in all its splendor, closed and beckoning her to read the contents that she had long ago forgotten.

  For a long time, August stood staring down at the little book, debating on what she should do. She was of two minds: one to walk away and leave it in the old abandoned house waiting to be discovered by mortal historians who loved nothing more than to collect artifacts, or to take it with her to London and read it in her new home. August’s curiosity was too strong to wait that long. She had six more hours before dawn. She had left Kyle to his own devices, and now she was finally alone.

  She did what she had to do, and sat down upon her old dusty dresser chair and opened the journal that lay before her.

  Paris, 1891: We have finally made it to Paris, Everard and I. With Madam Latrine's blessing, we have finally been released from the Plantation and set free. We are no longer trapped in a place of cold and constant darkness, but now living in a place that is beautiful and thriving, full of life. Never could I be happier than I am now; and to be here with him only makes my dream of freedom ever more a reality; one that I have not quite grasped yet.

  Everard is quiet, yet I can see in his eyes that he is happy to be finally free. He is standing on the balcony of our quaint little apartment, gazing out at the lights of Paris below us, arms outstretched upon the railings, his hair blowing in the warm, gentle night air. God knows how long he has dreamed of this moment, and now he is living out that dream. I am happy for him, so happy. I am in love with him deeply. My friend, my lover, my soul mate. He deserves to be happy; he deserves to be free.

  As August’s eyes read over the words of her first entry upon her and Everard’s arrival in Paris, she could see their apartment come to life as if she was back in those times. A dreadful sadness had consumed her then, and she found myself mourning for the past, mourning for the life that she had lost here. As she read the words, she could see now how in love she had been with Everard. August was obsessed with him; he possessed her like a spirit possessed a young child. He was the be-all and end-all for her.

  Silently, August rose to her feet carefully picking up her journal as lightly as she could. She walked out to the old balcony where Everard had once stood. She leaned her arms over the railings and continued to read.

  Paris, 1891: Everard has gotten a job at a local art gallery in central Paris. Everard has always loved the arts. He is now working on a new painting as I write. He brushes his hand so gracefully across the canvas; he truly is fascinating to watch. Below me, the streets of Paris have come alive. I can see men and women walking to the local theatres, dressed in all their finery to see the finest production of the evening. Everard insisted that I should go see a production tonight, but I refused. It would not seem right to witness a play without him beside me.

  Now that I am with child, I am finding it difficult to enjoy the things that I once so loved. Instead, I find myself merely sitting here at my dresser writing down my thoughts while I sit with my free hand perched upon the round swell of my belly, counting down the days until our child is born.

  I am very near now, the midwife says. I have another two months before Everard and I get to see our beautiful son or daughter. We truly will be a happy family then. All the hardships that he has endured! I hope our child will give him back the happiness that he lost so long ago.

  He was overjoyed by the news of my being with child. When I had revealed the news to him, he looked at me with his blue eyes, face emotionless, before sweeping me up in his arms and kissing me so tenderly that his love almost burned my skin.

  He will be the perfect father; of that I have no doubt. We are truly blessed.

  August’s pale, slender fingers flicked through her old tattered journal until she finally reached the entry which she had almost inscribed upon her mind. With her hands shaking, she hesitated to look down at the tragic words that were displayed upon the brown-stained parchment pages. August suddenly became a child all over again; one who was afraid to face up to her past. August had to read it one last time, perhaps after all the years of ignoring its existence, she might just find an answer to what she was looking for. But then, she wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for.

  Paris, 1891: Why have you left us like this? Have I displeased you? Insulted you? Tested your patience? Why have you left me to a lonely fate here in our Rue Chavern? Are you punishing me for some unforeseen crime?

  You have been away from me for so many nights that I am beginning to fear for the worst. Do you know what torment I am going through, knowing that you are out there somewhere? Alone.

  Are you dead? Are you alive? I feel numb, broken, and now our child is moving inside of me, making its presence known.

  I cannot live like this knowing that I have wronged you. We were supposed to be a family, the three of us, remember? Yet you have left us to a fate that has cast us out of your life completely. Why? Have you suddenly had a change of heart? Do you no longer want us in your life? Have you left because I am with child?

  All I did for you, my love, I did out of love. You are my beloved, my one true love and no matter how much hurt and pain you lavish upon me now with your disappearance, I will still pray that you will return to me, to us, when you see fit. I will wait for you, day and night. My eyes will search Paris for you and will only be contented until they see you again.

  I love you, Everard, I always will, yet I hate you so for this!

  Beneath was the final entry of my mortal years. What it contained frightened me.

  Paris, 1891: Something is moving in the corner of the room. I can sense it. I can feel it watching. I no longer know if I am merely overtired or if I truly see it! I can no longer distinguish fantasy from reality. I fear I am losing my mind. I have not slept for many a night, and now all I see is darkness and hear an evil voice whispering my name over and over from the shadows.

  I can hear it now. It's beckoning me to it! The strange thing is I am not afraid! Why should I fear death if it has come for me? I am ready. Let it come.

  Oh, beloved, I will be with you soon! Death is calling me. Calling us.

  Droplets of blood stained the parchment a horrid brown color. August felt sick by just looking at it. She knew all too well where that blood had come from. Not long after she had written her final journal and had clambered into bed, she was taken. The memory was so vivid, so intense that in her preternatural mind it replaye
d itself repeatedly.

  August walked back into the room in darkness. Mournfully she stood in the center of the room, unsure of what do with herself. The words of her final entry consumed her mind. Why should I fear death if it has come for me? I am ready. Let it come.

  August wondered and thought. Had she truly lost her mind? Was that what drew him to take her? Or was it simply out of love that he brought her over? Either way, she was longing for death. She wanted it, craved it, needed it. Such a tragic truth to behold when at that time, there had been life growing inside of her.

  Eternity had hardened August’s cold heart, yet at the first memory of her mortal life, that heart melted out of her into a pool of red at her feet. Suddenly she felt the urge to flee this place, but resisted it. She had one more thing to do.

  *****

  Placing the journal back onto the old dresser, August left it open on the last page that she had read. No one would find it; of that she was certain. Leaving her past behind, she walked swiftly down the winding staircase and out to the back garden without a second glance. Her heart was racing now as she let her feet carry her to the one place that she had not been strong enough to visit until that moment. August followed the overgrown path as if it was only yesterday that she had been there. In her mind, it still looked and felt as if she was safely home.

  Slipping silently through the overhanging ivy and fern trees that brushed against her face, August continued walking down the old stone path that was now completely submerged with wet leaves the color of autumn. When she broke through the clearing of trees, it was as if she had walked back into my past. Everything remained unchanged. In the far corner stood the little tomb that had been built especially for the child who had never lived, encased with overhanging ivy and lavender flowers blooming all over the great stone tomb of her child.