The Beast of the Barrens

by Val Saintcrowe

  “Stop talking, Zia,” said her father. “This is between the Beast and myself.”

  Chevolere stepped out from behind Ziafiata, facing Federo. “It’s true I did come here with the plan of stabbing you to death while you slept, so I suppose it would be hypocritical for me to call out the dishonor of shooting a man who has no means of defending himself against a bullet.”

  Ziafiata leaped back in front of him, glaring at him. “Are you positively insane?”

  “Let the men handle this, Zia,” said her father.

  Ziafiata stalked over to her father and seized the barrel of the pistol. She tried to wrench it out of the man’s hands, but he was stronger than her, and he pulled back on it.

  The gun went off, the barrel pointing at the ceiling.

  It pierced the plaster above, and white chunks rained down on them all.

  “Let’s go, Chevolere,” said Ziafiata, taking him by the hand and yanking him toward the steps.

  “Blazes,” muttered Federo, fumbling in his pockets for another bullet, for more powder. He’d have to ram them down again to reload the gun.

  Chevolere didn’t fight her and they began to descend the steps.

  “Get back here and face me like a man, Chevolere!” called Federo.

  Ziafiata looked back up to see that he was coming after them, but he was working on loading the gun at the same time. He barely paused to pour in the powder, and some spilled on the floor.

  Federo took another step, but he didn’t seem to realize that the stairs started, and he slipped.

  His arms cartwheeled in the air, and the gun fell, slamming down against the steps, but not exploding again, due to not having been packed properly.

  He pitched forward, letting out a hoarse cry.

  He slammed face first into the stairs and then his legs toppled over his head and then he was still.

  Ziafiata halted.

  Chevolere stopped behind her as well.

  They both stared at Federo, waiting for him to move.

  He didn’t.

  Chevolere put a hand on her arm. “Stay here.” He quickly climbed the steps and knelt next to Federo.

  There was blood. A great deal of blood was pouring out of her father’s head. Rivers of blood. She made a tiny noise in the back of her throat.

  Chevolere’s hand was on Federo’s neck.

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she called out. Her voice was steadier than she thought it would have been.

  Chevolere looked up at her, lifting his fingers, which were stained with her father’s blood. “I’m sorry, Ziafiata.”

  She drew in a breath, shaking her head.

  * * *

  “Is it better this way?” Ziafiata whispered against Chevolere’s chest. They were lying in his bed, both dressed in their nightclothes, having washed and changed upon getting back to the tavern. “Or is it only pointless? If I had known, I would have simply let you kill him.”

  Dawn was not far off. They had spent hours at the Abrusse home, dealing with the dead body, calling in an undertaker to take his remains off for burial, and making various arrangements. Ziafiata knew she would have to tell her sisters what had happened—it was odd, that was something she had never considered when she agreed to allow Chevolere to murder her father—but Chevolere had told her that she could face that after some sleep.

  “You think it’s better?” said Chevolere, arms wrapped tightly around her. “But he’s gone.”

  “I don’t care about him being dead,” she said. “That’s not why I agreed to let you do it. I think the world is better off without him. I just couldn’t bear having been the one who took him out of it. So, yes, I suppose it’s better for me. It’s as if everything worked out, and now I have no responsibility in it. It was an accident, and he essentially did it to himself. But you were denied your revenge. I’m sorry about that.”

  “I’m not,” he said. “I think if I had killed him, you would have never looked at me the same way. It would have destroyed this between us, and you are the most important thing in the world to me.”

  She let out a funny noise in the back of her throat. “You keep saying these things…”

  “What other things have I said? You don’t approve of being my most important thing? Does it frighten you?”

  “You called me ‘love,’” she said.

  “Ah, I did, didn’t I?” He pressed his lips to the place where her hair met her forehead. “Well, I suppose I said it because I’m in love with you.”

  She gasped. “Chevolere!”

  He loosened his grip. “I’m beginning to feel as if these emotions from me are unwelcome. Would you rather return to your own bed?” His voice was teasing.

  But when she looked at him, she could see that there was true vulnerability in his expression. “Don’t be silly. Of course I’m in love with you, too.”

  “Oh, of course.” He blinked. “But you sounded scolding just then. I could swear you did not approve of my having said it.”

  “It’s not a very romantic time is all,” she said.

  “Ah,” he said. “My apologies. We can pretend I haven’t said it, and I’ll try again some other time, when we’re dining on oysters and sipping red wine from fine crystal goblets. Would that be better?”

  “No,” she sighed. “Maybe it is a romantic time.”

  “I think it is,” he said. “I gave up the thing that drove me, that made me who I was, that informed my every decision, the thing I’ve been living for all these years… I gave that up for you. That’s rather romantic, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, only a man would think that.” She shook her head.

  He stroked her hair. “I’m very sorry. There’s simply no pleasing you, is there?” He was amused.

  “And why are you suddenly so comfortable with touching me? Just yesterday, you couldn’t bear to kiss me, and now we’re… every part of my body is pressed into yours.”

  “Mmm,” he rumbled. “Yes, that’s quite nice, isn’t it?”

  “Why?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But I feel as if I went through a severe test, as if I came to the very crux of my own internal struggle, and I realized that I was worried for nothing. Given the choice between doing something I wanted very badly that would also hurt you, and doing what you wanted, I would choose you. So, I no longer think I will lose control and ravage you. That was actually a very silly thing to think.”

  “I told you it was a silly thing to think.”

  “Yes, well, you’re rather superior to me in every way, Ziafiata,” he said.

  She ran her fingers over his cheekbone. “It’s good you recognize that. Things will go smoothly between us as long as you keep that attitude.”

  He chuckled. He turned his head to kiss her fingers. “Sleep, love. You need to rest.”

  “So do you,” she breathed. She scooted up to press her lips against his. When she kissed him, it was like coming home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  They didn’t wake until afternoon the next day. Ziafiata woke first, and she lay in the circle of Chevolere’s arms and marveled at the idea of it, of having shared his bed, at being close to him. She squirmed against him, snuggling in close, and tried not to think of everything that was ahead of her.

  Her father was gone.

  She would need to make a strong bid for his position. She would need to secure the caporegimes immediately. She decided that she would declare herself street queen and issue orders. Anyone who didn’t follow the orders would have to be taken care of. Personally, by her. Nothing else would show her strength besides illustrating her own ruthlessness and her willingness to get her hands bloody.

  She’d need to issue the first order by sundown, because there might be others who would be attempting to take control of the family, and she could not give them a chance to do so.

  She would need her own headquarters, and it couldn’t be Chevolere’s tavern. Her father owned a great number of businesses in town. There was even
an inn just across the street from here. It would work. That way, she and Chevolere could be close, and if she did spend every night here in his bed, it would only be a short walk there to start her day and conduct her own business.

  She needed Chevolere, but she could not rely on him. However, she supposed she didn’t care if everyone knew about their relationship. They had kissed very publicly anyway. They all thought that she was leading him about by the cock.

  Over time, they could ease the public perception, so that he could be seen as a partner, not as subservient, but for now, it would serve her well.

  Oh, but before she did any of this, she would need to visit both of her sisters and give them the news about their father. She wasn’t looking forward to that, but—

  “What are you thinking about?” Chevolere’s voice was sleep-ravaged and very deep, and it made her insides get tangled up.

  She was sitting up, propped against the headboard of the bed, and she looked down at him on the pillow, his chest bare, his face uncovered, and she gave him a breathless smile. “Good morning.”

  He pushed himself up next to her, smiling at her lazily. “You looked as though you were concentrating.”

  “I was making plans,” she said. “There are many things I have to see to today.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” he said. “You will be a street queen now, and you will be frightfully busy. Will I even see you at all?”

  “Yes.” Her smile widened. “Yes, I want us to see each other. Lots of each other.”

  “All of each other?” He glanced at her nightdress meaningfully.

  There was a wash of warmth between her thighs. “Oh… do you want… to see me?” Her voice dropped at the end of the sentence, the bottom going out of it.

  “I do,” he said. “But if you’re very busy with your plans, and if you don’t think now is a good time, I suppose it could wait.”

  “It’s waited far too long as it is,” she said, sitting up. She gathered handfuls of her nightdress and tugged it off, baring her body. “You too, then. Take everything off. If you can touch me, and we can kiss and sleep in the same bed, we can make love, then? Yes?”

  Chevolere didn’t say anything. He gazed at her, reaching up to absently scratch his chin, which needed shaving. His lips were parted.

  “Chevolere?” she prompted.

  “Hmm?” He blinked, and then refocused on her face. “Oh, yes, you were saying? I find it hard to concentrate when I’m looking at your breasts. Have I told you how much I like looking at them? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more perfect and round and lovely.”

  She flushed a bit in spite of herself. “Do you want to touch them?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Very much.” He reached for her.

  “Wait,” she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “I thought that was an invitation.”

  “I am wearing nothing, and you are still frustratingly clothed.” She pointed at his trousers. “Off. Now.”

  “You’re going to be a very demanding street queen, aren’t you?” He unlaced his trousers and wriggled out of them.

  She bit down hard on her lip at the sight of him uncovered. He was standing up straight, thick and rigid, and pointing at the ceiling, and this time, she didn’t check her urge to touch him.

  He gasped as she wrapped her hand around him. “I thought… that’s not fair.” His voice was labored.

  “Is it all right?” She hesitated.

  “It’s… how am I supposed to have any presence of mind to touch your breasts when you’re doing that?” His chest rose and fell visibly. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to touch you, Ziafiata?”

  “Well,” she said, stroking him, “I have been waiting a rather long time, too, and I like everything about touching you here. I don’t see how it can be so hard and satiny all at the same time. It’s my favorite part of your body, and I’m not letting go of it.”

  He shut his eyes, emitting a helpless laugh, and sank down into his pillow. “Very well, then. I know better than to try to cross you when you are determined in this way.”

  “That is as it should be,” she said, mesmerized by watching him appear and disappear into her fist.

  “One thing, however, I might point out.” His eyes were still closed. He was out of breath.

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, you had mentioned something about making love?”

  “Yes,” she said. “You agreed to it.”

  “If you keep doing that, I’ll simply explode in your hand, and there will be nothing left to make love with. Especially if you tell me that it’s your favorite part of my body again.” His voice was guttural.

  She slowed her movement. “Hmm. I see your point.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I do.” She let go of him and climbed over him, planting her hands on either side of his shoulders and straddling him.

  He opened his eyes when she settled there. The tip of him brushed her belly. A slow, lazy smile slid across his face. “I like this very much. You should always be in this position.”

  She giggled. “I like it, too.”

  He drew in a breath and lifted his hands. Then he gathered both of her breasts up. Gently, very gently.

  Her giggle faded into a sigh at his touch.

  He stroked her and then cupped her and then his thumbs found her nipples, which he carefully brushed back and forth.

  She moaned as sweet points of goodness traveled through her, lighting her up. She wriggled her pelvis against him.

  He moaned too, gazing at her with his eyes barely open. “Your skin is incredibly soft.”

  She drew in an audible breath at that. His words made her feel a surge of pleasure.

  He closed his thumb and forefinger around her now-hard nipples, but he was very gentle as he barely plucked them. “You’re softer than satin, Ziafiata. You’re… I couldn’t have imagined it would be like this to touch you.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from kissing him.

  He kissed back eagerly.

  They kissed for a long time, and his hands kept squirming between their bodies to tease her in her most sensitive spots. He explored her thoroughly, all over, and she felt lost to it all.

  At some point, she couldn’t say when, he flipped them over, and then she was trapped beneath him in the most pleasant of ways, and his hips started to move against hers, and she wrapped her legs around him, and they kept kissing.

  She explored his back and the roundness of his backside.

  He put his mouth on her breasts.

  She arched her back against the waves of pleasure that began to assail her, from his fingers and mouth and body.

  And when he somehow slipped inside her, it was a kind of accident, and it only happened because she was so very slippery and wet between her legs.

  He broke their kiss when he felt it, eyes wide.

  She giggled, because he looked so surprised.

  “I didn’t… I wasn’t trying…” He laughed too. “Is it all right?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “More than all right.” So, this was what it was supposed to feel like, then? She was supposed to be teased and swollen and sensitive, and he was supposed to stretch her and fill her and stimulate her from the inside out. She let out a noise that was almost a whimper.

  He kissed her eyebrow. He groaned. “You feel… good.”

  She laughed. “You feel like…”

  He made an experimental thrust.

  “Springtime,” she decided.

  He laughed. He kissed her nose. “Springtime?” Had his voice ever been that deep before?

  “Maybe summer,” she said. “Maybe a midnight summer thunderstorm.”

  “How are you thinking all these words?” he gasped. He was moving more quickly against her, and her hips were rising to move with him, seemingly of their own volition.

  Every thrust they made together was a new sensation, another layer of goodness that she’d never
felt before. He was battering her in the best of ways. He was invading her, but she liked it, oh blazes, she liked it. It was everything.

  He wasn’t the thunderstorm, she was. The storm was inside her, and it was brewing, lightning leaping through her pelvis, storm clouds heavy and ready to erupt.

  She clutched at the sheets on the bed. She threw back her head, her mouth open in silent scream. She bowed up, her entire body, tense with the promise of it.

  He kissed her neck. He kissed her between her breasts. He was holding onto hips, holding her still, working his way in her, and it was perfect.

  She burst.

  He grunted. He pierced her, deep—so deep—so very deep… He convulsed against her.

  And then they were kissing again, tangled together, the aftershocks of the storm working their way through both of their bodies, and she clutched him closer, closer, closer.

  She panted.

  He groaned.

  They were still.

  For a very long time, they didn’t move, simply lying there, their bodies connected, their skin melded together.

  Eventually, he lifted his head. He brushed her hair away from her face. “Hello there,” he whispered.

  “Hello,” she whispered back.

  “Was that what you had in mind when you asked me to make love to you?” he said. “Because if not, I’m willing to keep practicing. I’m sure I could perfect my technique with work.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said, smiling. “I don’t think you need much improvement. But I’m willing to try if you are.”

  “Oh, thank you,” he said, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder. “I appreciate that. Because, you know, I am prepared not to touch a hair on your head.”

  She smirked. “Too late.”

  “Yes,” he breathed. “There does seem to be a lot of touching happening at the moment.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I am,” he said, lifting his head to look at her. “I’m… I’ve never felt quite this good in my entire life.”

  “Me either,” she murmured, tangling her fingers in his hair.

  “I love you,” he said, gazing into her eyes.