K

I reach under my seat for the pamphlets. I traced my thumb over the cream cardstock. The ink was raised, a deep charcoal that caught the amphitheater's torchlight. At the top, in a cursive script, were the words, Preludio a Colon - Julián Carrillo.

Beneath the title, the description was brief, written with the type of academic detachment of someone who had forgotten what it felt like to breathe. I squinted against the dim light, reading the text. 

“ A journey into the 'Thirteenth Sound.' Witness the Fracturing of the traditional octave into micro-intervals, Carrill unveils the hidden frequencies that exist betwixt the notes of the living and dead. This piece is a sonic and phonetic map of the unseen."

Apparently, this piece was written for a soprano opera singer, flute, guitar, violin, cello, and a harpzither. The name of each artist was listed under the instrument they played. According to the pamphlet, the opera singer was Julian Carrollo’s great granddaughter. She stuns in a wine-red dress and a red flower in her hair. 

It starts on a solemn note. Then, the music began on a haunting chord. The soprano's voice rattles something inside of me. With my senses raw, Carrillo’s piece was like a glass of cold water against the skin. The strings had microscopic cracks between them, creating a serrated frequency that vibrated against my feet and shot up to my heart. There was nothing familiar about the harmonies to find comfort in. Just a sliding, ghostly pitch that turned my stomach. 

I'm trying to green out right now. On 2 mg’s IF that. I couldn’t understand it. The sensitivity of it all. 

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm that fought the music’s eerie stretch. I gripped the armrests, nauseated and spinning, as the world shredded into thin, screeching ribbons. This song feels more like the death of something. An ending. Every string plucks at my nerves, causing a deep sense of unrest. The printed program notes that this is Sofia’s favorite arrangement. The violin sounds like a cry. 

The spotlight beams down on the band as they play louder and louder. I press my hand into Vlad’s lap and he takes hold of it.  I straighten my posture to take deeper breaths. The music stops and then starts, intensifying and then diffusing over and over. It feels as if it’s pushing me towards a place I don’t want to go.

Earlier I’d noticed red pattles in the crowd for drinks. I raise mine, and within a minute, a server grabs me a bottle of water for my stomach. I chug half of it as the piece fades out, hanging over the last few notes. 

I’m grateful for the silence, and I focus on box breathing. The technique seems to take the edge off my panic as I rest my hand back into my lap and grab the pamphlet. 

Next. A ballet called Lo Eterno en Marcha. In English it translated to “The Eternal in progress”. I read the dancers' names. Lucian and Estella. They walk into the spotlight shining down on the pit. Lucian is tall with fire-red hair pulled into a ball at his nape. He is freckled and wide-eyed with a hooked nose. His eyes are an electric green. Estella is a tan-skinned, black-eyed woman with her hair slicked into a long braid down her back. There’s is something ancient about her specifically though they look the same age.

I lean closer to Vlad and whisper, “ Are they together?” 

He smiles quietly and nods. At first, I think he won’t elaborate, until he leans over. “They died on the same day during The 1755 Tsunami of Cádiz.”

I marvel at the two of them, reopening the program to read about the performance.

" Emerse yourself in the exploration of the Kinetic Infinite, where dance transcends mortal perception. By moving beyond the speed of sight, the performers shed the friction of time to exist as a singular line."

Hmph. Not for my eyes, clearly. I was riding high. My shoulders relax as the water seemed to calm me down. Slowly, the music morphs into an almost rhythmic thrum. They might as well have been hummingbirds. Their bodies were a kaleidoscope of frantic, impossible motion. I blinked, trying to focus, but my eyes couldn't catch them—not fully anyway. They were moving at a speed that defied the physics of my own sight.

I watch the carousel of bodies entangled together, their garments bleeding into a new color. Ribbons of white silk and streaks of black and red caught in a hurricane. I somehow managed to catch the occasional "stutter" of an image—Estella’s face, twisted in serene focus, before she dissolved back into a trail of silver light. It was as if someone were flipping through a sketchbook, giving the human eye only a millisecond to process a picture that was already long gone. 

I felt a slight pressure on my hand. Vlad was leaning forward, his eyes tracking something I couldn't see. He wasn't looking at the blur. He was watching the individual. "Lucian’s Grand Jete is the best I’ve seen," he whispered, his voice smooth and captivated. "Estella is holding the peak of her arc for a fraction of a second too long. It works..."

I looked back at the pit seeing nothing but a shimmering mist of movement and the rhythmic snap of fabric slicing through the air. I imagine that for the vampires, this was a display of peak athletic grace. For me, it was a reminder of the sheer, breathtaking distance between our physical capabilities. There would come a day when I could appreciate a performance like this. But not tonight. Tonight was reserved for getting through this event without losing my shit. So far, I think I’ve done somewhat well for myself…all things considered. 

The program moves on. Lucian and Estela receive a standing ovation. They’d clearly impressed the crowd of old blokes. I clap alongside Vlad, paying my respects. 

We were closing in on the main event now. Sophia floats down to the pit with Luna in her arms. Luna slowly unties her robe, and Sophia takes it from her and folds it, leaving it on a nearby ledge. A woman and a man walk into the pit, one holding a guitar and the other a microphone. I take another glance at the program. The first dance would be to “ La Llorona” by Chavela Varagas. The performers were yet another set of vampires, Allen Baker and Alicia Chavez. The pair was dressed in matching suits. 

I've heard the song before in a movie, and to my surprise, Alicia sounds just like Chavela. So much so that I start to wonder if she’s lip syncing. I tap Vlad. “ She sounds just like her”, I whisper. 

He nods. “ Some of us are mimics. She could have heard Chavela once, and that was enough for her to memorize every inflection of Chavela's voice. Pretty neat, right?” he murmurs. 

My eyes widen at the sound of her voice. Impressed by the impersonation. I couldn’t tell a singular difference in tone.  Slowly, Sophia pulls Luna into her arms, and they begin their dance. 

The love between the two of them was palpable. I could feel it. Sophia, looked at Luna like she held the moon and the stars. I knew how it felt to be looked at like that. To love somebody so much that if you thought about it long enough, it started to hurt. Luna, with her glowing skin and fragile build, held her arms around Sophia as if she’d float away. 

Sophia is pliable, she’s not leading. It’s Luna who decides where they go. Her respect for her wife outweighing her need to physically control her. Instead, she tucked her chin into the crook of Luna's neck, her eyes closed, inhaling the scent of her partner. I imagine this would be the last time she could smell her as a human. Or, feel the murmur of her blood under her skin. It was a lingering, almost desperate press of the face…a silent apology, or maybe a benediction.

I get a little emotional. A heat burns on the inside of my face but I managed to blink away my tears. I feel Vlad looking, but he gives me my dignity and doesn’t ask any questions. 

Luna leaned back, her fingers grazing the sharp line of Sophia’s jaw, and for a moment, they stopped moving entirely. Sophia took Luna's small, shaking hand and pressed a kiss not to the knuckles, but into the center of the palm, then folded Luna's fingers as if giving her a secret to keep for eternity. 

Luna is trembling. For good reason. Because these were the last time she’d see Sophia through human eyes. To feel her touch with human skin. 

The singer's voice carries a heavy devotion. As if pleading to whoever she’s singing to. Though I couldn’t interpret the words, I felt what it meant. As the song climaxed, Sophia begins to work the sleeves of Luna’s night gown. Her fingers slip under them as they sway until she’s tugging on them. They slide down her arms, and then her dress slips over the peaks of her breasts, exposing her entire chest. Bare. 

I swallow a small gasp. Luna is unalarmed, eyes closed as if this entire thing had been practiced a thousand times. I can’t help but lean forward as Sophia leans in to kiss her wife, unrushed and patient, not pulling away until Luna needs a breath. Then she moves to her ear as she flicks her hair behind her shoulder.  Slowly, her lips slide down to her neck. Her nose traces itself along her shoulder, savoring her here the most. Then she moves to the front of her throat, kissing a path down her chest in slow pecks. 

Her nose trails to the middle of her breasts, and she kisses her there, tasting her. Luna holds Sophia's hair, her fingers etched into her scalp as she closes her eyes. In an aching pace, Sophia unhinges her jaw and lines her teeth up with Luna’s heart. I think to myself, surely it can’t be here. Did Luna choose this to be the place, or was it only here? 

Sophia’s teeth sink into her wife’s chest as she bites her. Luna lets out a pained mule, cradling Sophia’s head as her own falls back. I can see the tears trickle down her temple as she takes in quick gasps of air. Luna doesn’t struggle in Sophia’s hold despite the pain. She doesn’t push her away. She cries out long and painfully. A finality in her mewls as if this moment had freed her from something. 

I’d realized I hadn’t been breathing when I took in a long-needed gulp of air.  I didn’t feel my own tears until they were dripping on my neck, already starting to cool. I fan myself as I sit back watching in marvel. 

Sophia maintained large gulps. Blood poured down the front of Luna’s dress, inking the silk and widening with each passing moment like tie-dye. My humanity is quietly panicking because I know what comes after this. She’s going to kill her own wife. 

Luna is becoming paler by the moment, and nobody is stepping in to do anything. Yet somehow, her unwillingness to push her away is enthralling. To love somebody that much that you take their blade for them. To stare unflinchingly in the jaws of death. 

Luna goes limp, and Sophia holds her up with a hand on her back.  The crowd is so silent I can hear my own breathing. I tremble at the imagery as Sophia keeps drinking. Gripping the armrest, I keep myself planted in my seat. Forcing myself not to look away. On her last few sips, Sophia pulls away and gazes down at her bloody wife. 

Something wet drops on my forehead, startling me out of my concentration. Then another. Then another, until my head is whipping back and forth, trying to figure out the culprit. Had somebody thrown water on me? Was it leak? I wipe my forehead only to see water. Seconds later, a fourth drop prompts me to look up. 

Eyes. All I see are eyes. Fearful eyes. Pleading eyes. Recognizable eyes. 

Enez. Oh god. Enez from the club. Tied up at the mouth, hands bound to his back and hanging from his feet, he looks to me as if I’m his only hope. However, it’s not just Enez either. The DJ and dozens of other men bound and gagged. Swaying from the ceiling of the amphitheater at their feet. I cover my mouth, holding in a scream as my heart begins to race. 

Alex warned him. He told Enez what he would do….

“Wait until I tell him the shit you tried to pull” ….. 

Some conveyor device electronically moves the men hanging around various sides of the theatre, pulling them all together to hang over the very center of the pit. They begin to struggle and cry, groaning from behind their gags and pleading. Servers begin to hand out disposable rain jackets and plastic face shields. My breathing rolls from steady to sporadic. I snatch one of the jackets and clumsily pull it on. 

“ospăț…”

“ ospăț!!” 

There’s a shift in the energy of the crowd. Suddenly, these quiet and astute vampires are getting more and more agitated. My brain is telling me to find the exit but I’m stuck in place.

“ospăț”, a woman below us hisses. 

Pretty soon people begin to yell the phrase over and over as it spreads through the crowd like some virus. With trembling hands, I pull out my phone in a panic. I type in the passcode and unlock it, trying to find a way to translate the term. 

A notification pops up on my phone. Nya texted me as if she knew my distress. I open the text to see a picture of food captioned

“My lasagna🍽️😘.” Angrily, I swipe away from the text and open a translation app, recording the sound. 

ospăț… (feast) 

Feast….

The chorus of vampires chants the words until they all say it at once. A stern command as if they alone decide for him. Vlad stands, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He’s stepped out of his shoes. “ Listen to them. The children of the night. What sweet music they make”, Vlad murmurs quietly. I call out to him, but he doesn’t answer. 

He floats to the edge of the dias, feet hanging halfway off the stone. In a single blink, his skin is changing, or rather—shifting. Bones collapsing and lengthening under his skin. The golden undertone I'd come to know was now a pale husk of veiny flesh, taking on a lifeless color. His back widens, stretching the skin thinner and thinner and thinner until something breaks. 

He’s sprouted wings. 

A long layer of skin covers the wings like a bat. His shoulders widen. He gets taller. All of his body hair has vanished. The points of his ears have become sharper. His nails turn to dark talons. 

Am I dreaming?

I feel an ancient dread. A familiar one. In a dying attempt, I call his name again. “Vlad Tepes”, I snap sternly. My heart racing, hands pinned to my seat. As if his name alone would give me dominion over him. 

Slowly, he turns to me, revealing glowing eyes, sharp teeth, warped and stretched features. A nose too sharp. A mouth too thin. Pure monstrosity. He’s not even there. I don’t feel him. I can’t feel him. Whatever this is. It’s a shell. 

Soundlessly, he jumps from the balcony, disappearing, and the crowd ceases its chant. I dart to the edge of the Dias to see him free-fall and then shoot upwards to the bound victims. The slap of his wings echoe across the arena with a heavy thwack. 

The creature claws at throats, bursting the skin open like broiled hot dogs. One by one, he silences each man, turning their cries into wet gurgles. Mists of blood hit the crowd. I turn my head, smelling iron permeate through the air. The vampires cheer in delight, some sticking their tongues out like children in the rain. He saves Enez for last, hanging upside down, nails and feet gripping the poor man’s body as he sank his canines into his neck. He pulled away heaps of flesh, making it hurt as Enez begged for mercy. 

I'm going to be sick.

On shaking legs, I wobble down the stairs, gripping the railing, ducking behind cheerful vampires who roar for more violence. My legs give out from the fear, and I fall flat onto my ass, swallowed by a sea of bodies. 

“ Mato!”, I yelp. I begin to hyperventilate. “ Mato help!”, I shout. 

In a snap, strong arms pull me up from my armpits, and I’m blasted into the lobby at the speed of light. He snatches off my blood-stained raincoat and grabs my face. 

“ Breathe…deeply”, he compels me. 

My body has no choice but to follow suit, and it keeps me from passing out. I take the stragglers in the lobby into account. A few older-looking vampires and possibly a few humans were eating at the bar, boredly. They’d seen this all before. 

Mato, more sympathetic than the eyes of my lover, wiped my tear-streaked face. His hands rest on my shoulders. The sound of weeping men round the corner, all bound and gagged in a single file line. Sybil walks behind the group in knife-point stilettos, cheerily pushing them forward, towards the opening of the arena. “ Time to feed the beast!” she sang merrily, winking at me as she walked past. 

I stare at her dumbfoundedly. I can hear the moment the next set of food enters the pit, as the crowd gets more lively. I shake my head and look back at Mato. He raises a brow at me. 

“ Vlad should have been more thorough. You are very clearly not ready. I warned him”, he sighs. 

I shake my head. “ I wouldn’t listen to him. I kept…brushing him off. I…those people”, I stammer. 

Mato saves me the guilt. “Remember, we only pick the worst of the worst for these events. In this case, these hybrids were running a whole operation. Taking advantage of women and stealing their life force. It’s been a long time coming ”, he says. 

I frown in confusion. “ Hybrids. You mean incubi ?”, I ask.

“Usually one parent is, and the other is human. Very pesky creatures, but surprisingly delicious. Luna will make a strong fledgling with quality blood like that”, he explained. 

A wave of nausea hits me again at the thought of blood. I’m greening out. There’s no stopping it this time. I fold my arms around myself, looking at the floor, trying to soothe myself somehow. 

“ Why don’t I call your ride and get you on your way back to the villa. What’d ya’ say, kid?” he asks endearingly. 

I don’t have time to answer him because I’m darting to the bathroom to empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet. The room is swirling. I flush, leaning against the stall as I close my eyes.

My back slides down the stall, plopping down on my butt, and pushing my head between my knees as I try to recenter myself. My phone vibrates with a text from Nya. I open it.

“Should I fuck Alex 🤔🤫”

I shake my head and close my phone, dropping it back into my lap. The sound of humming brings me out of my mental spiral. I peeped under the stall door, trying to see if anybody had come inside. I was completely alone.

Weakly, I unlock the stall and peep behind the door. I smell the lavender and opium. There she sat in the mirror, brushing her hair and smoking. Amina.

The longer I stare, the less control I have. My feet scrape forcibly across the floor. She was the storm, and I was the helpless piece of debris being pulled into her orbit. I try to anchor my feet to the floor, hold onto the sink, and push my hands away to no avail. She’s trapped me. 

Amina Medina POV

“ Ghost”, I taunt, exhaling the smoke from my lungs. I turn to the room. I could feel her—I believe it to be a woman. “ Will you be of use today?” I tease. I go back to brushing my hair. I don't suppose the little ghost will answer anyhow. 

The woman in the mirror staring back at me has changed. Her hard edges have been sanded down, first by her husband and then her cherubic children. Anger has wasted a lot of my time and shaved years off my life. I found a place to put it long ago. Inside a man who ate my pain from the moment we first met.

My quiet part of the day was dwindling. Soon, tiny feet would stampede into my private oasis, and I won’t get a moment of peace until I’m lying beside my Vlad. I cannot say that I did not prefer it this way. 

I use my last minutes wisely, finishing my pipe and oiling the candles for my children, Hamda, Alexandru, and Petru. In the short years I had with my mother, she taught me the importance of the spirit and how it must be guarded in children. I want to believe my mother's prayers still hold me to this day, and I’d hope the same for my children. 

I dress each candle in rose oil, roll it in an herbal blend with sea salt, working from bottom to top. I look over at Vlad’s candle. Undressed and yet to be lit. I’ve been fighting a thought for many weeks. A bad thought. One that may change the way he viewed me despite all the terrible things that transpired early in our betrothal. It was a forbidden rule. Some things in life couldn’t be cheated. 

I am pulled from my thoughts, hearing the patter of feet. Alexandru is always first because his legs are the longest. He bursts in, smiling, with two missing teeth. A spitting image of his father as a boy. I can’t contain my excitement, though it has only been 7 hours since I last saw their darling faces. Petru wasn’t far behind him as they crashed into me. A chorus of “Mommy! Mommy!” Echoing across the corridor. 

I grab them both into my arms, showering them with kisses on their soft little cheeks. Petru climbs onto me, wanting to be picked up, something his father had gently reprimanded him about. He was trying to get him to embrace being a “big brother” now, but it was a tug of war. He was stubborn, much like me. Secretly, I did not mind picking him up despite his growing heaviness. I hold Petru’s face against my rib, looking at the three of us in the mirror. The boys were dressed well for church, as all little princes should be. 

“ Mommy, Petru, and I want to go see the horses after service—please”, Alexandru asked respectfully. 

I put Petru back on his feet. “ Okay, but you must be nice and quiet during service. Then I will see if Lady Patricia will escort you”, I bargain. They nod excitedly, already knowing they’d get to visit no matter the outcome. 

I recognize the sound of the footsteps barreling around the corner. My heart leaps at the thought of him near. Vlad opens the door, holding Hamda, who’s squealing at the excitement of her little family. Vlad pressed a kiss to her head. I walk over and kiss her dimpled cheeks before landing a peck to my husband. He had stolen far too many this morning. 

Hamda reaches for me, and I pick her up. She grabs my mouth and stares into my eyes, transfixed on me. Would it be so silly to believe she was communicating with me deeply? In a way that her words could not yet form? Of all my children, she looked the most like me. The only girl, the quickest birth, and my easiest baby. And to think the midwives had all said that girls were harder, stole your beauty, and more. They were all so terribly wrong. In fact, I believed her birth had healed something deeply wrong with me. I found something inside myself that I'd lost long ago when she looked at me for the first time. I had so many grand plans for her. She would be the antithesis of my life. 

“ Hello, I’m still here. Hamda. You're rubbing it in”, her father waved to get her attention. We did have a bond that I couldn’t deny. I chuckle as she blinks at her dad, then turns to smile with me, showing her gums. 

“ It will be your turn very soon, I’m sure of it. You’ll speak in that secret language that all girls do with their fathers”, I laugh. Not that I’d ever experienced that, but it was what I saw in the towns. Men were capable of loving their daughters more than themselves. If I’d failed at anything, at least I knew I gave that to my daughter. 

Vlad lifts each boy by their feet, stomping around the room and out the door as they squealed in excitement. He loved to play the brute. Their game of “Mean Papa,” which they absolutely loved. There was no angry man in their home, and yet the idea of one humored them. I follow behind them with Hamda in my arms, watching them climb their fathers' backs. 

Our set of workers followed far behind us as we made our way to church. We sit in the front row of the chapel, last to appear as the crowd stands, waiting for us to take our seats. 

Service was service. Painfully long and achingly quiet. The priest's eyes rolled to me every now and then. I think he knew in his heart that I did not hold onto this faith. That I didn’t truly believe. Vlad did—but almost in a painful way. An almost punishing or fearful way. He needed this all to be true so badly. I couldn’t take that from him. If this was how he made sense of this wicked world, then so be it. 

It was a wife’s duty to abide by her husband's religious beliefs. Six years ago, I would have detested this idea. I eventually succumbed to my duty. Some choices came naturally, and others I gritted through. Not because I had no choice, but because it was easier to just get on with it. Vlad knew about my candles, herbs, and spells. He didn’t ask. He didn’t judge. That was enough for me.

Furthermore, I do not believe the priest is an honorable man. He yearns for violence. I’ve seen it in his eyes. The way they ignite when he speaks with Vlad. I’d know no religious man to talk about decimating their enemies to fire and ash. I look up at the intricate mural paintings on the chapel ceilings. I whisper to Vlad,“ I have often wondered why the angels in church are always so fair. Why is this?” I ask him. 

I can see his dark eyes roll to the ceiling, looking up introspectively. He tilts his head and squints. “ I asked that question many years ago. The answer was unclear. Apparently, angels can only look this way. I do not believe that to be true. It’s all by interpretation”, he murmurs very quietly into my ear. 

Our eyes meet with a deep understanding. I could have left it here but I respond. “ They believe it is only they who will go to heaven. We are the ones who must fight to get in”, I whisper back, leaving him to his thoughts. 

Tensions escalated. The Turks were edging closer to a victory. New battle strategies were drawn up day by day. The feeling of uncertainty drew closer. 

I watch Vlad suit up in armor. I put my hand on my stomach, trying to quell the nausea. He was gone more than he was away. The children had begun having intense meltdowns in his absence, crying for him at night. He’d only been back for three weeks and would soon be gone for another four. He’s staring at me with an apology as he grabs his helmet. He’s an angel in silver and mesh. The suit makes him this terrifyingly large abominable figure. The impaler…they call him. He gets to me across the room in three long strides, towering over me, cupping my face. I look up at him through teary eyes. He kisses me, and it feels like the first time ever. I breathe him in through my mouth. Trying to capture the essence of him with my tongue, just in case it's the last time.

All I can manage to croak is “I need you.” Which frightened me because I never needed anyone. His eyes mirror back my pain. I see them swell with tears, too. I knew this hurt him. I knew he hated being away. But this was duty. That’s what they made the sons of kings believe. And so there would be no debating any of this. I was married to a king. I was a queen consort. I don’t have the power to make him stay. 

This carries on for months and months. The frustration made me agitated, but he refused to argue with me. He would let me get it all out and insisting that he understood. Insisting that he felt the same way, but made no move to change any of it. I would melt back into his arms, tiring myself out with my tears. Sex would ensue, an attempt to try and salve the sting of our situation. It sated us both for a day or so, but it couldn’t fix this. Not permanently. 

Time had become my obsession. I was running out of it. I knew it deep in my heart. One stormy night, I’d dreamt of a large bird that had cracked open the ceiling of Poenari and plucked me from my bed like a bug from a leaf. Our greatest archers were of no use for its impenetrable wings. It had the strength of 100 men or more, and it shot me straight into the clouds. I did not panic at all as the wings holding me by my waist turn into strong hands. It's the nail in my decision. 

Through the French doors, I watch Vlad bounce a squealing Hamda in the air from the other room. I’m seated at my chaise, sitting across from the traveler I’d arranged this meeting with. She pulls back her black hood to reveal her eyes. One green and the other brown. Her skin is darkened, withered from the sun, with a light coating of dirt and dust. She’d travel a long way to get here. I call for a guard to close the curtains, blocking Vlad from seeing this exchange. “ Have you brought it?” I get right to it, picking up my cup of tea and bringing it to my lips. 

She waves her stained red fingers, and the guard brings over the brown leather case, setting it down on the table that divided us both. “ It is there”, she says in a heavy accent. 

I slowly grab it and fiddle with the locks until it clicks open. The petals are like wine, with a thin stem, no thorns, and a sickly sweet fragrance. Rosa Aeternitas. Few knew of the flower's potency. Vlad assumed I was ordering more jewelry for Hamda—— my usual frivolous spending. But no. I had to order in secret. 

I pet the petals with the tips of my fingers, staring at it in complete wonder. Many people say that this flower was cursed. It was created from black magic. In my many travels as an adolescent, grieving women and mothers would use this flower to cheat death. I’d often wondered why women were so drawn to it. Nevertheless,  this world had unseen laws and scales, and toying with the finality of death was precarious.  

“You may stay until you feel you’ve fully rested. Feel free to use any of the guest amenities.  I will make sure you are accommodated”, I say in finality. What more was there to discuss? She’d done good work, but she made no move to get up. 

She puts up a gentle hand and takes a sip of her beverage. Warm milk. No tea or sugar. I eye her suspiciously as she rests the cup on the saucer. 

“ Let us go over conditions of use— to say that I did my part”, she warned in an almost melodic tone. I pause, crossing my legs and clasping my hands on my knee. 

“ Death is a tricky thing. I'm not sure who you will use this for, but I can say this flower won't let you escape sacrifice. Whatever or whoever you're trying to save, you must trade your wish for something of equal or greater value”, she advised. 

“ Naturally”, I quip. Trying not to give away my naivety with this particular plant. 

“This flower has a thirst for blood. Plant it in a pot and bleed over it every day. You will know it is ready when it turns dark red, like old blood. Then you must dry the flower, grind it into a fine powder, and wear it close to your body. Let it get to know you and your intent. Only then can you work with it. Tincture, tea, salve, syrup—no matter…”, she trails off. 

She looks over at the covered door and then back at me. I can see her thoughts swirling in her head. “ It will hurt. Please know that”, she murmurs carefully. 

I grimace. “ Hurt?” I question. 

She begins with a sigh. “ It will feel like death. I do not mean to be forward, but if you feed it to the children, it may be very—”, I stop her. 

“ It is not for children”, I blurt.

That seems to relax her slightly. We sit there for a moment in silence. Suddenly, Petru cracks open the door and then busts in. “ Mommy. Mommymomma!”, he shouts. I stand up quickly.

“ Petru. Mommy will be out in a moment !” I begin to walk to the door. He stands in the doorway with his finger in his mouth, staring past me and at the traveler. Vlad rushes behind him to snatch him up, whispering a quick apology. I close the door behind them both and turn back to my guest. Joining her again, I settle back down onto the chaise, pouring myself another cup. 

“ The King, he dotes on the children”, she observes. I nod quietly. 

“ He enjoys them. Watches them. This is unusual for a man of his status. Terrible rumors have spread far and wide. And yet…”, she counters. 

I turn a defensive eye to her, not wanting to get too much into the details. “ He is good to us ", I murmur.

The traveler stays all but two days before she leaves in the night. I pot the flower in my private room, hiding it behind a wardrobe. On the 7th day the rose turned a dark red—almost black. I plucked it, dried it, and wore it against my skin for seven nights.

In the blanket of the night, I sneak off to the markets with two guards. My hands hover over the stalls and their displays, waiting until the feeling feels right. Snake venom, Dried rat tails, Bat teeth, bird feather, and a wolf's eye marble. 

I spread the materials on my desk, watching their shadows dance under the candlelight. A feeling of hopelessness overwhelms me. In another week, he’d be gone, and this time, there was more risk involved than ever with this ambush. I clasp my fingers together trying to piece together the ingridents. 

My mother once told me that if I wanted something, I should cry to the world.  If I’m worthy, whatever I wish for will come true. So I do. They’re hot and heavy down my face. I plead for his protection, bargaining with his past. Asking the world not to turn its back on him. To give him more time to prove his worthiness. Of what? I didn’t know. There’s a belief that Kings don’t have to be good men—only dutiful men. There was a time I didn’t care about his moral standing. I’d only wanted him and if he was good to me then to hell with the rest of it. I couldn’t have felt any more different than I do now. I bottle each and every single tear into the smallest glass flask I could find, scooping the water from my cheek and watching it pool inside the glass. I close the flask and begin with boiled hot water. 

I add each ingredient minutes apart, grinding down what I can into the thinnest of powders. Rosemary, Rue, and Clove for protection from physical harm. Calamus for domination over the enemy. Yarrow for healing the wounds. What couldn’t be crushed would be steeped, including the marbles and teeth. The Snake venom was for defense, the Rat tail for strategy, The wolfs eye for perception, bat teeth for wisdom, and the bird feather for agility.  Hours later, I’m left with a thick black syrup. I finish it off with the drops of my tears, stirring it all together before straining it. 

I speak over the concoction, commanding dominance over his enemy’s discernment and clarity. Breathing my biggest hopes into the bowl, pleading for his protection. I sing hymns of ancient prayer, my uncles used to sing before heavy storms. As a young girl, I often believed those songs could stop the wind in its tracks, turning the outcome in our favor. Being so far from home for most of my life has left me feeling disconnected. I’d always felt that my  religion was whatever I learned along the way in distant lands. Yet I knew that the best form of protection I could give my husband and my children was my love and my wrath. And maybe that in itself is my religion. 

“ As payment… To this world and this world alone, I give my soul and flesh and bone.  Bind my life to this mortal track, so where he stays, I must come back”.

In the morning Vlad had gone off for a hunt with the hounds and a few foot soldiers. The children were fond of wild rabbit and Vlad had promised to bring some back for supper. The kids and I spent the entire late morning and afternoon in play. Podul de Piatra  (The stone bridge) and Leapșa (Tag) were some of their favorite games. Eventually, the staffers joined in my place as I walked around the courtyard with Hamda, who was now standing on her own at 9 months. Her fists wrap around the tips of my fingers as I guide her down the stoned path. We watch crows dance in the snow. We eventually head back, watching the boys play sword with their nanny. 

The thunderous clank of hooves and the screech of the King spaniels, Greyhounds, and Basset hounds alert the children that Daddy is here. He turns the corner, and it feels like seeing sunlight. The boys run to the mud room, jumping up and down as Vlad walks in with 8 men and dirty dogs, who try to dodge the staff's hands as they try to catch them. On his belt hung 5 small rabbits. The other men hold dozens of wild doves and a pig. 

Chaos ensues as the boys begin to chase the dirty hounds. Vlad’s men laugh as the staff slips in the mud tracks, desperately trying to rein everyone in. Vlad grabs the children in one hand, slamming the rabbit on one of the tables with the other. My husband hooks his finger in his cheek and gives the room a sharp whistle. The dogs stop in their tracks, allowing the staff to herd them back outside for a rinse.

The group disperses as the cooks take the fresh game to the kitchen. The children run off to play leaving only Vlad and myself. He closes the gap between us, and I look up at him, reaching up to pull him down for a kiss. He always steals more than I give until we end up in a lip lock. Eventually, we pull away when one of the cooks rounds the corner for the last rabbit. “ How badly did they terrorize you?” He asks. 

“ They played all day. No piano and violin lessons. No foreign language. We skipped all of it…which means they will sleep all night…thank goodness”, I grin. 

He raises a brow at me. “ I’m in luck?”, he hints. 

I can’t hold back my laugh. “ I may or may not have a surprise for you.” I can see the smile widen on his face. “ But you must stay awake and not fall asleep like you did last time”, I tease. When really it was both of us. He just happened to fall asleep first. 

“ You have my word”, he swears, stealing yet another kiss. “ I will not leave my post”, he murmurs. I grab his hand, leading him to the drawing room to join the children and me until dinner was ready. 

On such a cold evening, rabbit stew was the obvious choice. As we funnel into the dining room, I hand Hamda off to Vlad as I sit Petru down in his seat and wipe his little hands clean with a rag and bowl of warm water, a Moorish custom from my people. Bathing the skin meant fewer sicknesses. Alexandru wipes his own hands, waiting for my praise at how independent he is. This, of course, offends Petru, who insists he will do it himself the next time. I choose my battles wisely, not bothering to disagree with the choice that he will surely forget. 

“ Did you boys thank your father for going out and getting your rabbit?” I ask. 

“Thank you, Papa!” Petru shouts. I shush him, holding back my chuckle. 

“ Thankyou”, Alexandru murmurs before stuffing his spoon in his mouth. 

Vlad picks out bits of soft carrot and mashes them between his fingers to feed Hamda. Though many families I've come to know, including my own, expect their children to be peripheral objects, that wasn't quite the approach Vlad and I wanted for our children. We asked them questions about themselves, about their day, about what they dreamt of when they slept. I’ve found that it is at the dinner table that children let their true personalities show. Where one could make the obvious distinctions between siblings. This, in turn, produced outspoken, but very polite and expressive, children. 

“ What did you do with Lady Patricia yesterday?”, Vlad asks Alexandru. Our son perked up, mentally replaying his day at the markets. 

“ First, we went to see the sheep, and then she let me pick which one we could eat. Then, we went to the stables to see the Arabian horses. T-ThenT-then…...”, Alexandru pauses for a moment. We patiently wait for him to gather his thoughts, as he was still very young. Much like his father as a boy, he’d developed a stutter. Vlad assured me he’d grow out of it with much practice and space to work it out on his own. He had extensive speech lessons 3 times per week. 

“ S’alright Alexander. Take your time, it’ll come back to you”, Vlad reassures him gently. I nod in agreement, smiling at his puzzled little face.

Alexandru takes a long, deep breath. “ Then we went to the markets to go pick out toys, and Lady Patricia got us sweets”, Alexandru beams. I chuckled at his sweet face.

Vlad turns his attention to Petru. “ Very good, Alexandru. Petru, what did you eat for breakfast today?”

Petru answers in a way that only Petru could. “ The men in the towns said that papa dips his bread in the blood of his ena….”, he begins to stumble. 

“Enemies, Petru”, Alexander quips. Petru twists his face at his brother for helping. 

Of course, Vlad and I share a look. He looks more amused than anything, and I’m just disturbed. “Those Saxon merchants spread lies to make the day go by faster. It is simply gossip. Do you know what gossip means?” asks Vlad.

Petru shakes his head. Hamda began smacking her hands down on the table because Vlad wasn’t feeding her fast enough. 

I step in. “ Gossip is when people make up stories about other people, where they tell lies for fun or to hurt the person they lie about. People make up a lot of gossip about Daddy. But is Daddy scary? Is he mean to us as they say? Does he hurt us?” I ask. The boys quietly shake their heads no and go back to eating dinner. 

Dinner concluded with the boys falling asleep at the dinner table. I can see the smile creep on Vlad’s face as he picks them both up, getting them ready for bed. I grab Hamda, knowing she’d be the easiest to put down, considering she skipped her nap. 

Like old times, I sent for him through a letter passed by a maid to another maid, and so on. It’s just like when we were sneaking around, when there was so much more at stake on a social front.  I tell him where to meet me—the bathhouse. 

All those years ago, when I made him pay for my affections, I criticized him harshly for the lack of baths in Poenari. If one wanted to bathe, a wooden tub would be moved into their room, and it would never stay hot for long. After an intense night between the two of us, I reminisced on the Arab baths in Grenada. I’d only seen them a few times as a small girl, but they were immaculate. Inside the Alhambra, the Comares Baths were a world wonder. It beheld stunning geometric tilework, marble floors, and a vaulted ceiling punctuated with star-shaped skylights that let shafts of daylight filter through the steam. These large pillars stood from the water, and I’d hide behind them, waiting at just the right moment to scare the older women. The stone kept the water warm along with the underwater heater. I faintly remember the smell: cardamom, jasmine, and clove. 

To my surprise, development at Poenari began shortly after I mentioned it. The bath was completed within three months. Only then did I realize he’d do almost anything to make me happy. Soon after, it became our hideaway. If he couldn’t find me anywhere else, he would look here. 

At the refreshment cart, the two glasses of wine I ordered for the bathhouse sat side by side. I take the syrup flask from my pocket and hold it up, inspecting it. I pour the tiny flask into each cup, swirling the concoction around with the spoon until it dissolves into the cherry wine. I slowly strip out of the nightgown, folding it and leaving it on a bench just a few feet from the water before I step in. 

I submerge myself, swimming under the water to the other side to soak through the twists in my hair. I touch the bottom, swiping my fingers against the colorful tiles, opening my eyes to watch the candlelight dance on the surface of the water. A black shadow blocks the ray of light shining into the pool. I peek my head out to look at Vlad.

I wipe the water out of my eyes and stand, revealing half my torso. Without my prompting, he begins to disrobe. With each thud of clothing, I tread further and further away from him, heading towards the deeper end of the bath. I turn around, pushing my feet from the stone to launch myself into the deep end. When I turn back around, Vlad is gone.  I can hardly contain my laugh as I begin to kick rapidly, moving faster, feeling him near but not knowing what angle he would strike me from.

His arms grab my thighs, and I let out a sharp, startled scream that rolls into a fit of giggles. He lifts me up onto his shoulder, spinning me around before he drops me back down, catching me by my waist. I turn around and embrace him, wrapping myself around so tightly that I could feel his heartbeat against my chest. 

His hand encircles my waist as his face nuzzles into the crook of my neck. “ So, this is my surprise. How long has it been, wife?”

I murmur. “ Not since Hamda was born, I imagine.” I slide my hands up his scarred torso, up his neck, and then plant my hands on either side of his face. My heart leaps at the sight of him, all these children later. Maybe even more so than before. 

“ Do you want to try for a fourth? Or how about triplets this time? ” I blurt. Half joking. 

He lets out a chuckle, eyes tracing my mouth before he shakes his head. “ And have you cursing me the entire delivery…again??”

I smirk in remembrance. “ They’re so cute when they’re little, though. They look like little old people. Especially Petru.”

His grin softens into a warm smile. “ Yes, I suppose he did look about 80 years old, didn’t he?” 

Now I giggle. “ Do you remember how he always had hiccups and this little shocked expression. Like he could not believe he had actually been born”, I snort. 

Vlad’s face lights up fondly, remembering those special times. “ Well, maybe we can have a more serious conversation about a few more once the war is over”, he prompts. 

I can’t help the way the hike in my shoulders drops. Then. My smile fades, and I’m looking down in the water, avoiding his gaze. I gently pull back, but he doesn’t let me go. He never does. Even when I’m angry with him, he doesn’t. He always follows me. I’d felt like such a lucky woman in that way. It was no different now. “ Amina…”, he murmurs in a pacifying tone. I turn my head, and he grabs my chin. 

“ Stop it”, I clip. 

“ I’m not doing anything to you”, he soothes. 

“ You are breaking my heart,” I scoff. 

“ I don’t want to fight”, he pleads. His brows furrow when I avoid his gaze.

  “ You know that is not my intention. But this war is what I've been waiting for my entire life. This is what men in my position are trained to do”, he rasps. 

A flame of anger licks me, and I lose the lid on my temper that I'd kept tucked away for some years now. It rears. “ FUCK the war. I’M what you've been waiting for your entire life”, I sneer. He blinks in surprise. I reach behind his head and tug a tuft of his hair, now just short enough to grab hold of. 

I hover close to his ear. I can feel his erection bobbing against my stomach. “I hope that fucking priest dies a slow death. He is a snake. He will pay for the turmoil he has caused this family”, I spit. I let him go, wading further from him. He catches me by the ankle and drags me back to him. I struggle in his grasp when he whips me around, enclosing his arms around my stomach. 

Sometimes, I needed this. When something was too painful to say to his face, he'd turn my back to his chest and wait. I can feel the scruff of his beard and chin rest in the crook of my neck. He was waiting patiently for the truth. 

It spills out in a wounded way. A way that made me feel so incredibly small. “ I hate how emotional you make me. I hate this. You make me a blubbering fool. I hate this feeling”, I whine. I bite my bottom lip trying to stop the incoming tears.  

He grumbles. “ That’s what love is. Complete and utter madness—I’m finding.” 

I take a long sigh, feeling myself relaxing into him like I always do. “ So many women lose their husbands to war. They lose them and get on with it. They find a way through it. I suppose it’s easier when he’s a complete monster. If he’s away, then there’s nothing to worry about. Nobody to pester you for sex or hit you…or berate you. What do you do when you actually love him? ” I mutter.

He chuckles quietly behind me. “ Have a little faith in me, my love.” 

“ I planned to be a spinster before I met you, you know?” I ramble.  A kiss to my temple pulls me out of my haze, and I blink back to life.

“ I consider myself to be one of the luckiest men in Europe—the world even”, he hums. 

I turn around to look at him. “ I don’t want flattery, Vlad. I want to hear how angry you are”, I plead.

Something in Vlad’s expressions drops. “ I’m angry every day of my life, Draga. I don’t want this war, but I inherited it. I don’t want this responsibility, but it’s mine. My faith waivers constantly, and I have questioned the priest in private. It is my family or his. It is my kingdom or his. Sultan Mehmed feels in his heart that he is doing the right thing by attacking Wallachia, because it is a war he himself has inherited too. So perhaps everyone is wrong…I do not know. But what I do know is that I will not run from this fight, and the Turks cannot be reasoned with. So if it's blood they want…”, he sighs tiredly. I can see his brows crinkle in exhaustion. For the first time, I see the physical and mental fatigue written all over him. 

Vlad could put a brave face on for almost anything. He could be hard to read in front of other people. It was only now, however, that I could see the stress. I find myself reaching back into him, feeling upset with myself for coming onto him so sharply. 

He doesn’t push me away. He accepts me into his embrace. I rest my ear against his chest, listening to his heart. I relinquish my control of this war. I know in my heart that there is nothing that can be said to deter this war. No matter how tightly I hold onto him, within the next few days, he could be called into battle. I have to find a way to accept this. All I can do is reinforce my protections and hide. 

He grabs me out of my thoughts and kisses me, hard. It distracts me from the pain as I submit to his advances. All we have right now is this. This is what we both could control at this moment. Each other. 

I find myself pressed up against the ledge of the pool, his fingers wrapped in my hair, leaning over me as he licks into my mouth. I am pliant and wanting, wrapping my legs around his hips. It doesn’t go far before I insist on wine. I feel the water roll off my skin as I walk to the cart to grab our glasses. 

When I hand it to him, he makes no move to observe what’s in the glass. He chugs it, looking straight at me, transfixed on my naked form. He makes no complaint about the bitter taste or the darker-than-usual color. He slams the glass on the edge of the pool. So I do the same, chugging until there’s nothing left. 

“ Get over here”, he gruffs. He’s in a demanding mood. A rare treat indicating that he’s even more frustrated than he seems, but he won’t be able to rest until I punish him. Because not even a warm bath or stiff cup of wine would truly wind him down. 

I stare at the bottom of my glass, settling with what I’ve just done to both of us. I’d secretly hoped I could convince him to pull out of the war. Now, I must let the cards fall where they may. “ Amina..”, I hear him call with such a rare impatience. 

I let him take me the way he wants. I find myself entangled in his grasp, wholly and willingly. His fingers in my mouth, his tongue along my neck. He consumes me in a way that only he can. His odd way of taking me out of myself entirely until I’ve divorced myself from all thought or reason. I scream like I always do. A bathing sponge wedges itself between my teeth, giving me something to bear down on, but I end up pulling it out along the way. 

We break from the haze long enough to get back to quarters, cold from the contrast of the warm water. We sit by the fire, having another glass of wine. The candles in the room turn the air muggy. I watch the way they burn down so quickly before I spring my advances on him when he least expects it because that’s what he prefers. Someone so naturally vigilant in his daily life enjoys the element of my surprises. Enjoys being cut down to pieces and then rebuilt by my hand.  

I play this role. Pretend that he’s nothing to me when he’s become everything. Bound to the bed, blind folded, the wax stings enough to make each muscle in his body contract and then release. Over and over. Each exhale a relief as the sting brings him closer to a sense of release.  I watched the wax dry along his torso, while my hands gripped his shaft. It cools into a dark pink color, the same color as the very tip of him. I’d left him here on the precipice of climax for far too long. The most guttural sounds leave him when the pleasure and pain mix. A wounded mewl that he stifles between clenched teeth. I run my hand faster, up and down, to test just how much of himself he could hold back.  Every so often, my eyes roam up to his face to see the faintest sign of tears. 

I find ways to terrorize him the entire night. He finds his release more than once. I found mine too again and again, and then the sun came up. The fog of the night is lifted. The room is covered in wax and goose feathers from the pillows he tore into. Spilled wine, smoke, and ash litter the rug.

He lies there, muscles loose and eyes half lidded. I’m buried under pounds of his flesh, pressed to the bed with him as my blanket. We gaze upon each other, already halfway between worlds and almost asleep. My handprint is imprinted his cheek.

The words find me and leave me before I can even think. “Be with me, for all time”, I ask quietly. A vulnerability that hurts me in a way that I welcome. 

“ Always”, he croaks, sealing his promise with a kiss. 

A few days of bliss calmed my nerves. The Turks went quiet, and Vlad had talks with his generals about possibly ambushing the enemy. A sense of control over our situation had come back. But soon I would come to regret my decision to feed him my spell. Whatever I have done has affected him in such a horrific way. I question if I have poisoned my husband.

First came the nausea. He was sleeping longer than usual, sometimes even midday. He would get chills that left him shivering in the late afternoon. Our physician assessed him, and the only conclusion was that it was a seasonal cold. 

He sat in the baths, trying to work up a sweat. Breathing treatments with healing vapors and soothing teas did nothing. Boiled garlic made it worse. Then the nausea and vomiting came in the middle of the night. I watch in terror as the episodes unfold, trying to soothe him through it. I’m entirely unaffected. Doctors checked him for cuts and scrapes to rule out secret infections, but nothing came up. 

On a rainy night after a sick spell, he finally settled enough to go back to sleep. I watch over him,  rubbing his chest as he dozes off. That’s when I noticed the glint of his nails, sharp and pointy, they’d somehow grown in the matter of minutes to claws. I hold his palm and bring it closer to my face to inspect it. I watch them retract back into his nail bed. 

The night was full of terrors. Each night, lying beside him, I wait for something else to stir me. Fanged teeth poked from his mouth, and then the next minute, they weren’t there. His eyes glowed when he woke up to relieve himself. I was pinned to the bed in fear, unable to utter a word to him. Cuts and scrapes healed faster than usual, taking maybe a half day to grow new skin. Then he began to sleep less and less. I worried for him. Was this all I had hoped for? Or had I turned my lover into something unrecognizable? 

Soon, we were woken up in the early morning by soldiers banging on our door. I make myself decent as they barge in, armored. They suit him up with lightning speed as I rush behind him, my feet slapping against the marble as I frantically shout for our children. 

Handmaids pick the boys up out of their sleep. I grab Hamda and put on her coat and hat, then put on my own. The boys tug on their fur hats as the workers and soldiers zip past us. 

It’s time. It’s finally happening whether we want it to or not. Vlad is kissing me fully and harshly. An alarm in his eyes that burns me. I’m terrified. The boys go quiet, hanging onto my waist. He bends down to kiss them.  “ Look after your mother…”, he whispered to Alexandru. Hamda is screaming at the top of her lungs as I try to bounce and console her. It’s as if she knows what’s happening. Petru and Alexandru kiss their father as he hugs them tight. Then he presses a gentle hand to Hamda’s face, trying to soothe her. " I love you”, I plead. He says it back. Over and over, kissing me as he’s pulled away until he’s gone. 

“We must get to the safe house, follow me”, our Kingsguard instructs. 

Amina Boudreaux Pov

Zanto shakes me out of it. The overhead lights burn into my retinas as I twitch back to life. I sit up, grabbing my pounding head. Deborah, Lisa, and Lettie all stand near the door.

Deborah speaks up. “ Word of advice, dear. We don’t do well with cannabis or much of any substance for that matter. Especially when we’re untrained. That’s a great way to lose control of your abilities and end up in a hell of your own making”, she preached. 

“ How long have I been out?” I scramble to my feet. 

“ Not long. Maybe 5 minutes”, Zanto reassured. 

I remember it all. Every single last detail. A wave of guilt washes over me. I blink away the tears. Nausea swirls in my stomach again. 

“ I can get you to excrete the rest of the THC out so you can stop feeling so badly”, Zanto insists. 

“ Please!”, I beg. 

“ You’re really gonna have to pee in about 5 minutes”, she warns, placing her hands in mine. 

The warmth emitting from her hands is comforting. I look at the three other women. “ Ladies. Why don’t you all rejoin the ceremony? Amina and I will be out in a minute”, says Zanto. 

They all trail out of the bathroom. Sure enough, Zanto's work on me had me rushing to the stall. A welcome relief compared to what I’d been through earlier. I immediately felt better, but a heavy exhaustion weighed on me. Every limb felt ten pounds. I come out of the stall and wash my hands, gazing at myself in the mirror. 

I’d completely cried my makeup off, black streaks riddled my cheeks, and my lips were cracked from dehydration. The flyaways in my hair make me look like a parrot. This was the woman who cursed her husband. Who put him through unimaginable pain in the name of love? Rather than just letting go and letting things be as they are. 

I dry my hands on a napkin, trying to wipe the black makeup off my face, but only making it worse. Zanto looks at me in that wise way that she does. As if she could see right through me. As gifted as she is, I imagine she probably could with or without physical sight. 

“ Tell me”, is all she muttered sympathetically. 

I start, but my lip wobbles, so I bite it, trying to compose myself. “ I…. I'm the reason for all of this”, I whisper. I pause, looking at the checkered marble floor. I start again. “ Amina Medina used spell work to keep Vlad alive. She paid for it with her life. She— I watched what that poison did to him. I watched him suffer, and he blamed himself for it. All these years”, I shake my head in regret.

Zanto shakes her head slowly in protest, grabbing my hand. “ Love is madness. It makes us do things that we never thought we’d do. Don't judge yourself for loving—Amina. It’s the very thing we were put on this earth to do”, she countered.

“ He’s not going to forgive me. He will try, but he won’t be able to”, I argue. 

She made a soothing sound with her voice, resting her hand on my shoulder. “ If you really believe that in your heart, then you have a lot more to learn about him”, she warned. 

With some encouragement, I’m able to leave the bathroom. I didn’t want to be rude to Sofia and Luna, so I figured it was best to finish watching the ceremony. Mato escorts us both to our seats. Overlooking the theatre, I find Vlad still in his altered form. 

Luna, just barely breathing in her blood-soiled dress, drinks from Vlad’s arm. Sophia holds her wife in a bridal pose while she pets her cheek, coaxing her to drink. The dark blood seeps from the sides of Luna’s mouth as she finishes up. Her eyes close again, and Sophia places her on the theatre floor, propping her head in her lap. 

The theatre is so silent that I can hear Luna struggle to breathe. It’s so distinct that I’m sure I’ll never forget it. At first, it was much like a hollow suction. A bubbling rasp as the body tried to clear the airway. Then it morphed into a low, rattling click deep within Luna’s chest. Like pebbles in a pouch. Her diaphragm is barely moving. Small breaths turn to periodic gasps, spreading out from every minute to every two, five, and then none. She stops breathing. 

That was the conclusion of Luna’s human life.

 Sophia rubs Luna's hair so gently. We wait for Vlad’s blood to take its course. A reassuring hand rests on Sophia’s shoulder. It’s Vlad, now in his human form. Sophia looks up, placing one of her hands on top of his own. His eyes find mine in the crowd. We share a quick glance, but my eyes fall back to Luna. 

After ten minutes, Luna’s eyes open, and Sophia cries as if she’s been born. I can hear the sniffling around me as other vampires watch in profound sentiment and tears. Luna’s body reanimates as she sits up and observes the crowd, pantomiming her breathing. Blinking. All functions she no longer needs but what her humanity made her used to. A habit of life that followed her in death. Luna has church glass eyes now, just like Vlad’s. It only made sense considering he sired her in a way. A distinction in his line of fledglings. A part of a whole. 

Her mouth opens and closes. She’s hungry and ready for her first drink. Another group of chained Incubi comes into the arena. They’re compelled into acceptance and silence. Vlad chooses a short-statured man in the lineup and grabs him by the back of his neck, swiftly walking him over to Sophia and Luna. He kicks the back of the man’s legs to force him to kneel. Luna’s mouth opens, showing new and sharp fangs, reacting to the stimuli of a meal. Vlad holds the man down as Sophia whispers something in her ear. I imagine she’s telling her how to drink him correctly. Like a baby animal, standing for the first time, she clumsily brings her mouth to his neck. 

The short man bursts out into a painful scream. Sophia holds the back of her lover's head, still quietly instructing her. Once she’s drained the man, which takes all but five minutes, Vlad flings him into a pile of corpses like withered trash and grabs another body. Luna’s bite deepens this time, allowing her to get more blood at a quicker pace. Her eyes roll into the back of her head in satisfaction. I can’t imagine how this feels to illicit such a reaction from her.  In just a few short minutes, she drains the second screaming man, and Vlad grabs her another. Before I knew it, she was on her fifth body, then her sixth, and finally her seventh. I gawk at just how long it takes her to feel fully satisfied, but I know this satiation won’t last long. In another 30 minutes, she’ll need to feed again. Knowing vampires as I do now, they have it all planned out.  

Luna stands on wobbly legs as Sophia supports her. Her large eyes take in the audience as she blinks. She looks like herself and then not like herself at all. A newness to her, a carefulness, bordering on uncanny, but also confused.  The audience roars into applause, throwing roses and whistling. They're quite moved by the display. I imagine that they're probably all trying to talk to her, giving her encouraging words in her mind. A whole new world would open up for her, and she’d have thousands of people to guide her through it. 

Unlike Vlad. He did it all alone.

Nauseous from the stench of blood, I ask Mato to escort me to the car and send my regards to the rest of the witches I’d met. When I slip into the vehicle, I open my phone to see that Nya is at the bar with Alex. She sends me a picture of their drinks, and I see his large hand in the picture. I can only imagine how the night will end for them both. As for me, I rest my head against the window, already tired from the events that transpired through the night. Half asleep, the car door opens, making me sit up. I can’t bring myself to look at Vlad. The ride back to the villa is a painfully silent one. 

He lets me shower first, though he’s covered in blood, sitting on the lid of the toilet, and brushing his teeth. I make quick use of it, clipping up my hair and giving my body a thorough scrub. I finished the rest of my care routine. Teeth, skin, lotion. I loosen my hair and throw on a bonnet before digging through my luggage for a night gown. 

Burrowing under the covers, I check my phone again. I sent Nya a text telling her I’m back at the villa and to share her location. She does so, right away, with not even so much as a goodnight. She was plotting clearly. I knew my sister. I rest easy knowing Nya would be safe, and maybe it’s for the better that she’s not here. I’m not sure how this conversation will go. We could easily be breaking up tonight if he can’t stomach what I did. 

I pull back the covers to look at him. He’s in boxers, clean from head to toe, hair still wet and shiny like his lashes. He smells like pine, cedar, and soap. He stands there, painfully still, unblinking, just like a statue. There’s a moment of silence between us both as we watch each other trying to figure out who will break the ice. 

“ I already know, Amina..”, he murmurs. 

My stomach drops, and I sit up, pushing the covers down to my waist. The strap of my nightgown slides off, exposing my breast. I’m oddly embarrassed for some reason. Maybe it’s the added exposure when I already feel so guilty. His head tilts, gently using his finger to hook it up back over my shoulder. Slowly, his eyes rolled back up to me. Not an ounce of animosity in him whatsoever. I shake my head in confusion. He already knows what I’m going to ask next. 

“ In the car. I was afraid I ruined everything between us with that display. I read you. I know you said not to. I know you didn’t give me permission, but I panicked”, he reasoned softly. 

I shake my head softly. “ No. No. " It’s okay”, I said. 

Another moment of silence passes us. I look down in shame, trying to find the words. “ I can’t say that I didn’t mean it, but I didn’t know the brutality it would result in. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. I wish—I wish I had done things differently”, I stutter. I feel the tears swell, so I try to hide them, but the wobble in my voice gives it all away. They spill over as I discreetly try to wipe them. He bends down to his knees, resting his forearms on my thighs. His hands encircle my back as he meets me at eye level. 

“ The woman I knew stabbed me in my sleep. I knew then that she was capable of anything”, he croaks. 

I let out a bitter laugh. Not one of humor but rather irony. Because yes…I did. ME. No matter how many degrees of separation I tried to keep between my three lives. There’s a darkness inside of me. It’s always been there, and he sees that. That’s why we work together. He pulls me out of my thoughts abruptly. “ Your proximity to what’s hidden is no ailment. It’s not a burden. Your Darkness is your gift. You command it, it does not command you.” Then he looks at me with the most incredulous look. 

Pride. It’s pride.. of all things. 

His hands reach for my own, curling them around mine and locking between my fingers. “ There is nothing that you can do or say that will make me not want you. I want you when it’s easy, and I want you when it’s difficult. Especially when it’s difficult”, he chuckles softly. “ All these years, I thought my condition was a punishment. You can’t imagine the relief I feel knowing it was your protection all along. A dying wish. Though not everything went as planned and we’ve suffered great losses…I won’t shame you for doing what you felt was right. I would have done the same. I know you thought you’d be able to protect the children. I know you wanted our family together, so I still burn those candles for the children. Every time they melt, I collect it and burn it all again… ”, he rasps. 

That breaks something in me. I hide my sob behind my hand while he embraces me. I was fully ready for him to harbor some form of resentment towards me, and in the back of my mind, I’m still afraid he will. However, I know one thing to be true. I have to get them back. Petru, Hamda, Alexandru. Our story can’t end with just the two of us. If I study hard at the institute, then maybe this won’t all be for nothing. I can fix this…

When my crying stops, and I gather myself, he pulls away to give me a once-over. I wipe my face with a Kleenex, annoyed I’ve cried my skincare off. 

“ I need you to be honest”, he whispers softly.

“ Ok”, I croak. Already so tired and emotionally raw. 

“ I scared you. Yes?” he prompts. 

“ Yeah..”, I sniffle. 

“ I would never hurt you. Not as I am now. Not as I was. Never, never, never…ever ”, he chants. His brows furrow as he looks at me. I know it meant a great deal to him for me to understand this. 

“ Does it hurt you? That version of yourself? Or does it hurt to be like this?” I ask. 

“ No. That version of myself is me at my maximum. My most effective. My true form is as I am. Nothing hurts...”, he soothes.

“ I called you, and you didn’t answer. I know it’s you, but is it still really you? Does it feel like you?” I whine. 

“ It’s an altered state. A blood lust. My need to feed was stronger, and therefore I did not answer. I can decide if and how I do harm. It’s just a little bit harder to reach all of me— the human parts of me, rather, but I’m still there. I’m still me”, he says with a cautious tone. 

“ I want to see you. Let me try again”, I blurt. I hold onto his shoulders firmly. His face twists in confusion. “ Let me try again, please...”, I beg. 

He pulls away a bit, studying me. “ Amina, are you sure about this…? It’s late, and you’re already so tired, and it’s been a long night”, he trails off.

“ I need this from you. I need to accept what I’ve done. This is important, Vlad ”, I sniffle 

As expected, he does not argue. Instead, he carefully stands to his full height and steps back. He grants me my wish. I look down at his feet. They begin to change, widening and turning from that bronze color to a sickly, fleshy, pale color. 

Soon, I can hear the rumble in his chest when he breathes. It’s akin to a bear or a lion, hollow and wide and rolling. Tuffs of air hit the top of my forehead every time he exhales. My hackles raise, naturally, as I sit as still as possible. My instincts barely comprehend that I’m sitting in front of my boyfriend and not a wild animal. 

My eyes roll up his body. He has pronounced calves and thighs that are larger than usual, having doubled in size.  His torso grew wider, and his forearms were more pronounced with these harsh, deep blue veins. I catch the sharp point of his claw, black, long, and curved. I reach out for his hand, carefully taking it into mine. Compared to my own, his might as well have been a baseball mitt. The mutation had doubled the size of his hands as I traced his palm. 

The thump of his wings unfurling makes me jump, but I don’t pull away. It’s nothing, but flesh stretched tight over bone, veins running in various directions. I stand and slowly reach for the edge, rubbing the tip of my finger to the top. He makes the most perturbed sound in his chest, akin to a rumble or growl. A shiver passes over him, and I run my finger to the highest point of the wings, stopping at the hooked bone that curves over, pausing just at his ear. I don’t dare look at his face. No, not yet. 

I work up the nerve, going back to his chiseled stomach. The skin feels like rubber here, smooth, hairless, and indestructible. I poke him gently, and my finger barely makes an impression. I questioned whether he was carved from stone, given how hard his muscles were. I spread out my fingers just above where his navel should be. I run my palm up, up, up, until I reach his chest. The breath on my forehead keeps me on my toes. I observe his body's reaction to me, careful not to make any sudden movements. If he had a prey drive, I wouldn’t want to trigger it. 

I jump the gun and finally look. Taking in my creation. As I thought, He is absolutely terrifying. My heart races when our eyes meet. Glowing reflective eyes, pointy ears, a sharp nose, and teeth. No hair, lashes, or brows. Just this other worldly creature that could rip me apart in seconds. I notice the way his eyes shift past me. Is this shameful for him? I hoped not. 

Somehow, I swallow my fear and reach for his face, and most peculiarly, he leans into the press of my hand. As if even in this heightened and primal state, he found solace in my touch. I pull my hand away, and he blinks back at me. My breathing fills the silence as we gaze at one another, like two beings meeting for the first time. 

Now, I understand this dynamic. As much as I belonged to him, he belonged to me, too. He’d accepted this long ago, and it was only now that I fully understood it. Without much thought, I guide his face down to mine and slot my lips over his own, holding the sides of his face as I lick into his mouth. I still taste his minty toothpaste, a reminder of the man still buried deep inside him. 

This one is sweet and gentle, opened with a soft parting of the lips, seamlessly aligning with his. Warmth blooms throughout my body. I get the same butterflies I always do, my body reacting to what it knows on a cellular level. He could stay like this and still have my heart. 

He deepened the pressure, tilting his head to allow me to catch my breath as a low vibration of pure contentment echoed from his chest straight into me. His palms close around my back and then his wings, cocooning us inside, pulling me closer to him. Kissing me until I was breathless. Eventually, I come back to myself and pull away to meet his eyes. When I opened them again, I found him back to his real form. No wings. Just Vlad. 

“ Be with me, for all time”, he whispers softly. 

I smile, knowing the origin of the proposal. Without a second thought,  I whisper back, “ Always.”

Vlad and I spent most of the morning and afternoon in bed. I know we should have probably spent our last day doing something special, but neither he nor I could unglue from each other long enough to do so. Nya came back at 2pm, walking in the door singing. I pulled on my robe, tiptoeing out of bed and meeting her on her way to her room. 

Her clothes are in a shopping bag, and her flip-flops squeak against the floor like her own theme music. Her curly hair is pinned at the top of her head in a clip that’s about to fall off, and she’s not wearing any makeup. Just gas station sunglasses, an oversized white t-shirt stating,  “ I heart Mexico”  with matching Mexican flag shorts. 

Her night went as one could expect. She got all dolled up and cute to go out solo clubbing. She bribed her alex to sit with her for drinks, and then the conversation started. He was a tough nut to crack, but she got him to open because Nya was a charmer in that way. They hit it off. He seemed like a decent guy. He owned a few businesses, with his security job being his top priority. His family resided mainly in coastal South Carolina and Georgia. Later, they walked the boardwalk, then the beach, and then went bowling. Their last stop was a speakeasy for more drinks and bites. When he was just open enough to laugh at her jokes, she decided to strike, and strike she did. One kiss to his cheek and then the corner of his mouth, and he unraveled. She gave him the rundown as soon as they got to his hotel room. She came prepared with her rapid STD kit and her condoms. As a healthcare professional, she encouraged him to consider going on prep like she had been, stripping down to nothing but a thong and anklet. As one could imagine, he was most receptive. The image of her giving Alex a throat swab while sitting on his lap, topless, had tears running down my face from the absurdity. 

Everything came back clear, of course, because werewolves, much like other supernatural creatures, rarely got sick. She then went into the most explicit, dramatic, and immersive reenactment of the night's main events. Nya assumed that because of how assertive she’d been, she'd have to take charge of the bedroom. To her surprise, Alex preferred to call the shots. Afterward, they went to get food and get high on the beach. 

Nya sighs. “I cannot have a consistent dick like that. I’ll end up on the first fucking 48. He’s either crazy, a liar with no house, or he’s married. Something’s wrong. Besides, he’s not even my type”, she shrugged. I already knew she was talking herself out of pursuing this. 

I squint at her. “ Uh…he’s very handsome. Like objectively.” 

She crosses her arms defensively. “Somebody can be handsome and still not be my type.” 

I shake my head slowly, knowing her thought process already.. “ Well, you haven’t been having luck with your type. Sometimes you have to try something new. You're not marrying the guy”, I counter. “ Stop being scary and actually answer his text when you touch down in the US again. Do NOT block him”, I warn. 

I can already see her getting cold feet. Already overthinking the situation. Nya could be a creature of habit when it came to certain guys. There were some glaring differences between the two of them that made her hesitate. Where we came from, he’d stick out like a sore thumb. He was also 16 years older than her, 45, to be exact. No kids, thankfully. Still, I remember the way he looked at her all dolled up in her dress at the wedding. He was a decent guy. I knew that entertaining the connection wouldn’t hurt. “ You said you wanted a rich guy. Live a little..”, I murmur quietly. 

She shrugged, a slight grin falling on her lips. Nya loved material items. She wasn't ashamed of it. If anyone was to blame, it should be Joseph Landry, who spoiled her rotten the minute he found out he was having a girl. A girl he very much prayed for the moment he found out his wife was expecting. I left her to her thoughts, scurrying back to the room with Vlad to let Nya sleep. 

We closed out the trip with a beautiful catered dinner on the beach with some of the best food I’ve tasted in my entire life. Vlad even managed to have an assistant snag us a few souvenirs to remember our trip, even though we had tons of photos. Nya and I left Mexico having gained something. For her, a new love interest or wallet, depending on how she wanted to play it. And for me, a certainty on what the path forward would be with Vlad.

Ironwood Keep had a drawing room that felt ancient, carved from grey stone and molded by centuries of magic. I see accents of crimson and tarnished gold, warmed by a roaring candy red fire in a massive, soot-stained hearth. Gothic windows line the far wall, overlooking the misty forest below. The glass is thick and distorted with age, casting warped, amber pools of light across the oriental rugs and oak furniture.

The entire back wall has been converted into a massive, floor-to-ceiling tea apothecary. Hundreds of tiny, dark-wood drawers and antique glass jars are built directly into the stone masonry, packed with loose-leaf teas, dried roots, and glowing botanical specimens. Lettie stands on A creaking, wrought-iron ladder leaning against the shelves to reach the highest cubbies. “ Calendula. Just what I was looking for ”, she hums as she comes down the ladder slowly, the jar of tea floating behind her by her command. 

Zanto sits in a high-backed velvet armchair, a cup of tea in her lap. Vlad and I sat next to each other on a double love seat. Two children occupy this space, working the room as if they’ve done so many times before. One little black girl with cornrows whispers to an Asian girl with pigtails. They look no older than about 8 years old. 

“ No, I want to give her the tea”, one girl whines. 

“ No, I wanna do it”, says the other girl.

“ Girls…settle down”, Lettie calls out in warning, not even turning her back. 

They don't listen, of course. They keep whispering while my tea gets cold. “ He's a vampire”, the girl with the cornrows whispers with her hand over her mouth. The girl with the pigtails squints at Vlad as if trying to figure him out. I can see the smirk forming on his face as he sips his coffee. 

With this new knowledge, the girl with the pigtails stays behind and allows the girl with the cornrows to give me the tea instead. I hold back my laugh. “ Here’s your lapsang. Would you like anything else?” She smiles widely at me. I can see her two missing teeth, much like Alexandru, and it warms my heart. 

“ No, nothing else. Thank you for my tea, you guys are such good little helpers”, I chuckle, resting the cup on my lap. 

“ I-Is it true you're a vampire? ”, Pigtails speaks up, joining her friend standing in front of me. 

“ And you drink blood?” the girl with the braids chimes. 

Vlad looks at both of them for a few seconds, relaxing with his back to the couch, one leg resting on his knee.  He opens his mouth to reveal his sharp canines, letting out a faux hiss. The girls scream and run off deeper into the castle. 

I swat Vlad's leg, trying to hold my laugh. “ Why would you do that? You’re so fuckin’ mean.” 

Zanto lets out a loud cackle as red pools in her cheeks. Lettie shakes her head, trying to contain her laugh as she walks over with her own cup.

“ Serves them right. They're both a little too nosy for my liking”, she sighs.

Zanto chuckles. “They'll be bonding over that story for years to come. Trust me. I know my girls.” 

“Your girls?” I ask. 

“Yes, my pupils,” Zanto nods. “ They're just starting out. Much like you will be if you decide to make this place your second home.” 

“ Let’s talk..”, I prompt. Lettie joins Zanto, sitting across from her. 

“ Well, with your permission, I was able to tell the other ladies about your work with Rosa Aeternitas. To use that plant to its highest efficacy takes a very skilled witch. Now that we know the origin of the condition we call vampirism, please tell me you called Dr. Bach. I am sure his research team is beside themselves ”, Zanto asks Vlad. 

Vlad’s eyerbows shoot up. “ To think that my origin traces back to carnevorus plant. It's been a hell of a week. I’ve already contacted Dr.Bach. Amina will be meeting with him soon”, he says.

“ Excellent. Lettie and I would love to answer your questions before she starts your tour", says Zanto.

I start. “ You all said you were watching me but I continued to have those dreams well after you guys stopped prying. Why do you think that was?”

Zanto shrugs. “ The truth finds us witches sometimes. Even when we don’t want the truth we find it. Emotional highs and lows can send our abilities into over and under drive. Deep down your subconscious likely wanted that answer.”

I nod slowly, thinking about my hallucination on the boardwalk. Well. Now I knew the truth. A hard truth but it was mine. I lean forward urgently. “ Theoretically speaking, how long would it take for me to become a high witch?” 

Lettie smiles. “ That depends on you. There’s no timeline for self-mastery.  For me, it took about 20 years.”

“ 11 years of study for me. It truly depends, but you’re a very talented girl. It could be even less time if you work hard”, says Zanto.

I nod, feeling a little more hopeful. There's nothing stopping me from passing my milestones sooner. “ Zanto, I know you work with spirits.  What do you think about death and its finality and all that?” I ask hesitantly. 

Zanto thinks for a moment. “ It’s really just a transformation rather than an ending. Why do you ask?” 

I pause. “ So bringing back someone from the dead?”, I prompt. 

The two women have worried looks on their faces. Lettie decides to speak for both of them. “ That is an extremely difficult and risky thing to do. In fact, we know of only one other witch who succeeded, and she is long gone now. People don’t always come back the way they came. It could take you maybe your entire life to do it successfully, and there’s a question of ethics and suffering. What is it that the spirit wants? Is that somebody who should come back? That all comes into account. Most times the answer is to leave things as they are…“Lettie winces. 

Her answer deflates me a bit. Either way, I know I won’t be giving up. I won’t show my hand either. Vlad may protest, but if he sees I can do it, he may change his mind. " Understandable”, I mutter. 

“ Well, we may be jumping ahead a bit. Every witch's experience is hers alone. Why don’t we get started on that tour to see if this place is the right fit for you?” Lettie encouraged.

“ Of course ”, I say, finishing the last of my tea and pulling myself up to a stand. Vlad and Zanto stay behind. It’s only Lettie and I who decide to leave. 

She takes the lead with swift steps. The massive, wrought-iron doors swung outward on their own with a heavy hum. We walk out to the grand Foyer that smells of lavender and wood.  Just above us, gothic arches and soaring glass domes looked out onto a foggy sky.

"We have 7 floors," Lettie murmured as they stepped onto a spiral staircase. Potion brewing was at the lowest level of ironwood. A small class with only one instructor. Which meant fewer classes. “ We only have one instructor for potion brewing, which means the children, teens, and adult groups only get one lab per week, and the rest is coursework. Every witch has a duty to teach and pass on her knowledge.” I peered over the stone railing into the dark lower floor. Below, seven-year-old girls giggled as they dropped beetle eyes into tiny cauldrons, sending up puffs of neon pink smoke. “Now, let me show you the courtyard. That’s where we do Elemental magic”, Lettie leads. 

In the courtyard, water cascaded down bare stone walls, and a harmless mist of stormwater drifted near the opening. To my right, a circle of older women stood in silence. With subtle, fluid extensions of their hands, they tore raw stone from the floor, condensing it into perfect, razor-sharp blades that hovered in the air. I can only imagine how quickly they could throw those if they had to. In theory, the courtyard was just another classroom, with desks, chairs, and whiteboards. No roses like poenari. 

The second floor was dedicated to telekinesis and mind control.  A class of small children sat cross-legged on the floor, faces twisted in fierce concentration as they kept brightly colored feathers floating a few inches above their palms. The instructor looked pretty young herself.

The third floor was devoted to spellcasting and conjuring. This was Lettie’s floor with her assistant teacher, a girl in her late teens. This floor in particular was lively and colorful. Clumsy, earnest adolescents crowded around wooden tables, practicing basic incantations to conjure butterflies made of light or make wooden blocks sprout fresh daisies. They mobbed around Lettie and hugged her. She seemed close with this group. She introduced me, and their bright faces lit up with welcoming smiles. 

This fourth floor was energy manipulation, and it was eerily quiet. A group of adult witches sit on pillows with tea candles in their palms. The objective was to manipulate the flame in time with their breathing. Lisa gives us a quick wave as we pass through. Her room in particular was the most serene, resembling a yoga or wellness studio more than a classroom. At the far end, there was a large window simulating a beach with an ocean for ample relaxation. I guess the concept would make sense. Energy manipulation required the person to be grounded. 

The fifth floor was for scrying. This was Deborah’s department, and I could tell it belonged to her from the coldness in the air.  This was the teen class. The colors here were dark, just like Deborah’s clothing. Her students stood in a circle, observing the student in the middle, who was leaning over a large stone bowl full of water. Its size was comparable to that of a cauldron, although it was stationary. When the student lifted her face from the bowl, her eyes were completely milk-white, rolled back into her head as she channeled. Eventually, she came back to herself. Deborah would then test the girl on the message she meticulously left for her last week. 

Eventually, we moved on to the 6th floor. This was the floor for mediumship. To my surprise, the floor was empty. “ No class today. Only every other day. It can be a very physically demanding class”, Lettie explains. We look into one of the empty rooms for the older woman. It looked much like a theatre except there were rows of chairs surrounding the small circular stage. 

“ What happens there?” I ask.

“ Complete surrender”, says Lettie ominously.

My legs were burning by the time we reached the 7th floor. Cursing and hexing. This floor was arranged like a sparring exhibition, featuring a long, raised wooden platform stretching down the center of a gymnasium-like hall dotted with rows of watchful students. This arena was fortified for safety, with thick, quilted leather padding covering the stone walls and flagstones to seemingly absorb magic. On the elevated stage, an adult student threw a hex at the target dummy. It blackened into decay, completely disintegrating into a mildewed, withered husk. The younger students clapped in excitement.  

The last stop was the library. The towering mahogany bookshelves stretched so high that the tops were lost in shadow. Little girls sat in sunny alcoves, giggling as oversized picture books turned their own pages and pop-up dragons blew real, harmless puffs of smoke. Grown witches scaled floating ladders that lengthened and shortened at whim. 

“ If you ask me, I think this is the most important room in the entirety of Ironwood. We don’t just read here. This is where we archive. We relive events through mediumship, scrying, or dreamwalking, like you. We record them, refining them over time until they’re as accurate as humanly possible.” Lettie smiles proudly at witches writing in books with inked feathers. 

I glance at their faces, full of concentration. “ What do you do with the archives?” I ask. 

She shrugs. “ Well, some of them are simply for preservation. To keep a memory alive. They can be used for historical accounts—primary sources. That sorta’ thing. Leverage. Every now and then, we do sell to big spenders, usually the vampires and fae. Most importantly, we can hold the world and ourselves accountable. To not make the same mistakes. History allows us to solve problems. Break curses and heal whatever was lost. Our first duty as witches is not only to protect but to help those in need. This allows us to do so. At least, that’s what I believe.” 

“My history has been haunting me since I learned to spell my name”, I murmur, looking at the endless rows of recorded documents on the other wall. Lettie pulls a leather-bound book from under one of the desks and hands it to me. I open it, flipping through the empty pages. 

She nudges me softly. “ Well, medieval Romania was no walk in the park.  I’m sure many of us here at Ironwood would love to read it one day. When you’re ready, of course.” 

We walk a loop around the castle grounds. I see women of all ages outside doing various activities like reading or riding their bikes. Ironwood Castle was nestled between the ocean and nowhere. Vlad got me here through his “shadow” travel. Besides the humongous lawn, there was a forest that went on for miles and miles. After that, nothing at all. Apparently, magic worked well here, caught between a rock and a hard place. 

As I watch the little girls playing tag on the freshly cut lawn, I feel a sense of completion here, not quite like meeting Vlad and agreeing to finish our story. No, this was a deep resonance. Almost as if I was apart of this place.

So, I said yes.

Over dinner, Vlad proposed the idea. “ Put in your two-week notice. Just focus on ironwood and your art. I’ll keep the bills on autopay.”   I wish I could say that I put up more of a fight. Truly. But I didn’t. I could hear my grandmother now preaching about the importance of never depending on a man. By her teachings, I always kept a little money on the side in case I had to “escape”. Her words, not mine. 

The farewell party in the break room surprisingly got me all misty-eyed. They brought cake, balloons, flowers, and gift cards. I’d worked with some of these people so long that I considered them somewhere between friends and family. Sarah wept for me the most, telling me how happy she was that I was following my dreams. Mr. Landry said he could “sense it”. I’m sure he knew Vlad had something to do with it, but he respected my privacy enough not to ask.  

“ No matter what, we always got ya’ if things don’t work out, but I don’t wanna’ see you back here. Ya’ hear?  If you’re gonna’ swing, swing hard”, he mutters in my shoulder as I embrace him. 

“ I will,” I sniffle, pulling back to look at him. I offer him my best watery smile. 

I walk back to the car with my gift bags and balloons. We get stuck in rush hour traffic shortly after our departure. I reminisce on the last ten years of my life. To have moved so slow and then my life changing almost overnight. 

I was sure I’d spend the rest of my career busting tables, and I made my peace with it. I’d lived a life I hated for so long that I barely noticed the way it was slowly killing me. Much like a pair of shoes, it fit me for a long while before the sides began to close in and the ache from the confinement began to throb. Maybe what was becoming my old life was someone’s dream, but it doesn’t belong to me anymore. I can admit it was a lifeline I wouldn’t take for granted.  I was just waiting on the permission to break away.

I watch the city pass us by out the rearview window as the surroundings of my old job stretch further and further away. I take it all in. The fractured asphalt against the cotton-candy-colored houses. I watch the seniors sitting on the porch in their rocking chairs, keeping a watchful eye on the children chasing a deflated ball. The corner grocery was littered with people leaving, carrying styrofoam plates or Thankyou bags. Retired men drove their candy-paint Cadillacs that shook the ground when they played their music. A woman walks home from work, her purse in one hand and a huckabuck in the other. We hit a pothole, and I can’t help but chuckle to myself. Yeah…the 8th ward. Much like the 9th ward. I loved New Orleans with everything inside of me. That would never change.

We stop just outside the church, parking on the street in front of the entrance. Vlad hands me the envelope, and I put it inside my purse. Id had this idea for a long while.

“ Do you want me to come inside?”, Vlad asks. 

“ No, you stay. I won’t be long”, I reassure him. I unbind myself from him and slide against the seat, pulling myself out the door. My shoes tap against the familiar steps of St. Peter. I remember thinking each concrete step was a mountain as I jumped down from them as a little girl in Sunday's best. I can already hear the pipe organ from outside. 

A woman in sunglasses and a hat zips past me, and I knew I’d come at the perfect time. The sun shone through the church windows, casting pink and blue hues onto the tile floors. I waltz past the pews to the confessional and close the door, sitting down. I can hear the slot behind the box opening as Gabriel awaits my confession. 

“ Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 6 months since my last confession”, I mutter. 

There’s a warmth to his voice, and I know he’s pleasantly surprised to have heard from me. “ May the Lord be in your heart”, he says. 

“ I found comfort and solace in the darkness. I went against everything I thought I knew. I let you bless my home, knowing that it wouldn’t work. That darkness I spoke of was never going to truly let me go. It’s always been with me. I tried so hard to fight against it, but it’s only when I stopped fighting T hat I knew true fulfillment”, I confess. 

Gabriel interrupts me. “ Should I call someone ?” he asks in a concerned tone. Deciding it is best to break formality. 

I let out a light chuckle. “ I’m okay, really. I’m better than I’ve ever been, actually. A little scared, naturally. I let fear rule my life for so long. I guess I just came here to thank you. Thank you for always being a listening ear. You’re one of the few people who knew the battle I was up against—against myself.”

A beat of silence passes between us. I know he’s confused. I continue. “ I’ll leave my donation on my seat. You won’t see me for a while.” I pull the envelope from my purse and leave it next to me, standing. “Thank you for everything, Father Gabriel.” 

I leave the box, pushing past the wooden doors. I take my time down the steps, remembering how I toppled over them as a kid. I smile to myself. Smoke wafts under my nose, and I look ahead to see Vlad. He leans against the car, finishing half a cigarette, dressed in black with those same shades on. The corners of my mouth tug upwards at his presence. 

“Amina !” Gabriel opens the door, holding the check in his hand. A bewildered look comes over him. He freezes up when he sees Vlad. Gabriel reaches for his cross cautiously. I look back at Vlad, and he’s smirking, putting out his cigarette with the ends of his fingers and throwing it towards the storm drain. I shake my head at the way he secretly enjoys freaking the Priest out. I don't think he'll ever be a fan of priests again.

When I finally reach for him, he pecks me on the lips. “ Where do you wanna’ go next?”, he ask.

“ Home”, I say. He opens the car door for me, and I slide in. I offer a wave to Gabriel, who’s stuck there at the steps, gawking, and unmoving. The car starts, and we take off down the road. From the rearview mirror, I can see Gabriel standing in the street, watching our car leave. 

“ Which home?”, Vlad asks. 

I slide back into his lap, smiling at the thought of being in Poenari again. He grins back at me because he just wants to hear me say it. “ Our home”, I said.

The End

Amina Boudreaux POV

Vlad sears my steak with a glob of herb butter. I keep sneaking the homemade croutons from the salad bowl. I thought I was getting away with it until he sets me down on the counter while he cooks to keep a watchful eye on me. “ How do you want your steak?” he asks. He's trying to hide his smirk because of my wandering foot. I’ve been rolling it up his leg and trying to pinch him with it for the past 15 minutes. 

I snort, “ I like it raw” between swigs of my champagne.

That one little immature joke, of all things, finally gets him to crack. “ I’m supposed to be celebrating you, and you’re making it really hard for me”, he chuckles softly. 

“ I told you how we can celebrate, but you didn’t wanna hear it”, I sigh playfully.

He throws in fresh thyme and a little more garlic. “ That’s the after party”, he jokes. “ And excuse me for trying to cook my lover a nice dinner”, he says as he flips the meat. 

“ Alright, alright, fiiineee”, I sigh, trying to discreetly slip off the counter. A gentle hand on my knees lets me know that I am NOT free to go. 

I wait patiently as he finishes the food. When he’s done, he slips me a piece of steak, and of course, it's perfectly tender and flavorful. I help him set the table, and he plates my food. Wagyu, scalloped potatoes, and a fresh salad. He fills up my champagne glass and then his own, sitting across from me. 

“The food looks and smells amazing”, I say as I dig into my potatoes. 

He adds homemade steak sauce to my Wagyu for me. “ Now, tell me again how she reacted”, he says expectantly. I can see the excitement bumbling under his grin.

Vlad was so ecstatic about my painting selling for 5 grand. He very well may have been more excited than I was. I could hardly believe I’d made that much money from my work, and the buyer didn’t even flinch at the price. “ This is so beautiful, I feel like I stole it for 5k”, I mimic in a tiny voice.

His face lights up with joy, and he laughs quietly to himself. I felt proud to make him proud. A strange and foreign feeling but a welcomed one. “ So how much longer do you think you’ll keep your job?” he asks. 

I pause briefly, surprised at where this conversation is going. “ ….Well, it’s only one painting, Vlad.” 

He half shrugs. “ There will be more.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “ I would have to sell at least…ten more to feel comfortable. It would be just my luck if I quit and suddenly my commissions slow.” 

Vlad disagrees. “ That’s not gonna happen. Worst case scenario, I have a couple of friends always looking to buy art.” 

“ I don’t know. I gotta’ think about it”, I sigh. Vlad backs off, not wanting to pressure me. I compliment him again on dinner because it’s just that good. He seems fairly flattered that I like the meal, and leans to cut my steak into smaller pieces for me. 

“So. Tell me more about this ceremony”, I mutter casually, between bites of my salad. I pause at the taste of the lemony dressing. Even the fucking Parmesan was perfect. I probably look like a chipmunk right now. My brain references the dinner scene in white chicks, and I actively make myself slow down. If I were alone, this salad wouldn't stand a chance. 

“ What do you want to know?” he says, resting his chin on his fist as he tops off my drink. He looks so good in his t-shirt and sweatpants, painfully casual but a nice difference compared to the tailored clothes he wears. He got his hair touched up, trimming the top just slightly and shaping the edges. His curls were tighter than usual, but they looked great. He looked great.  It’s why I’ve been trying to fuck for the past hour. “ Amina”, he says, pulling me out of my thoughts. Jesus, maybe I’m really no better than a man. 

“ Oh…”, I trail off, trying to organize my thoughts. I take a long swig of my wine. “ The reception…right. What’s the order of events? What goes down?”

He pauses for a moment. “ Well, every reception is different. Some are similar parties and others are like Gala’s. Vampires have a flair for the dramatic, so there will likely be performance art. After the entertainment, Luna and Sophia will dance. Sometime after that, they will begin the transformation. Sophia will drink from Luna right before the point of death and leave her there. Afterward, I will consummate their union.” 

I squint at him. “...Elaborate.” 

There's another pause. I know the details are likely unsavory if he’s hesitating. Still, Vlad made a vow to always be honest with me, and he hasn’t broken it just yet. “ There’s always a human offering. Offerings are people who have done irreparable harm to others. Then, I guess you can say that I transform in a way? The altered form I take is what is preferred for these ceremonies. I’ve always thought it quenched the audience's blood lust in some capacity”, he says. The tension in his shoulders tells me that this process will probably be anything but pretty.

“ Cool, I understand”, I quip. 

His forehead wrinkles. “ Do you?” 

I chuckle. “ Clearly, I don't, otherwise I wouldn’t be asking you any of this. What I DO understand is that this will be highly intense and that’s why you’re pussyfooting around your explanation because you don’t want me to get freaked out and leave you”, I ramble.

He flippantly rolls his eyes, leaning back into his seat to size up my reaction. “ It’s more than intense, Amina.”

“ Oh, I’m sure, but who and what you are are beyond your control. There’s going to come a day when I’m in Luna’s position. I have to be ready and willing to make that sacrifice”, I counter. Holding steadfast in my point of view. It was easy to push the idea out of my mind now. As for how I’ll feel on the day of the event, that’s another story entirely. I wanted to make a good impression and accepting this part of Vlad’s culture was important for us both.

Vlad goes quiet, and for a moment I think maybe I’ve said the wrong thing until he nods. “ My form will be very distressing. No harm will come to you. I can assure you that,” he warns. He leans forward slightly. “ I just need you to understand that you’re going to see me cause great pain to a lot of people. I’m going to drink from them, and they won’t be coming back. Not like Luna will”, he stressed. 

I slow my chewing and place my fork on my plate. We look at each other for a moment, letting his words marinate. People are going to die. Thankfully for him, I just so happened to be someone who knows what that looks like. “ I hear you. I do...”, I murmur. 

That seems to settle him a bit because there’s a slight drop in his shoulders. “ How about I show you?”, he suggests. 

I slowly shake my head. “ Can I be honest?” I blurt. He, of course, waits patiently. “ I’m not really in the mood to be scared. I want to be surprised alongside the audience. I wanna’ finish this meal and maybe take a dip in the hot tub and watch some tv. I'm in this wayyyy too deep for the monster version of you to unravel the hundreds of years of history we have. That’s not gonna’ go away just because I see you in a different light. I trust you fully, Vlad. Don’t you understand that by now?” I ask, tilting my head at him. 

He relaxes fully. I’m not entirely sure if it was a surrender, but it seemed pretty damn close. I get up and slide into his lap. “ I love you, and there’s nothing you can do about it, sorry”, I hum, pressing my lips to his cheek. 

He chuckles and turn his head to peck my mouth, mirroring the same words back. “ I love you, and there’s nothing you can do about it either.”

“ I swear, all you Scorpios are the same. Always tryna’ scare somebody away”, I sigh as I return to my seat. 

Thankfully, we do make it to that hot tub and crack open another bottle of wine. We even watched a few movies. It was hard to keep his attention on the Sci-fi pictures, but he surprisingly liked the rom-coms. Of course, we didn’t finish the last movie I picked because one thing turned into another. I had all these different plans about what I was going to do to him. So prepared to hand him his ass like back at the hotel. His approach was softer than I expected, using his mouth against every square inch of my body far longer than any other man had the patience for. 

I fail to understand people who say missionary is boring, because with Vlad, it’s something entirely different. In the end, he just wanted me close. No bells and whistles or whips this time, just him and all the sweet words he whispered to me. Every word that left our lips was a confession or a promise in some way or another. He practically murdered me when he pressed his fingers against me to finish me off for the 4th time. I’m unable to recover, falling asleep shortly after.

When I open my eyes, I peer down onto a woman’s head. She sits at a desk with her raven black hair twisted into a crown. Her wooden desk is lined with two books, one of which is open to a page that appears to show an herb. 

“ Who can tell me the base for a tincture?” a woman calls in the distance. The girl below me raises her hand. 

Movement to my left jerks me out of my concentration. It’s yet another veiled woman. Just like in that strange library a few nights ago. I stare at her hard, trying to make out her features. I squint to make out an eye color, but nothing. 

A modulated and distorted voice seeps from behind the veil. “ You will be tested in your ability to camouflage yourself into another. Enter from the highest point of her head and wear her ”, she commands firmly. I blink at her, trying to process what’s happening.

“ I’d like to wake up,” I command my body, pinching myself.

Nothing. 

She tilts her head as if to challenge me. “ You are on my time”, she warned. 

I sneer. “ Wake up,” I command harder, pinching myself a second time. 

“You can either wear that girl, or I can send you to a harder room? And trust me, it will feel like days within the few hours you sleep”, she warns. 

I jump. Not because I want to, but because I don’t want to stay a second longer beside her.

Regrets hits me like a marta train. When I get that tripping falling sensation in my gut, I want nothing more than to turn back. The drop is steeper than I anticipated, and then there’s nothing. Nothing at all but my thoughts in an enclosed space. Too small to breathe. 

I stretch into her. I line my feet with her feet. My shoulders with her shoulders.  It feels wrong. Like I’m slipping into a cold latex. It’s too compressing . This is wrong. This is wrong. 

My inner thoughts flatten to a whisper. Her body tries to reject me when she begins coughing. The pull in my lungs burn. The girls in the class turn to look at her worriedly. When she stops, her will overpowers mine.

Amina Smith POV 

Miss Wood scans the room carefully, holding a piece of candy in her hand. The rest of the girls and I giggled at her antics. At the end of the class, she always gave away treats. She didn’t make it easy though, one would have to work for it. “ I have two pieces of taffy for whoever gets this question right. Are you ready, girls? In our book of tall tales and mythology, one of the Roman gods grants a peasant a wish. He asks for the flower of life to escape death.  What is the scientific name for this flower?” 

I gasp quietly, raising my hand. I was the only one who remembered. Miss Wood was testing our memory for the Latin names. An important part of the apothecary and herbology class. Thankfully, she picks me and awaits my answer.  “Rosa Aeternitas!”, I beam. 

“ Clever girl”, she chuckles before throwing me the taffy. Once Miss Wood picks you, you're out. I wait patiently for the rest of the surprise questions to be over. She dismisses our class, and I gather my books and my purse from my desk and scurry out the door. 

The bustle of Cambridge in the afternoon always flustered me. Naturally, people were on their way home. Usually, I’d be taking a Hansom cab deeper into the city to not exert myself, lest I end up in one of my episodes. My Dear Edmond would have a conniption if I dared to walk the entire way. 

I make my trek towards the local park to meet Julia, a friend I’d made last year at a boutique. At first, I found her quite eccentric. She dressed in elaborate fashions and conducted herself in such a laissez-faire manner. However, it was hard to dislike her. When we met, I’d only just moved to the city and was desperate for friends. A woman can waste away in her marriage if she does not have a friend to chat with from time to time. At least that’s what Julia said. For a woman on her fourth marriage, I’d take her word for it. 

I make my usual stop after class at the roasted potato cart. I grab one wrapped in paper and begin to peel it with my teeth. I should have been paying attention. When I round the corner, I bump into something firm and hard, which nearly knocks me off balance. A large hand wraps around my wrist and keeps me upright. “ Sorry”, I wince. My books slide across the cobblestone walkway, and the wind sends my hat flying. A strange man, standing well over 6 feet in a maroon suit and glasses, catches my hat and picks up my books. 

“ My apologies, ma’am. Are you Alright? ” he says in a strange accent. I accept the books from him. When our eyes meet, the power of his gaze nearly knocks me off balance again. It startles me in that way something frightening does. Shocks me in a way that something beautiful does. I once saw a tiger at a zoo when I was a small girl. It felt like that. I avert my gaze before I can take in the rest of his face. I’m flustered and shuffling my things back into my bag.

“ No bother, I hear that I have two left feet”, I banter. I put my hat back on and fasten my bag, slinging it around my back. I inevitably have to meet his eyes again. Though I don’t want to. I do. They’re the most peculiar pair I’ve ever seen. Brown, but then a prism of other things, the longer you look. Like church windows. Something hot rushes through my chest when I study his face. His expression is twisted in pain. His hat is pressed against his chest in respect. Broad straight nose, perfectly proportioned lips, bronze complexion and a sharp jaw.

“ Never”, he murmurs. As if he could possibly know. His hands have a slight tremor. Maybe he’s poorly ? He’s handsome beyond compare. I tried not to dwell on that feeling too long. I’d already found my great love. I gather myself and shoot a look of disinterest. I wouldn’t want him to assume I’m open to conversation. He's well put together. feet. Here in London, a wealthy man of color was a rarity. I should know. I found one and married him. 

I feel that familiar tickle in my chest. I reach for my handkerchief and begin to cough into it. His eyes darken with sadness as he watches me. I’m in no mood for a pity party. Clearing my throat, I sputter, “Thank you and Good day, Sir.” He’s stunned as he watches me walk away. Mouth moving but not finding the words. Maybe he’s not well in his mind. Either way, I wouldn’t stay to find out. 

I find Julia on a park bench overlooking a large pond with swans and ducks. I hug her, as it has been a few weeks since I saw her. A honeymoon in Italy left her revitalized and glowing. “ Amina! Oh, how I’ve missed you!” she gushed. I chuckle, embracing her tightly. Her auburn hair is pinned perfectly. Her fur coat is tailored to perfection. 

“ How was your honeymoon?” I exclaim, sitting down beside her. 

She moans exasperatedly. I gawk. “ Splendid. We were on the Amalfi Coast. He was absolutely delicious. You know, I dobelieve this is the one. I know I said that about the first two, but this one is just….”, she trails off and shivers, cat-like eyes widening and squinting as she reminisces. She laughs at the astonished face I make.

I giggle. “ I’m happy to have you back. Please tell me all about it. Was the ocean beautiful?”

She shakes her head. “ No more about me! What about you? What have you been up to?!”, she grins like a Cheshire. 

I nod. “ Well, I started my apothecary class. Edmond encouraged me to do it. It’s been really helpful. You know, I’ve been trying to find something to help with how poorly I’ve been feeling. Whatever the doctor prescribed hasn’t been working for me. It’s very insightful, and it’s nice to get away from the house for a few hours.”

Her cheerful expression drops a bit when I mention my health. It’s something I’ve gotten used to with people. She pauses momentarily, almost as if the knowledge had been dropped down into her. “ I hear mullein is quite beneficial for the lungs. Perhaps you could give that a try?” she suggests. I pull out my pencil and write it down in my book for later on. I could use all the help I could get with my search for “the cure”. 

Her demeanor shifts back into her eccentric self, and she turns to me with an excited expression. “ Well, I’m glad you mentioned getting out of the house. Have you heard that the carnival is coming to the city? I think we should go. I’ll be able to introduce you to my gentleman friend that I was telling you about. The one who introduced me to my husband. He’s hosting a group of his friends and should like to show us an exciting evening on the town. Afterward, he’d like to have dinner with us at his new property”, she suggests. 

I hesitate. “ Are you certain this will be appropriate? Should I bring Edmond?” I nudge. 

She waves her hand flippantly. “ Of course not. There will be other people at the dinner, of course. Other women and men. It is simply a soirée. You’ll find that Mr. Tepes is quite fond of music. We will likely listen to his collection rather than speak. He’s a man of few words. It should be a fine evening indeed”, she urges. I reluctantly hesitate but ultimately agree. 

Amina Boudreaux Pov

I blink awake in Vlad's bedroom. I hold my fingers out in front of me and count each finger out loud. A trick to see if I was still dreaming. My grandmother taught me this when I’d wake from one dream and fall into another. 

I’m here. My body feels heavy. My energy is low. A cup of coffee helps me kick-start my morning. Nya is beside herself with joy. When I told her the news about Mexico, she screamed, and then she cried, which was understandable. This was practically a teenage dream for her. I fondly remember being in our late teens and figuring out the astrocartography for the places she wanted to visit. Her Venus line ran through Mexico —it was meant to be. The astrological place where she’d feel the most beautiful, romantic, and creative. It wasn’t hard to understand why she was drawn to it.

Her first time on a private jet was like taking a kid to a zoo. She ran her fingers along buttons and stitches. Our pilot introduced himself, and she flirted with him for shits and giggles. We took a celebratory shot before takeoff. I was under the assumption that Nya would be her usual high-energy self, but she dozed off an hour in. I kept counting my fingers in my head, discreetly pushing my fingers down one by one. Vlad quietly worked on his computer, but he caught me counting. I can see the question forming on his face, but he doesn’t say a thing. I roll my shoulders and close my eyes, trying to follow suit with Nya. 

A quick nap serves me some good. I eventually tune my thoughts out and focus on Nya's experience. I’m forehand deep in a box of chicken biscuit crackers. Vlad is working in a quiet room in the back of the cabin. I notice Nya pull out one of her carry-ons, and it takes a minute for it to register. I see the colorful packaging, and then it clicks. Edibles. I gawk at her audacity. 

“ I’m telling”, I blurt. She dives for me, slapping her hand over my mouth. I can taste the cheese dust on them. I lick her hand, and she moves it from my lips like she touched fire. 

“You're a fuckin' loser if you tell”, she warns. 

I roll my eyes. “ You’re a nurse. What if they drug test you?!” I snort. 

Nya sighs with exaggeration. “ We finished our testing at the top of the year already. I don’t smoke or consume this stuff regularly, so it will clear out of my system quicker than an avid user.  Any more remarks, you little prude?” she warns. 

I start laughing uncontrollably. “ Don’t let them catch yo’ black ass, I’m not getting you outta’ jail”, I cackle. 

I see her cut her eyes at me before she closes her bag and puts it back into the overhead cubby. “ You must not want none then”, she sings. 

My laughter is cut short. “ I ain’t say all that”, I excuse. 

She smirks at me. “ Whatchu’ sayin’ then?” 

“ We aren’t 19 anymore, is what I’m saying”, I excuse.

She shrugs. “ That may be true, but I’m getting high on the beach, and nobody is stopping me”, she plops back down in her seat dramatically. 

“ Policia! Policia!”, I yell playfully. Nya jumps on me, hand on my mouth, trying to stifle my yells. “ Poliiimmmhm!”, I screech behind my hand. 

I can hear Vlad shuffle from his cabin and walk around the corner to check on us. Nya’s eyes widen when she sees him like she got in trouble. I laugh even harder. The puzzled look on his face makes me feel bad for his confusion because I realize he's been sleeping. “ Sorry.." I pout at his face.

Nya scrambles off me. “ Sorry, Slenderman! We didn’t mean to wake you. We’ll keep it down”, Nya pleads. Vlad shakes his head at us and leaves. I throw a pillow at her head, which sends us both I nto an air boxing match. 

Los Cabos, Mexico, is on southern tip of the Baja California peninsula. Nothing but cliffs and beaches and a slew of resorts. It's absolutely stunning. When our jet landed, I marveled at how blue the water was. It's so bright it’s nearly neon. Las Ventanas al Paraíso, A Rosewood Resort is all I see in bold letters when we arrive. We’d come to find that this luxury resort was practically everything we dreamed of along the Sea of Cortez. 

Our villa was disconnected from the hotel. The concierge called it the “Ty Warner mansion,” which featured two ocean-view master suites with their own bathrooms, a 328-foot infinity pool, an oceanfront terrace, a fire pit, a private garden, a private theatre room, a gym, a bar, and full staff service. I did a quick Google search as our luggage was unloaded into our room. 200k for a 4-night stay. As for Vlad? Free of charge. I found a handwritten note from the resort's owner, with a bottle of champagne, on the dining room table.  Apparently, it was a Thankyou for his investments and support over the years. All vampire-related, I’m sure. Speaking of vampires, this place was crawling with them. Once you spot one, it’s hard to stop. 

Everything is aquamarine from the amount of light the windows let in. I feel like I’m in a sandals commercial with every winding turn. Nya takes a walk around the villa with a dirty Shirley in her hand, rubbing her fingers across the indigenous wooden sculptures in each room. The bathrooms are always my favorite part. I could see the pool from the roof.

Eventually, we both showered, changing into our bathing suits while Vlad ordered room service. We eat outside on the terrace, sun beaming down on us as we sip margaritas as big as our heads. I’m already planning what pictures to take with my camera at sunset. 

When Vlad joins us again, I can tell he’s about to give us the rundown. “ Enjoying yourselves?” he says as he slides next to me.

“ Best. Day. Ever”, Nya sighs, clearly content with the meal we both ate. We struggle to finish our drinks. 

Vlad nods. “ You guys know we’ll be here for four days. Pretty soon, security will be right outside the entrance.  If you need to travel off Ty Warner, then you must have security with you”, he explains. A knock on the door cuts his speech short. Vlad heads for the door and opens it.

In walks this ruggishly handsome, greying man who stood at about 6ft tall. He’s in a black hat, jeans, and a black shirt that reads 'security'. His brown hair is pushed back, short and curly, hanging behind his ear under his cap. He’s got a gun on his hip too, which I found strange. His presence smacks me in the face. I feel a chill when our eyes meet and something tells me he’s not human.

Eventually his eyes flit over to Nya. Vlad is now behind me, hand resting gently on my waist. I can’t help but notice that it’s a polite but subtle way to signal who’s who. A quiet “this one is with me”. I’m sure the guard didn’t need to question who was who when he saw Nya. I can see his pupils dilate as she walks towards him. She stunned in a too small sunset colored bikini, showing off pretty much every dip and curve of her body, except the cover-up wrapped around her hips to cover her butt. He takes a quick eyefull of her body and recovers quickly, but I know that look. He’s attracted to her and for good reason. I’ve told her many times she should try her hand at modeling, but she chose the stethoscope instead. I can’t entirely blame her.

I know the sparkle in her eye. She’s up to something already. She begins to circle him like he’s prey, which is quite comical considering he towers over her, even with her above-average height. She sizes him up before standing in front of him. His piercing eyes follow her, not breaking eye contact once. “ Who are you supposed to be?” she teases. 

The security guard clears his throat, “Alex, ma’am. Alex O’Neil. Head of security.”

“Nya…”, she drawls boredly. No handshake. No welcoming smile, just a hand on her hip and a suspicious stare. 

“ Hi Alex, I’m Amina”, I wave to him. He nods in my direction but fails to meet my eyes because he’s still staring at her. And it takes everything in me not to laugh because he has no idea he might as well be staring down a shark. When Nya didn’t like somebody, it was always funny to me because she liked everybody. And everybody liked her. It was just the type of person she was. 

She folds her arms defensively. “ You won’t be a problem, will you, Alex? I’d hate for you to put a damper on my vacation”, she warns. 

Alex chuckles and shakes his head. “ No ma’am. It’ll be like I’m not even there, I assure you”, he says. I can hear the southern drawl in his voice. It’s a little too sharp to be Louisianaian. Maybe the Carolinas? Texas? Georgia?

“Is that so?” she hums. A nasty, playful edge to her words. She stands straighter now. Reeking of a quiet confidence.

“ My company prides itself on a more hands-off approach to security. I’ll stay behind to give you ladies enough space to feel comfortable. Trailing just out of sight. I intervene only when absolutely necessary while ensuring your safety and evaluating and eliminating perceived threats ”, he explains. 

She cocks her head to the side smartly, as if to challenge him. “You think you’ll be able to keep your distance at a bar or a club and do your job? How would you be able to hear if something went down and you're ten seats away? Seems pointless.”

A slow smirk spread across his face. He’s enjoying this, and I nearly have to press my lips together to hold in my laugh. She doesn’t find anything funny, of course. “ Well, I have excellent hearing. It boarders on the supernatural, some might say. Don't worry”, he confirms. She doesn’t look convinced. 

I quietly clear my throat and turn to Vlad, whispering quietly to him. “Is he a…?”

He gently shakes his head. “No.”

“Human?”, I counter. 

Vlad shakes his head once more. “Werewolf”, he mouths to me. I gasp quietly, and I see Alex watching me. He offers me a stern but somehow reassuring look. As if to say that I can trust him? As Nya and Alex chat, I turn to Vlad quietly. 

“Why?” I ask. 

Vlad shrugs and whispers, “They’re masters of security, remote viewing, safety, and combat. Their ability to assess and detect danger borders on psychic. They’re the muscle of our world with a natural inclination to be protective of humankind. They will keep you safe, and they get along with humans far better than my kind do.”

I smile. “Well, I think we get along pretty well”, I flirt. A small smile graces his face, and I lean in to peck him on the cheek. 

Vlad interjects Nya’s interrogation so that he and Alex can talk about the itinerary . She joins me on the couch, staring at Alex every few minutes. Alex’s gaze finds hers each and every time. “He’s really gonna let this Sons of Anarchy lookin' muthafucka' tail us the whole damn time”, she hisses. 

I stifle my laugh. “ Nya, be nice.” 

She quietly pouts until he leaves. Eventually, I pull her out of her sulking with her playlist, hooking it up to the Bluetooth speaker in the villa. Vlad is a great sport, retiring early so we can dance, drink, and be obnoxious. He knew how special this trip was for Nya, and I appreciated that he gave us our privacy. 

I have a little bit more to drink than I probably should. We were tipsy, walking down to the beach from the villa steps. The sunset was the most beautiful one I’d seen, maybe in my entire life. Nya makes a joke about playing mermaids, and I accept the offer. That’s how we end up collecting seashells on the bank in plastic bags. At night, the waves swell so large that we have to make our way back towards the villa to get out of its path. Butler service starts a bonfire for us, and we watch TV outside until we fall asleep.

I unfortunately don’t remember much else from our night. I barely remember my back touching the couch, or even if I had dinner. That familiar falling sensation was back when I closed my eyes. This wasn’t the spins. This was dreadful. I’m pulled back into a body that doesn’t want me in it. 

Amina Smith POV

Absinthe and cigar-scented nights seemed to be a regular occurrence for Julia's strange gentleman friend. Mr. Tepes has every vice a man or woman could desire. He was simply a supplier and a man of excess. If one wanted opium, Mr. Tepes could provide it. If one needed cannabis, he gave it freely. All the liquor one could hope for. A gaggle of beautiful women and men—pick your preference. Whatever the wish…he would grant it. His very presence brings out a vile hedonism in the room. People over ate, over drank, over-talked, and drowned their senses rather than gently indulging them. Something about that made me feel sick. As if it were some bribe. In a way, it kept everybody around him subdued and unable to question his curious nature. Mr.Tepes does not eat, rarely speaks, and wears glasses indoors as if lamp lights offend him. This posse he keeps around cannot look him in the eye. It brings me great offense. 

I think back to the circus just hours before our current dinner. Imagine my shock when I realized that I had already met Julia’s Gentleman friend on the corner of the street. Without a doubt, I can say that this was the most peculiar evening of my life. Not even the animals could resist Mr. Tepes's presence. The wolves trailed him behind him in their cages as if they wished to stroll beside him. The birds chirped with unrest. The dancing mice ran around their enclosures in complete disarray. The owls hoot and squawk, chests swelling with fright. The foxes chirp a strange cry. It was quite disturbing to me, though the crowds enjoyed it very much. To them, it would seem that it was just a lively night for the animals. A luck of the draw. But I knew. I knew that everything in Mr. Tepes' path unraveled and malfunctioned at his feet. Though I couldn’t be sure why. 

Mr. Tepes cleared a path ahead of us, strolling casually with his hands behind his back. The crowd parts in his favor as Julia and I follow, arms interlinked. There was a strange chill to the air tonight. We bundled ourselves the best we could in our coats. The animals' unrest had reached a fever pitch. They were screaming now. Mr. Tepes calmly drawls, almost as if the entire ordeal was ordinary to him. “Listen to them. The children of the night. What music they make”, he sighs in a quiet tone. 

I push my food around my plate in deep thought. I study his profile while a gentleman has his attention. There is an unnatural shine to him. A strange and timed perfection to his posture, his features, the way he breathes unevenly as if to remind himself. With the grace of a swan in a skin suit. What if he were a demon? Did I even believe in such a thing? To my dismay, he catches me staring with a swift snap of his head. As if the word itself echoed into his mind the minute it materialized in my own. I can hardly hide my disgust. I look away, then down, back down at my roast. 

“ Ms. Smith…?” Mr.Tepes calls for my attention. 

I look up shyly. “ Mrs. Jones”, I clear my throat nervously. “It’s Mrs.Jones now, sir”, I quip. 

A small smirk graces his lips. “ My apologies. Mrs…Jones. How are you enjoying the roast?” he asks me. 

“ It’s delicious, "I answered shortly. 

A brunette woman with strange-colored eyes sat across from me, her bubbly exterior bordering on frightening. She lifts one of the trays. “Treacle tart?” she asks. 

I smile politely. “ I had one earlier. Very tasty. Thank you.”

She nods and sets the tray back down. She was another who drank but did not eat. Mr. Tepes slowly stands from his seat and walks over to the window to open the curtain, revealing a large view of Cambridge. His guests gasp with exaggeration. I can concede that Mr.Tepes has one of the largest and most extravagant apartments in all of London. I will say, however, that even with all these beautiful wonders surrounding him, he seems rather lonely. A wife and a child would surely solve his woes. I wonder why he hasn’t gone down that route. 

We listen to more of the records with Mr.Tepes while his dinner guests boast about their adventures around the world. Julia knew how to work a room with her stories in France and the Far East. Even I couldn’t deny myself the entertainment of watching her speak. Mr.Tepes, however, no matter how formal, had a wandering eye. One that would land on me when he felt I was not looking. I didn’t understand this push-and-pull. It was clear he wanted to speak with me. Why? I did not know, and as the night rolled on, I realized I did not care to know. Because I dislike Mr.Tepes most ardently. His incessant need to seem mysterious was a bothersome gimmick. One, I grew tired of when the clock struck 11. 

Julia decided to stay longer, which meant my walk around the corner to catch my ride would be quiet. Perhaps it was for the best, considering that I was ready to snuggle into bed with Edmond, enjoy a cup of tea, and drift off to sleep. I don’t make my exit grand. In fact, I don’t announce it at all. I sneak out during one of the performances of the rented ballet dancers in the living room. 

It's meant to be a short and brisk walk. Nothing that my body can't handle. London is wet and cold tonight, as expected. My ride is just a block away once I turn the corner. I can hear thunder in the distance. It's a good thing that home is somewhat close to the fair. 

My shoes click along the cobblestone as I pull my coat tighter around my neck. Londoners were lively tonight, and the party was clearly only just starting. Drunkards pass me with warble hellos. I keep my head down and track the final minutes before I reach my destination, and then I feel something pull my arm back. I react with fists, slamming against a heavy chest. 

“What's the rush there, love?” a drunkard slurs, pulls me into his grasp. 

“ Get away from me!!”, I seethe, leaning in to bite him on the arm. He yowls in pain and releases me with a shove. I stumble on my bum and fall backward, padding my fall with my hands. The drunkard falls back, too, drunkenly falling on his bum and flailing on his back like a bug. His hands are bleeding from scraping the ground. He raises them up to his eye level and drunkenly wheezes out a laugh when he sees the blood trickle down his forearms. I make a slow rise to stand as the man suddenly looks to his left. His eyes widen into saucers as he stares into the dark alleyway.

His face contorts into terror as he begins to crawl l away from something. “ No! No, please”, he stutters. I can barely see anything, but something closes in on him. One second, he’s a couple of feet in front of me, and then he’s gone, pulled by both legs into the alley. And then he’s shouting. Shouting and pleading. My heart is beating so fast that I have to put my hand over my face to quiet down. I don’t know what to do. Do I call for help? He may have been a drunken fool, but he deserved better than to be mauled alive. My body creeps forward. I won’t be of much help, but I looked. So maybe, if his family asks how it happened, I can tell them what ate him. It’s the right thing to do. Surely? 

I creep around the corner to take a peek. I expect a fox or Cayote. Perhaps a rabid dog? Maybe even one of the animals from the circus. But no. Nothing like that at all. It’s a person. Or maybe it used to be. Standing at 7 feet tall, the tall humanoid crouched over the now dead drunkard, pulling away heaps of flesh from his neck as if it were biting into a melon. The poor victim's fingers twitch despite him being long gone, like a dead animal after a kill. I freeze in terror. It’s bulky and human-like, with sharp, pointed ears, razor-sharp teeth, and reflective eyes. I notice the too-tight clothing on its form. Shades, tall hat, crocodile gentleman dress shoes, imported suit. Just like Mr.Tepes….

The demon's head slowly turns towards me, mouth covered in flesh and blood. It slings the drunkard away from it like trash, letting his deceased form slide down the wall. I begin to carefully back away. Its hands are up in a careful surrender as if to subdue me. “ Amina!”, it rasps. Dear god. Dear god. Oh god. I grab the cross on my necklace and begin to pray.

Amina Boudreaux POV

I jump awake when I see Vlad, and actively recoil. I’m so frightened I can’t even manage a sound. He flinches away. His brows are drawn back in confusion, but also in slight hurt. And that look alone grounds me back into reality.

Nya lets out a breath of relief. “We’ve been trying to wake you up for 10 minutes! I was about to call an ambulance, girl!” she exasperated. 

I slowly rise from my seat, peeling my body away from the couch like a Post-it note. The evidence from last night is sitting on the coffee table. Good wine. And a few shots. I guess I stopped right before my guts could churn, but I definitely had a headache. 

Vlad is already handing me a bottle of an electrolyte mix and a delicious breakfast bowl decorated with flowers, exotic plants, and fruits. I mumble in appreciation and take it from him. He looks a little worried but he doesn’t express that in front of Nya.

“I’m okay, promise,” I kiss his temple. I finish breakfast, narrowly avoiding an interrogation from him.

We started the day with a shopping spree on a borrowed black card. “ Get whatever you want”, he said on our way out the door. We were having way too much fun. As it turns out, Alex was right about us barely noticing him. Once we left our escort car, we lost track of him almost immediately. I was happy that I waited until Nya was with me to do something frivolous. I might not have been able to do it alone without feeling guilty about it. I watch her try on leather Prada gloves for the winter, knowing damn well New Orleans is rarely cold enough for that kind of thing. She can’t choose between red and black, so she chooses both. 

Designer Resort wear was my weakness. I couldn’t stop buying those loose-fitting dresses that hugged at the hip and exposed the back. But my favorite part of high-end shopping was the champagne flutes while somebody else picked my shoes for me. The red carpet rolls out when an associate knows you’ll spend the money. 

At lunch we find ourselves sitting on a cliffside restaurant overlooking the vibrant Pacific Ocean. We eat the fancy head-on fish and pluck ice-cold shrimp from the cocktail cups. In between beats of silence, all we could do was stare out into the water in awe. As little girls, we always pretended that we were on vacation and now ….here we are.

“I feel like I’m in a dream…”, Nya sighs, leaning back into her seat.

“ It’s beautiful right? ”, I smile. 

“Can you believe people live like this all the time? ” she asks with an incredulous expression.

I nod. “ It took me a while to wrap my head around it. Vlad isn’t particularly a minimalist.”

She scoffs. “ Ya’ think!”

“ What do you wanna’ get into tonight?” I waved my hand at the waiter, who was thankfully already in our vicinity. 

“ I definitely wanna’ do the club just to say that we did it. But more than anything, I wanna keep exploring. I mean, there’s so much we haven’t done. I saw a couple parasailing…”, she suggests. 

I shake my head like a rabid dog. “ Hell fuckin’ no. Get Alex to do it. You’re a little daredevil”. 

“ You’re such a baby”, she whined. 

“ If you're hungry for some ocean action, why don’t we go on a dolphin tour?” I suggest.

Nya rolls her eyes playfully. “ Alright. Got any Dramamine?”

I greet the waiter and place the card on the checkbook with the cash tip. She collects it and leaves. “ I’m sure it’s stocked in the escort car. Vlad put just about everything in there ”, I laughed. 

Nya smiled. Her tone turned inquisitive. “ Ya’ know…he really trusts you to be giving you his card this early. I mean, no complaints from me, but rich guys are usually a lot more careful, right? What voodoo are you workin'?!”, she giggles. 

I grin fondly. “We trust each other. He’s proven himself to me quite a bit.” 

“ You wanna head back to the villa for a bit after the tour? I think I wanna’ nap before—-there he is”, Nya hisses, squinting her eyes. 

I can see Alex in the distance, mid-call about 50-60 feet away. He waves over at both of us, and Nya rolls her eyes with irritation. Clearly, he saw her annoyance because he playfully inches his finger at her, and it gets her even more upset. “ Why don’t you like this man? You just met him. Vlad vetted him, he’s cool”, I laugh. 

Nya crosses her arm and whips her head in my direction, stopping in her pursuit of the car. “ I need to get laid tonight, I really don’t need 'Mr. Foo Fighters' up my ass and in my business the whole evening.” 

Alex is leaning up against the car, aimlessly chewing his gum, smirking at Nya. He opened the door so we could slide in. I nestle into my seat. Nya stares him down, eyes scanning down his features. “ I’m actually more of a Deftones guy”, he chuckles raspily at her pissed expression. Her eyes widen in fear as she slides in next to me, wondering how on earth he heard her from that far. Before he shuts the door, he mutters, “Super hearing…remember?” As he slams it closed. 

The Dolphin tour was the perfect way to end the day. Imagine my shock when I realized how big they are up close. Back at the villa, I pick out a skimpy outfit for the night club before curling and rolling my hair in preparation for our post-dinner nap. Vlad had been gone most of the day and still hadn’t come back.

When it’s time to leave again, around 11pm, we stand at the door, double-checking our bags for the essentials. I add another coat of lip gloss to my lips. I’m in huge barrel curls, a mint-colored spaghetti-strap mini dress, and heels to match. Nya wore a burnt orange cowl-neck mini dress that showed off her perfect legs and complemented her skin tone. Her thick, coily hair was pinned up into a large pineapple. I helped with her makeup and accessories since I brought way more than I should have. I chose silver, and she chose gold. 

Alex nearly inhales his gum when he sees her walk out of the hotel room, causing him to cough on and off for about ten minutes. It takes everything in me not to start laughing.

A club carved into the edge of a cliff had wait lines around the corner. One mention of Vlad's name got us on the list. It was gorgeous on the outside, with white stone, glass railings, and a hot-pink dance floor. Waves crashed somewhere beneath the thump of the music, the rhythm swallowed by reggaeton and flashing lights. A line of fire pits flickered along the perimeter, and the wind fanning the flames sent a thin mist of ocean water into the air. Nya stopped just past the entrance, taking it in with a slow grin. 

“ Alex, can you help me up the stairs?” She turned to him as he trailed behind us. I shake my head quietly. Her tone was just a little too sweet to be entirely innocent. Alex holds out his large hand, and she thwacks her purse into it. He raises a brow at her and then tosses the handle of the bag into his other hand before offering his palm to her once more. She delicately takes it as he leads her up the steep stone steps. I click behind them, watching as the lights engulf their backs and then me. The music is so loud I can feel it in my chest. 

After we ditched our purses, we headed straight for the bar. Its soft gold glow felt like a beacon. An invitation to get fucked up. We start off with two shots first. Then Nya ordered a tall, icy margarita rimmed with chili salt, mango, and lime. I go for a paloma with grapefruit fizzing under a clean pour of tequila, and a sprig of rosemary that I leave on the counter before we make a toast. “To bad decisions,” Nya said.

I add a swift, “To safe ones that feel bad”, before we clink glasses. 

After a bit of liquid courage, the dance floor pulled us in like a high tide. Bodies moved close, music threading through everything like our hips, shoulders. Nya was already gone in it, her rhythm easy and magnetic. It didn’t take long before the attention followed. The music and the drinks were so good tonight that I couldn’t help but dance.

I roll my hips to Masego as we dance together. I could feel the hot air rising in the club, as the humidity from the sea air seeped onto the dance floor. A thin film of sweat coats my arms and legs, as bodies close in from all sides. I couldn’t remember the last time that everybody danced at a nightclub. It’s never been my reality before now. The movies with the dance battles were clearly all lying unless the fear of being recorded killed the dancing spirits in club participants. 

Every song the DJ played kept getting better and better. Beyonce, Masego, house mixes, dancehall, reggaeton. Nya leaned in towards me. “That DJ is fine as fuck. He’d been staring for the past hour!” Nya shouted. I looked over and, lo and behold, he was. And he was exactly Nya’s type. Tall, muscular, long hair (locs), facial hair, and nice clothes. He was already smiling at her, and she was smiling at him. “ Imma’ request a song. I’ll be right back”, she slinks over to DJbooth. I head back to the bar and order another drink.  

I look through the drink menu, and I feel a presence behind me, which causes me to turn my head. An ambiguous-looking guy with shoulder-length hair and a muscular build sits next to me. “ Hi, I’m Enez. I saw you from across the bar. Can I buy you a drink?” he asks politely with a soft smile. He didn’t seem all that threatening, but that didn’t mean anything. From what I could tell, he was human. 

I smile back politely. “ Hi, I already paid for my drink.”

He tilts his head. “ Water, maybe? It’s pretty hot in here. Even I’m sweating a bit ”, he adds in a polite tone. 

I chuckle. “It is, but I’m good. I’ve got water in the car.  Thanks though”, I urge. 

He nods and turns to the bar to order a shot. The waitress hands me a tequila sunrise, and I sip a bit of it before eating the cherry and placing the stem on the counter.  I swirl my straw into the ice and sip it slowly, trying to look as disinterested as possible. I can feel his stare on the side of my face.

Suddenly, A fog wafts over me so heavily that I have to blink to clear it. Why do I feel so drunk all of a sudden? “ Look at me”, Enez quietly whispers. My eyes meet his, and I feel the colors in the room begin to swirl and run together like paint on a canvas. His eyes are pulsing with a warmth that pulls me in like a vortex.

“ You are sooo….gorgeous”, I slur. 

There’s a disturbance. I’m jolted back into sobriety. I push my drink away standing up with a stumble, and bumping into a warm body. Alex stables me with his hand to keep me from falling. His chest is puffed and defensive, and for the first time, I see that almost crazed wolfish quality that he has. “ Do you have any fucking idea who you're fucking with right now? Do you know who she is, son?” Alex reprimands Enez in an almost authoritative tone. And considering he was clearly his senior, it was even more embarrassing. Enez stands defensively, eyes morphing to slits, and for a second, his eyes turn completely black, and it startles me. It startles me so much that I grab the back of Alex’s shirt.

Alex scoffs at his attempt to scare him. “  That’s Dracula’s bride. Wait until I tell him the shit you tried to pull. Call your buddies off the other girl, too, or I will make a scene. Do it. Now,” Alex commands. His southern drawl was thinning with each word. 

Enez’s facade crumbles into fear. “ Listen, man… I didn’t know, dude,” he pleads. He then turns and whistles, which signals the Dj’s attention. The DJ stops to look at our group. I see Nya standing next to him at the booth, wearing his headphones. She waves excitedly to me, and I frown as I trail behind Alex onto the dance floor. 

“ What was that?” I shout over the music, holding onto the back of his shirt so that I don’t get lost. 

“ Incubus. Nasty fucking creatures. Stay away. This place is crawling with them. He was trying to siphon your attention and your money. In the worst-case scenario, he would have tried to steal your essence. Your beauty--everything”, Alex shouts back, stopping just at the bottom of the DJ booth. The Dj holds his hands up as if to surrender and whispers something into Nya’s ear. She removes her headphones and joins us on the dance floor. When she comes closer into view, I can see her frowning.

“ What the fuck?”, she snaps at Alex. I go to try and a block Alex from her incoming fury, speaking before he had time to explain. 

“ They’re pervs”, I mutter. “ Trust me. Some guy at the bar was making a pass, and the DJ was in on it. Let’s go to another club”, I insist. 

She puts her hand on her hip and sighs. “ Fine. I’ll take your word for it, but NOT his”, she says before cutting her eyes at him and walking towards the exit with my hand in her own. 

We do eventually find another club, smaller, more exclusive. The drinks were admittedly better here, and it was right on the beach. I went heavier on the tequila than I should have. I could feel the introvert leaving my body with each sip. Nya is officially tipsy and barreling towards drunk. The dancing wasn’t helping. The night was starting to take on a strange, fuzzy quality. My memory was working less and less, until each moment felt more special than it should have. Nya and I are dancing without a care in the center of dance floor. A man attempts to get her attention. 

He leans in, saying something neither of us could fully hear.

Nya tilted her head. “What?” He tried again, louder.

She laughed, not unkind, but not interested either, and turned back to me, grabbing my hands, spinning me into the beat." Stay with me,” she said.

“I’m not going nowhere,” I replied, grinning with all my teeth. Whatever they put in the drinks here made me feel like I could lift a car.

Our dance was loose, in sync without trying. Years of knowing each other show in small things. How we mirrored, how we made space, how she knew I was getting winded before I did.  

Another drink appeared. Another break. Then repeat.

Somewhere beyond all the moody lighting, Alex blended into the walls like an enigma of sorts. I couldn’t spot him. Couldn’t find him. And maybe for the first time in years, neither one of us cared about getting hammered. There’s no designated driver between the two of us so why not?

Another round of shots and I felt like I could fly.  We leave the club and walk back up the cobblestone steps to the main boardwalk. Everything’s funny. Nothing is serious. We dance to something I can’t remember. Nya ends up on a table somehow, and I fall into a fit of laughter that nearly takes my breath away. We run into a group of girls who buy us drinks, and we swap numbers, the liquor adding an extra layer of friendliness that we didn’t need. 

Time slipped.

The ocean air was sobering enough to keep me upright. Men came and went—some bold, some polite, some instantly forgettable. Nya entertained it, flirted when she felt like it, dismissed it when she didn’t. I stayed close, amused, occasionally stepping in with a look that said enough before words were needed. We bar hop and don't pay for a single thing--not even fries.

Another drink.

This one was stronger. As soon as it hit my stomach, I just knew I fucked up. That was the last drink. Was every person we passed staring? Was it just my imagination? I felt the brush of a woman’s arm against mine as we passed a crowd. A wave of irritation descends over me, and I react before thinking. “ Jesus fucking Christ. Do people say excuse me anymore?” I scoff. 

“ That girl wasn't paying attention, Mimi,” Nya slurred. I whip my head around to look back at her and I see those eyes. Lined with black. Sharp black holes pin me in place. 

Amina Medina. 

Amina Medina.

Amina Medina. 

I dart for the trashcan to empty up the last 4 hours. “ Shit”, Nya sneers as she holds my hair. I can hear the thump of Alex’s boots in the distance.

“You're done” is the last thing I hear him mutter before my vision goes black. 

My head is pounding when I wake up. A breeze of ocean mist licks my skin, and I crack my eyes open. It’s still dark. I’m on the patio, and Vlad is across from me with his laptop in his lap. There’s a tiny lined trashcan below me and a bottle of water. I sit up, holding my head. The pain is sharp and ice-picky. In a blink, he’s at my side, nursing me with water. 

I grab the bottle and sit up straight, fully accepting whatever my stomach does with the fluid I add back into my body. Thankfully, my stomach seems to have settled, but my head is still pounding. 

“ I wasn’t aware you were such a party girl”, he chuckles as he joins me on the opposite chair. 

I shake my head in utter regret. “ Nya brings it out of me. I figured, why not for old time's sake, and clearly that was a mistake”, I chuckled painfully. 

“ Let’s get you washed up and in bed”, he soothes, picking me up bridal style. A long shower helped take the edge off the headache. By the time I got to my room, the sun was starting to come up. I knew it would be a late start to the day. 

Amina Smith Pov

My tears spill into my Lapsang. Edmond rests his hand on my knee in support as I begin to quiver in thought. "Razor-sharp teeth. Pale skin. L-Like he could be made of stone. Glowing eyes. Like a cat's eyes. And the wings. I couldn't tell how long they were, but they were as wide as his body. M-Maybe wider", I stuttered. 

Doctor Van Helsing smokes from his pipe and offers me a sympathetic look. "I see", he ponders. His eyes trail around the room before they land on something placed far behind me. He slowly stands and retrieves it. It's a brown journal. He flips through the pages before he lands on a photo. He holds the book up. "Like this?" he says, flashing the page in my direction. I scream in fright, slapping my hand over my mouth, feeling the tears gather in the inner corners of my eye. 

Doctor Van Helsing takes my cup and places it on the coffee table. Emond grabs both of my hands, trying to soothe me quietly. "I apologize for the scare, Mrs.Jones. I just had to be sure. This creature you've stumbled across is very old. Very, very old. A calculated beast. There is a Latin word called sanguisuga, which means blood sucker or leech. Romanian folklore tells the story of a man named Dracula, the father of all vampiric life. The name of this creature comes from the Greek word Pi which means "to drink". He was the King of Wallachia in the 1400s. He was cursed by god for his cruelty and brutality. In turn, he was forced to live the rest of his days entirely immortal. This demon feasts on the blood of human beings to stay alive. It is very powerful indeed. It can only be killed through fire or decapitation. Wood can badly injure, but the correct blow can be fatal. It's a nasty creature. He has spread this curse to other people through his bite. I've encountered quite a few cases of vampirism. It cannot be undone. Consider yourself lucky to have gotten away, my dear", he warns.

I can feel the panic bubbling up inside my stomach. To think that I was so close to death. "I-I do not feel that I have escaped him. I-I feel that I am being watched. Especially at night, doctor", I plead.

Van Helsing does not look surprised. "Oh yes, my dear. You are being watched indeed. But never the matter. We will not let him take you. I specialize in this type of beast. They seem to have taken a liking to England recently. Every few years, there is a trend in a new country. There were whispers in the coastal African cities and Eastern Europe. In America, the natives were calling it all kinds of names. Wendigo. Skin walker. Wabanaki. In my research, they said the creature was feeding on the white-skinned settlers. And then some of the natives started disappearing and coming back, but not quite like before. Something had changed. I do not feel you need to worry about this creature harming you. If it wanted to kill you, it would have done so the moment it laid eyes on you. Instead, this creature is stalking you. Tell me, Mrs.Jones. Who introduced you to this man? "he urges. 

"Dear god, Edmond shuddered. 

"My friend. Julia. Julia Moreau", I blurt

"Expect any friend you've been in contact with recently to be compromised. They're informants. Spies. Cease contact with them immediately", Helsing warns.

I nod earnestly. "Of course, Doctor."

"The stalking? What interest do you suspect he has taken in her? What are his intentions?" Emond asks carefully.

Van Helsing takes a deep breath of his pipe and exhales for a moment. 

"I have reason to think that this creature believes that Mrs.Jones is his lost bride.”

Amina Boudreaux POV

Another dream. Another dream I didn’t ask for. I calm my mind at the wash bowl, checking my missed messages. Zanto wanted to speak with me.

For some reason, her message sent my stomach into knots. I can’t think of a single positive reason as to why I’d fully hallucinate my past life after one too many shots. 

I send back a quick and kind reply before I close my phone and try to get through my hair appointment without freaking out. 

Apparently, the twins had sent special instructions about how they wanted my hair. I'd be getting a shiny, slick ponytail. Nya, on the other hand, was encouraged to play up the curly hair. 

An hour later, we were inside Nya’s bedroom, with racks full of clothes. Chichi and Ada absolutely adored Nya. Nya was clearly likable, but I was worried they would clash with her strong personality. She didn’t always hold her tongue. Off the clock, she’d say the first thing on her mind. They loved that about her in an almost maternal way, which was strange because the twins looked to be around our age.  

The twins decided on our look. “We want Nya to be the garden, and we want you, Amina,  to be the flowers", said Ada.

The garment bag slid open, and honestly, it looked less like a dress and more like a garden. Just as the twins envisioned. Nya stepped into a mess of silk, shimmying the bodice up her body. The color was this gorgeous, a pale seafoam green Elie Saab 2004 couture gown. But it wasn't just plain green. It was covered in these tiny blush-pink floral bits that made it come to life. My favorite part was the gold thread stitched everywhere. It caught the light every time she breathed, giving the dress a bit of a shimmer. The body shimmer she added to her arms was the perfect finishing touch. The fit was perfect, hugging her in all the right places at the top before cascading into a massive, flowy skirt with peekaboo pink thundering underneath. She took a quick spin, and the silk trailed behind her like a cloud. 

Chi Chi turns to her. “ Isn’t she just darling, Ada? Like a little doll”, she swooned as she fixed Nya’s dress in the mirror. 

“ I’ve been telling you, Chichi. We need one of our own”, her sister retorts. 

“ Whatever that means, chile,” Nya hums as she does another twirl, not caring to ask them to elaborate. 

I'm put into a pink Atelier Versace 2012 fall couture gown. Ada finally stepped away after fidgeting with the back of my dress. It was something like orchid, a shade of pink so vibrant against my skin.The fit was exact, with a deconstructed cage of silk strips and neon patent leather that nipped my waist into a sharp, dramatic curve.  Nearly transparent silicone threads ran along my shoulder, making the gown look as if it were floating. I shake the ends of my dress with my hands and then drop it. 

“ Perfect”, Ada spreads out the bottom of my dress to keep it from catching my heels. I look in the mirror, running my hands down my cinched stomach. I turn to Nya, standing behind me. 

“ You look incredible”, I gush at Nya as she shifts her coily hair into the correct position. 

Nya seemed to shrink away from my compliment in a shy manner. An expression I so rarely see from her, and I feel her pull me into her side as we both now stand in the mirror. “ You know what I was thinking earlier?” she asks. 

“Mm?” I turned to look at her. 

“ We look so much better than we could have imagined as little kids. I mean, I even got the titties I wanted so badly. It’s poetic, really,” she blurts. I laugh at the thought of us stuffing our shirts and putting on our fake, imaginary lipstick and drinking our imaginary liquor from soda bottle caps. 

“ Well, we’re finally women. We can drink the wine, pay the bill, and wear the bras. All the shit we dreamed about. Not as fun as I thought it would be”, I snort. 

“ Sometimes it’s fun but only with you", she nudges me with her hip. 

Ada and ChiChi present us to Vlad, satisfied with their own work. He compliments us both in that gentlemanly way. The way only he could. 

We’re off to the wedding in a black car, all three of us. Alex and his car full of beefy guards follow behind us. I inch my hand into Vlad’s open palm as our car traces the side of a cliff. 

The heat of Los Cabos usually sticks to your skin like a thin sheet, but at the southern tip of the Baja peninsula, the breeze off the Pacific made it all the more bareable. Vlad leads Nya and me towards an entirely paved cliffside lookout, our heels clicking against the cobblestone in unison. Usually, this spot was swarming with tourists taking selfies against the horizon, but today the public had been cleared out, leaving the expanse as a private sanctuary for the ceremony.

I gasp at the foggy aquamarine view. The water crashes onto the jagged rocks below, spraying a mist of salt in the air. The setup was very much an intimate garden party, a sharp contrast to the desert-meets-ocean landscape. The steep stone steps were lined with lush flower arrangements—mostly white roses. In the distance, I can hear a live orchestra thanks to the speakers installed behind the roses to carry the sound. 

"They really rented out the whole lookout," Nya whispered, adjusting her sunglasses as we approached the crowd of about fifty guests. “ Looks like something out of Eat, Pray, Love, " she chimes. I couldn’t agree more. 

At the very edge of the cliff, a simple wooden arch draped in white linen, vines, and white roses, sat framed by the turquoise water below. In the sitting area, there's a large glass canopy that blocks UV light, likely for the vampires in attendance. A live orchestra was tucked into a shaded corner near the entrance. A cello and three violins played a rhythmic, classical cover of a contemporary song, the music swelling to compete with the crashing waves against the rocks. 

We’d have to go down three flights of these steep cobblestone steps that left me feeling unsteady. Vlad already takes my hand with his steady, firm one. I turn to grab Nya behind me, and in a moment's notice, Alex swoops in and grabs her free hand. She whips her head around to see him in a cream suit and an earpiece that was likely for show more than anything. His hair was still wet like he had just hopped out of the shower. “ Oh, you saved me”, Nya teased with the back of her hand on her forehead. I could already see her wheels turning, thinking of something smart to say, but it was clear she liked what she saw. Alex looks at her with a softness that hardens when he notices Vlad and me eyeing the interaction. 

“ You clean up nice, Alex,” I say kindly. 

Alex clears his throat. “ Much obliged, Ms.Boudreaux,” he drawls. 

Vlad gently guides me to our seats, just a row behind the close family and friends section. We were early because not even his fledgling was standing there waiting for her bride. 

“He is very fond of Nya,” Vlad speaks up.

“Isn’t everyone?” I ask. 

“ She makes him nervous. Alex doesn’t get nervous. Out of respect for your friend, I didn’t do any digging on her behalf. But her heart races when he is near. It’s impossible to ignore”, says Vlad.

I nudge his side.“ Boy, do I know the feeling”, I joke. 

He pulls the back of my hand to his lips and pecks it before resting it back in his lap. I take a look around the venue, watching guests fill the seats and talk amongst themselves. “Small wedding?” I ask. 

Vlad shrugs. “ The ceremony is more so for Luna’s human side. There are about a dozen vampires here—all older. The reception will have many more. Hundreds. The two compromised. You see.” 

“ Ah. Well, it seems like they’re already off to a great start on the marriage front. Not that I know anything about what makes a marriage…a good one”, I ramble. 

“ Your parents?”, he adds. 

Now it's my turn to shrug. “ They weren’t perfect, but I guess there was a concerted effort.” 

In a playful tone, he counters my argument. “ I’m sure you’ll get some firsthand experience soon.” 

My head whips to look at him, but he stares ahead, and I can see a small smirk on his face. A 6-foot-tall woman in a sharp black tuxedo walks down the aisle. She has long, curly, black hair and hazel eyes, looking to be in her early 30s. There’s a masculine air about her. She's a beautiful woman with strong features. She swoops in for Vlad, and he stands before she even rounds the corner. They embrace wordlessly and tightly. I figure him being here meant a lot to her because I can see tears rim her eyes. 

“ This is her?”, the mysterious woman asks incredulously. She shakes her head silently. “ Aye Dios mios”, she murmurs to herself.

Vlad quietly nods, and they both smile at me with so much warmth, likely in some cerebral conversation that I’m not privy to. 

The woman shakes her head. “ Where are my manners? I am Sophia Mendoza. I was Vlad’s fledgling. He helped me a lot in my formative years”, she explained, wiping her eyes. I stood to meet her and shake her hand.

“ So, where did you guys meet?” I ask. 

She smiles widely. “ Long story, but we actually met in the mid-30s. I’m from Michoacán. West Central Mexico,” she explains. 

My eyes widen in fascination. “ Wow. The 30’s. What was that like?” 

She laughs. “ Chaotic, but thankfully Vlad saved my ass quite a few times. I owe him my eternal life. By the way, is she coming to the reception?” she turns to Vlad. 

“ We’ll both be there”, he says. I pick up a hesitant expression on Sophia’s face. Vlad adds, “ We felt it would be good to prepare her. I think she's ready”, Vlad reassures her. Sofia’s shoulders relax. 

Sophia eventually leaves to greet Luna’s friends and family. Vlad and I sit back down, and Nya rounds the corner where Alex deposits her in her seat next to me. I can see her winking at him as he hands her back her purse and walks off, stealing a few glances as he walks away. Nya’s a professional tease. She was collecting and giving away phone numbers left and right all night. There may be an attraction there, but I wasn’t entirely sure if she’d make a real move on him. 

The bride, Luna, was gorgeous. Strangely enough, she shared a slight resemblance to Sophia, though she looked to be in her 40’s. The resemblance wasn’t the weird kind, either. Rather, they had the same stylistic font. Dark features, long voluminous hair, dark brows. Luna, every bit of 5 feet 4 was in a cream silk slip wedding gown with her hair in beach waves and a floor-length veil. 

Sophia slips a few tears. They exchange their own vows which I thought was incredibly sweet. I see a few misty eyes in the crowd as well. The love radiating off the couple was palpable. There was a sense of relief between them. Almost as if they fought like hell to make it to this very moment. 

In their vows, I can pick up that they'd been together for quite some time. Luna, visibly a little older than her partner, clearly needed more time to make up her mind about things. That was perfectly fine with Sophia, who was clearly enamored by her. No way would Luna get rid of her that easily. She'd wait. And if there's one thing I know about vampires, they’re incredibly patient. 

After the wedding, Vlad stays behind for a bit to catch up with Sophia and her new bride. The reception wouldn't be for another two hours. This time, it's my job to dress myself. The twins left me a Black Saint Laurent Mini slip dress. As for the shoes, Tom Ford Padlock sandals. I inspected the padlock design on the side of them. I find the styling a little edgy for a reception, but I'm no professional stylist. Nya slips into the bathroom while I smoke out my waterline.

" You look sexy", she says. She sits on the edge of the tub watching me touch up my makeup. "You nervous?" she asked.

"As hell…", I sigh, leaning on the counter.

" Why? You've been to events with him before", she counters.

" Not like this one. This one is special", I said.

I hear the crinkle of a bag behind me. I turn to watch her as she breaks it in half and pushes the entire thing into the side of her cheek. I stare at her, stunned.  "Nya. That's too fucking much", I scold her, grabbing the package to look at the dosage. 

She shrugs. "I've had this brand before with the exact dosage. I'm good. Here. You need to chill out", she grabs the bag back from me and breaks a fourth of the half piece off. She hands it to me, and I eye it hesitantly before popping it into my mouth and chewing. It's a very small piece—maybe 2mg at best. It should be enough to mellow me out. 

When the car finally comes, I rummage through my luggage trying to find a shawl. I find a red one and throw it over my arm as I grab my clutch and head for the door. Nya whistles at me on the way out as I shoot past Alex.

I smell the smoke from outside the car as I slide inside. Vlad had the window halfway cracked, but not by much. He's taken off his jacket, loosened his cuffs, and tie. I'd been too busy assessing him that I didn't notice him assessing me.

“ Are you trying to stay here?” he asks in a falsely curious tone. I roll my eyes playfully. 

“ Why would I want that?” I snort. 

I can see him wet his lips and put out the end of his cigar with his ashtray.“ It would be awfully easy to convince me right about now", he murmured.   I shake my head, looking out the window as we drive further and further away from the villa. “ Tempting offer, but you won’t get out of this that easily”, I warn. My seatbelt ruffles and unclicks. I look down and notice the belt slowly retracting into the holder. Vlad looks out the window to throw me off before his hand shoots out, clasping my waist and pulling me into his lap as I squeal in surprise. I’m giggling, pushing against him when he kisses the side of my face. 

His mouth trails to my jaw, pulling back the strap on my dress, diving for the skin on my neck. My laughter turns into small sighs of pleasure when he finds my pulse with his lips. I get chills when he cups the back of my neck, holding me steady when he kisses me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the partition was already up before I could say anything. My arms sprawl over his shoulders, leaning into him as he keeps me tight in his embrace, his nose takes in large helpings of my scent. 

Here, on my neck, I’ve become so sensitive that I can hardly stand it. My body knows what comes next. He's inadvertently trained me to respond in this way. I struggle to sit still when he begins to suck the skin. His arms encase me, keeping me anchored to him as I bite down on my tongue, trying not to draw attention to the backseat in case the driver could hear.

I feel his hands trail up and down my dress, on my stomach, looking for an entryway, gaining intel. His thumbs sweep over my breast before he squeezes. My eyes fail to stay open, and the sound seeps out. I can’t hold out for much longer when I kiss him roughly. He's a wall I can’t get through because he hardens against me the more I push against him. I feel my temper flare as I try to seize control that he won’t let me have. These last three days he’s accommodated me endlessly, so I don’t suppose he’ll let me have this so easily. 

I wrap my hands around his throat as I lick into him, feeling the way his tongue snakes into my mouth. He grunts as I twist my head to get a better angle. And then I grab the bottom of his face, pressing my nails into his skin. He squeezes me hard as I assert myself onto him. We kiss hungrily, and eagerly, as if trying to enhale one another. My hands run under his untucked shirt, feeling his abs flinch under the warmth of my palms as I trail them up and up, feeling the rouge scars on his stomach. I slowly run my nails back down and feel him shiver.

There's a switch in his demeanor that happens far too quickly. He grabs hold of my hair and pulls firmly until my neck is bared to him. His mouth cranks open, unfurling his fangs to me. They’re the shiniest thing in the car, needle sharp and glinting in the passing street lights. My heart is beating so quickly I can feel it in my ears and behind my eyes. I know what he’s going to ask. He'll ask me where.

“ Don’t tell me…”, I whisper.  

He lets me stew in my anticipation. I feel his muscles tense as he calculates the best place to pierce. He strikes me the way a snake would, quick and fast before retracting completely.  I whimper out in pain. He doesn’t suck. No, he watches the blood begin to pool from my exposed shoulder before he goes back in to suck slowly.

He’s taking large gulps, pulling my essence into his mouth like a leech. I hear him exhale softly, as if the pressure building between us had finally released itself. Every suckle makes me wince with a fleeting pain that doesn't stay for long. It's quickly soothed with a euphoric buzz that trickles down my body like static. I groan out when the feeling greets. His large hand blankets the bottom half of my face, silencing me as he laps at the trickle of blood running from my shoulder. When he’s had his fill, he pulls away to assess me. I look at him, eyes wide in the dark, with his hand still over my mouth. Slowly, he unseals his skin from my lips, and I take in a sharp inhale.

When I exhale, the tears come. They always do. I feel them dry on my temples. The pleasure seeps and spreads, here to wash away the pain he inflicted. I press myself back into his embrace and press my mouth to his. He’s iron and smoke. The two things I’ve become all too familiar with since knowing him. And pleasure. A third and very big theme in this dynamic. It’s practically all I know when I’m with him. It’s intoxicating…making me all pliant and fuzzy. He knows how to get my mind off of almost anything. And at times, I worry that it’s too shallow a feeling to keep this together. That maybe it’s too much of a good thing. Now I realize that I don’t really care.

I break away from our pleasure stupor to see that we've driven to the other side of the island, which isn’t nearly as developed as the rest of the resort. Dense jungle leads us down a pitch-black path that shoots off into a clearing overlooking a cliff. The car stops and Vlad lowers the partition. Demitri has his brights on, revealing something akin to a storm shelter nestled into the grass. A stoned path runs right up to the doors.   What my brain took for trees were, in fact, not trees at all.  On each side of the door stood 8-foot-tall beasts. I can think of no other word to describe it. One a smoky grey color and the other a light green. Short and small tusks jittued from their bottom teeth like walruses. Their bodies were an endless expanse of muscle under their custom suits. Their black hair was shaved short to the scalp. I can feel Vlad move, getting ready to leave the car. “ …..What is that?” I whisper under my breath. He chuckles softly. 

“ Orcs. You’ll be fine. Come”, he encourages. He opens my door for me and pulls me out. I fix my dress and take a quick look in my compact mirror. My eyeliner is running, so I wipe the skin above my cheeks. What was left of my lipstain, I’m sure he ate. My hair is still somehow holding up, but the big mess had already dried on my shoulder. Blood. 

“I need something to wipe this off.” I reach back into the car, but Vlad rests a hand on my back, a sign to slow down. 

“ Leave it like that”, he murmurs. He kisses me on the shoulder, and it's pathetically enough to win me over. With his hand at my waist, he leads me towards the opening of the stairs. 

The orcs quietly eye us with their black eyes, not saying a word. I can’t imagine what would happen to a trespasser in a place like that. They’d probably swing them over a cliff and go about their night.  Thankfully, they open the doors for us, and we enter the stairwell. The steps are steep, and the narrow hall is dimly lit with torches spread a few inches apart from one another.

I followed behind him, stepping onto the stoned steps as the doors shut behind us with a loud clang. My fists are balled into the back of his shirt as we echo down the corridor. I keep my right hand against the wall as extra leverage in case my legs give out. I'm greatful that they don’t.  When we reach the bottom, a set of elevators awaits, already open and completely transparent, exposing red brick on the opposite wall. “Must you vampires make everything feel like an Illuminati ritual?” I scoff. 

“ What is life for a vampire if you can’t indulge in secret?” he murmurs humorously. We step into the elevator, and Vlad presses the only other button, a down arrow.

I fidget with my reflection. The piece of Nya's edible should be working by now, but I don't feel much of anything. Vlad reassures me that I look perfectly fine as the Elevator comes to a halting stop. We're spat out into an entirely red room. Red floors, red ceiling, red art. It’s disorienting and sharp. A woman dressed in black sits behind a translucent desk. A man in a black mesh mask walks towards us with trays holding flukes of blood. The stench of iron hits me like a train. It’s not the champagne glasses. No. It’s the red-tinted waterfall behind the receptionist. And then I realize…it’s not water.

It gives me pause. So much so that Vlad has to tug me along. He puts his hand up to the masked server, passing on the refreshments. Then another masked man appears with a real tray of champagne. I take one to be polite and fake a small sip as we approach the woman at the desk. The reception looks like Rita Hayworth with a wicked smile. The badge pinned above her right breast reads “ Sybil”. Her eyes are the color of flames, rings of orange and red, coming together just short of her large pupils. Her teeth are filed into tiny points that make me want to retreat.

“ What an honor it is to have you back, my liege. And you’ve brought a very special guest”, she turns to me expectantly. I give her a brief smile, even though I want to slip behind Vlad’s back. There’s an almost piranha-like quality to her that makes it hard to look at her for too long. “Welcome to the underworld, Persephone”, she jokes in a cheery tone. She chuckles at my dazed expression. “ Wrist please”, she quips in a syrupy transatlantic tone. 

I look at Vlad for reassurance. He nods quietly, not bothered in the slightest. I slowly put my wrist on the table. “ Oh, I don’t bite”, she cooes, before placing a red band on my wrist. When she’s done she moves on to Vlad, placing a black band on him. I observe her as the two of them make small talk. That’s when I notice her sit back down on not a chair, but a person. A man, positioned on all fours, offers his back as her chair. He doesn’t speak or make a sound. He’s human furniture. All three of these men must be her human pets. The idea is confirmed when one of the servants kneels at her feet, and her hand sinks into the top of his curly hair as if he were a dog.

She waves me goodbye as we walk to the end of the room, taking a sharp left down a dark red hall. We step onto a black glossy escalator. I hold the railing, and Vlad stands close behind me. The sound of the escalator’s metallic gnashing groan echoed off the stone corridors. As we reached the bottom, the stairs flattened, ejecting us into an eerily quiet crowd in a large ballroom. 

Floor-to-ceiling red velvet drapes hung in heavy, soft folds along the walls. The fabric turned every corner into an ocean of crimson, with the deep pleats creating endless vertical shadows with no beginning or end. Beneath us, the floor was a jarring, glossy onyx that twinkled under the light as if one were walking on stars in the night sky.

Black and red chairs and sofas sit a few inches apart. Some people sit and other stand in small groups. The ceiling mirrored the floor, black and endless. I had no idea where the light source was coming from, but it was just a few notches above candlelight. Could it have been magic? Or just a design trick? I couldn't be sure. I couldn’t be sure of anything. Not my sense of self. Not my sense of up or down. Not with the piercing eyes trailing our every move. This wasn’t like the gala. There was an unspoken tension in the room. I feel something coil deep in my stomach. Vlad presses a reassuring hand to my lower back as I look around at the spectators. They give nothing more than a polite nod.   I’ve got a million and one questions in my head but I figure it’s best to wait until later to ask them. Vlad ushers me to the bar on the right. A dazzling monolithic slab of black obsidian, polished to a mirror finish. It was crowded with figures draped in silk and heavy jewelry, their movements unrushed and graceful. Something I believed most vampires possess. Masked servers waltz between groups in their black mesh masks. Their nametags were merely numbers. Was it meant to demean? Or is it for the server’s anonymity? Near the back, a narrow, shadowed gap in the velvet led to the washrooms, marked only by a stand with a sign that read “lavatory”. 

I look around for some familiarity between myself and possibly anybody else here. Rainbow eyes find mine. Some are sharp blue, others coal black, and others in strange colors like purple or pink. Some eyes are too tiny and others too big to be human. A man with pointed ears passes me. He’s unusually tall with glowing skin, the same color as his hair. An almost translucent pale. 

“ Fae. Irish fae to be exact”, Vlad murmurs to me, swirling his drink with his wrist. 

I look at the side of his face in disbelief before watching the fae join a black woman with monarch wings on her back. Monarch wings of all things. I have to check my pulse at what I'm seeing. 

“ Aziza. They're a more benevolent species of fae. There is also a Valkyrie around here somewhere. No shortage of wings in our world, as you can see,” Vlad explains humorously, like it's some inside joke. Really, I'm too busy questioning my reality. How on earth can all these beings exist on earth, and most humans never notice? Where do they go? Where do they hide? I take a tiny pacifying sip of my champagne. Maybe it was a good thing the edible didn’t really work. God knows how I would have taken all of this in under the influence.

“ Amina!” I hear my name in the distance. I look up towards the escalator to see Zanto and Mato. Her assistant, Jeff, gives her a supportive arm as he leads her to me. I spot Mato walking with three other women. A middle-aged blonde woman, a young Asian woman, and an older black woman with auburn locs. 

I embrace her while Vlad and Mato talk quietly. “ Hey”, I beam, setting my glass down to give her a hug. Jeff heads to the bar. The three other women stand a short distance away, observing us. They look beautiful in their sparkly gowns, patiently waiting for…something? I’m not sure. 

Zanto grins. “ It’s so great to hear your voice again. Is it okay if we speak privately? I want to introduce you to my sisters”, Zanto whispers. She looks gorgeous in her vintage red gown and pinned-up hair. 

“ Of course, are you kidding?!”, I gush. The three women wave, signaling for me to follow them to the back of the ballroom. Zanto grabs my wrist as I follow behind them. We huddle into our own little human circle, and for the first time tonight, I take an actual breather. 

“ Amina. Lisa, Deborah, and Lettie”, says Zanto. In order, the younger Asian woman, the older blonde woman, and the black woman. 

“ We’re so excited to meet you. And don’t worry. This conversation is charmed. Nobody can hear us,” says Lisa. I chuckle at the redness in her cheeks. It’s a relief to know that my business won’t be put out on Front Street. Vampires and their hearing…

“ We’ve been wanting to do this for months, but we didn’t know if it was the right time”, Lettie explains. 

I blink in confusion. Every knew something I didn’t. “..Do what?”, I ask.

Zanto clears her throat. “ Those dreams weren’t just dreams. We’ve all met before. After our meeting in Wallachia, I’ve realized how much potential you have. We’ve been testing you. You come from a line of very powerful women. But…have you ever thought about whether or not you’re the reason for that ?”, she suggests. 

I laugh. “ The chicken or the egg thing. Right?”

Zanto chuckles. “ Exactly. I know you're trying to enjoy the reception, so I’ll keep this brief. All four of us are what you would consider high witches. In simpler terms, we’ve reached complete self-mastery. A high witch can work with any medium through practice and experience. We all started off much like you long ago…”, Zanto urged. 

Deborah clears her throat. I find her to be a little cold. Not rude per se, but she wasn’t as warm. “ Our kind has a way of finding one another. Each of us has a role as a high witch, and each of us has a certain… specialty. For example, mine is scrying. Lisa's is energy manipulation. Lettie’s is spell casting, and Zanto’s is mediumship. I’m sure you have a certain specialty as well…likely potion brewing. Tell me, how good are you at making a drink? Considering your work—”, I cut her off with a discombobulated shake of my head. 

“ Have you been spying on me?” I ask worriedly. 

Deborah sighs tiredly. “ We don’t exactly have to, but all in all—yes. As I was saying, generally, we all collect data from past events and record them. But you're a natural dream walker. That means you can access information and events through sleep and sometimes involuntarily ”, she says. Now I remember her. She was the woman who pushed me into Anima Smith. I wasn’t a fan of her. It will probably stay that way. 

Lisa chimes in now. She steps closer to me, looking right through me. As the youngest, it seems like she’s the most excited of all of them. “ Witches are archivists. To extract information from a specific event requires significant effort and many years of practice. Add your clairsentience and claircognizance, and you might as well be a time traveler. There is so much we could accomplish with your gift”, Lisa rambled. My mouth opens and closes in shock.

“ You’re overwhelming her….”, Zanto says in a flat tone.

I let out a long breath. Lisa steps back and smiles politely, as does Lettie. Deborah takes a sip of her champagne, looking around indifferently. 

“ Our proposal is this. I would like you to consider training under us at our institute. There, you'll be able to develop your abilities and truly flourish into the witch that I know–WE know that you can be”, Zanto asks. A sincerity to her tone that never strays too far. 

I shake my head cautiously. “ …The whole reason why I even came here is because im trying to prepare for the idea that I’d become…”, I trail off, pointing to the vampires in the crowd. I feel so incredibly out of my depth as I look at the group. “ I can’t leave him to endure his condition alone. He’s waited long enough. There will come a day when he will turn me. Surely I can't be both. Don't witches need a connection to a source? Vampires don’t have that, at least not entirely. Right?,” I rant.  

Zanto takes hold of my hands. Her cloudy eyes stared directly into me as if she’d gained sight to relay the message more memorably. 

“ We’re not asking you to choose. How old do you think I am?”, she challenges. 

I scan her face. “ Uh….32?”, I blurt. 

“ I am 506 years old”, she quips. My eyes widen with surprise.

Lisa chimes in. “ I’m 98 years old.” 

Then Lettie. “ I’m 211”, she grins. 

Then Deborah. “ I’m 463 and counting”, she challenges. 

I look at their three faces, feeling a chill go down my spine as I look back at Zanto. Zanto is smiling knowingly. As if she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “ When you master yourself, you master the rules of your life. I won’t die for a long while. And when I’m ready I will join my husband. Amina, whatever you thought about your future. Think bigger”, she whispers. 

A little tingle flutters over my entire body. “ Holy shit…”, I chuckle, nervously taking a small sip of my champagne and thinking about what this could mean for me.“ Okay. Okay, I hear you”, I press. Zanto backs away as the three of us stare at each other in silence. Deborah flagged down a server carrying a tray of champagne flutes, and they all grabbed one. 

I let out a long sigh, feeling a familiar weightless feeling spread throughout my body. The fucking edible was working just when I thought it wouldn’t. Even more worrying, I should not be feeling like this from 1-2mg.

“ Ladies. It’s been amazing talking to you guys, but I’m just gonna’ be frank…” I pause, looking at all four of them. “ …. I’m high”, I mutter. 

Lisa tucks in her lips to stop from laughing. Lettie gives me a sympathetic nod, and Deborah just stares at me. Zanto’s mouth opens for a brief moment, then closes before she mutters. “ Understandable. Let’s table this discussion for when you’re sober. When do you leave? ” she blurts. 

I blink a few times, processing what she said. “ Monday morning, but maybe let's talk back in the states?" I ask. 

Zanto gave the ladies my number. I suppress a needless giggle. Nothing was funny, but everything was funny in an almost sick kind of way. In fact, the urge to laugh is so strong that I have to look elsewhere. “ Sounds good. It was nice meeting you guys”, I put my hand out to shake their hands, and hugged Zanto last before heading back to Vlad. Mato was already walking back to his wife with a tip of his hat to me. I sit beside Vlad and rest my drink on the counter. I know he wants to know what we spoke about. I’d be sure to fill him in later, but right now I was just focused on getting through the night. 

Two masked attendants cut through the crowd and pull back the velvety red curtains, revealing the wall behind them. What I thought would be a doorway was a massive, black iron portcullis, its teeth suspended over a jagged stone archway.

Applause echoes across the room as a crowd forms in the middle of the floor. Sophia and Luna are hand in hand. Luna wears a thin, simple nightgown with a silk robe over it. It’s just simple enough to look less like nightwear and more like something chic and intentional. That is, until I saw her lack of shoes. Sophia clears her throat and grabs a drink to make a toast. The applause quiets down as everyone waits for her speech. 

“ Luna and I would like to thank you all for being a part of this special night as we accept her into this family. All of you know what an incredible sacrifice it is for somebody to join you in this condition we call vampirism. A condition we’ve failed to know the true origins of all these years later. Be it a curse from a god or the mark of the devil or sheer misfortune —or luck depending on your perspective”, Sophia pauses. The audience chuckles. I can feel Vlad pull me closer by my waist, throwing his arm over my shoulder. 

Sophia continues. “ Some of you here didn’t have a choice. You were thrust into this world and had to find your own way. Some of you escaped a troubled past —like me. And maybe you’ve found life much better after death. Whatever your circumstance. No matter who or what situation put you here, know that we couldn’t be more honored to have you embrace Luna tonight. Know that we consider you an integral part of our lives, no matter how little or often we may speak.  I know that you’ll all play a pivotal part in Luna's self-acceptance and her confidence in who she’ll become in this next phase of her life. I want to raise a toast to all of you and to my beautiful wife, Luna.” Sophia raised her glass. 

We raise our glasses with her. An overwhelming sea of red peppered with yellow flukes. Then, Sophia and Luna wait at the gate as it rises. Luna directs the crowd to follow them both into the tunnel. The crowd divides into pairs, lining up behind the newlyweds and waltzing under the cold metal, passing the threshold that smelled of wet flint. 

Vlad and I emerged into what could best be described as a Colosseum. A circular amphitheater of paved stone built to hold the crowd at maximum capacity. It’s subterranean engineering all the more obvious as the whispers bounced off the stone like we were standing inside a fish bowl. Each tier rose in these perfect, steep rings that gave the illusion of leaning inward. We spilled into the center of the room, looking at how high each tier of seats went. Endless rows that went up so high that I lost count. 

Vlad did not lead me to a floor seat.  Keeping his arm looped protectively through mine, he led me up a set of steep, narrow stone steps to a high, protruding dais that hung directly over the arena. 

Our chairs were heavy and high-backed, made from dark basalt. The vantage point was nauseating. From this height, the circular rows looked like a giant eye, and we were perched right on the edge of the lid. Sophia and Luna sat on the other side of the room, in a dias identical to ours. Below, hundreds of watchful eyes tracked our movements with the synchronized, unblinking precision of a school of fish. It’s so quiet. Too quiet. This is a culture I don’t belong to. The baseline of what’s polite and what’s rude was all twisted and rearranged here. Tonight I was nothing more than an observer. Under the cover of the stone armrest, Vlad reached for my hand and squeezed, his thumb tracing my knuckles as the silence below became more and more absolute. 

Vlad Tepes Pov

It was our 5th wedding anniversary at a beachfront restaurant in Dakar.  By then, we’d traveled all over the world together. Dakar was our favorite destination by far. The first time we visited, I played her songs from my music collection on my antique record player and cooked her a nice meal. That was the night I asked her to marry me. And because she was a witch, she already saw it coming. We always came back to Dakar at least once a year. Our 5th anniversary was no exception to the rule. We’d made love 4 times in a row on that particular evening. I eventually convinced her to get dressed and come out to celebrate properly.

I know every detail about that special night. The hour, the temperature, what the bartender was thinking, what the air smelled like. And yet, the most important detail I can remember was how she looked at me. A humidity hung in the air, clinging to her like a second skin, though her clothes left little to the imagination. She was shining. God lived in her face. Really, her beauty was proof that there was someone out there behind the curtain, one called life. 

The slit in her dress stretched from her chest all the way down to her belly button. If she turned, I could see her entire back from top to bottom. Her wedding ring matched the piercing on her navel. Absolutely superb, she was. She no longer flinched at my stare. She grew used to it. There was a self-assurance she accumulated with each new year of her life. She was 34, the oldest and most striking she’d ever been. I was relieved when she reached her thirties. It was all I ever wanted for her—for her to live her life. And she had. 

The assertiveness was always there deep down. It came on slowly as Amina became more successful.  Her financial independence from me was a ship that passed years ago by that point. At the very least, she appeased me by letting me pay for dinner. She vacationed on the other side of the world with Nya, who was in medical school at the time. She drove a paid-off car that she bought within her first year as a professional painter. Paid the rent on a brownstone in Manhattan to make traveling for work easier. Frequented the Four Season spa like it was her religion. She was all grown up in every sense of the word. 

 Everybody wanted a piece of Amina Boudreaux. Less than 6 months into her studies at Ironwood, she took off like a shooting star and never looked back. Her paintings had been featured in movies and television productions. Her art had been everywhere from Art Basel to MoMoA. Work trips were booked out months in advance. People invited her to boards to speak on her journey as an artist. Somehow, she’d mastered the art of storytelling so well that she got a book deal. With our shared passion for art, we opened a co-owned gallery in Los Angeles. 

Sure, I was acclaimed in the business world, and my philanthropy made my name known far and wide, but Amina's success was different. More public. At least one person stopped her when we were out together, and it always started with…

“ Are you…???.”

And then she’d go, “Yes. That’s me.”

And it would always end with, “ Oh my god! I love your work!” 

She didn’t slack on her spiritual pursuits. She’d always had this innate ability to heal, and that talent grew. Over the years, she helped countless women with a multitude of issues, from illness to infertility to familial hexes. If nothing else, this was a woman who had it all. Who’d proven to other women that they, too, could have it all. The relationship, the job, the lifestyle. Everything. 

It all started with a singular question, that night in Dakar. One that had been dancing along the outermost margins of her tongue for years. I had my suspicions about why she was so steadfast in her studying to become a High Witch. Having been the quickest to rise into her position, it was time for her to gently herd me where she wanted me. And herd—she did. 

She swirled the decorative umbrella around her drink, pulling it out to taste it. “ Have you had any second thoughts about not wanting any kids?” she asked through her calculated, glowing, brown pools. In fleeting moments, I forget which version of her was staring back at me. 

“ Well, when you look at me like that, I reconsider it”, I half-joke. 

She smiled softly. A giddiness hidden behind her gaze. Still, she reacted to me as she did when we first met. Though we’d since fallen into a rhythm of comfort, the passion was still there. Still burning strong like the embers of the hearth in our Poenari bedroom. There was always something there. I would never be able to get my fill of her. Not then. Not now. Not ever. “ I’m being serious”, she said.

“ Once or twice. I only think about our children, though. It’s more of a daydream, really. I let my mind wander at the thought...” I excused. Years prior, during our first date, I insisted that I’d closed that chapter of my life. I felt that it was the safe answer. I had my gargoyles. I had my job. I thought it could be enough. How could I have told her, " Of course, if you can miraculously give birth to our deceased children.” 

She leaned in, seemingly captivated. It wasn’t something we talked about often. The wound was still too fresh back then. But when she rested her chin in her palm and blinked up at me with those piercing eyes, I failed to resist. I continued. “ I used to have this silly thought…Maybe I wake up from some dream, open my eyes, and they’re standing at the foot of our bed, all a little older but still needy. Still, little kids. I used to think about what they’d say. How they’d sound”, I pondered.

She smiled warmly at me. The dimples in her cheek imprint the exact spots where I kiss her every single morning. “ It’s not silly. Keep going. What do you think they’d say?”, she hums. 

I let out a long sigh, shoulders loosening. “ Alexandru would tell me some facts he learned about the world. About an animal or a country. Something he just discovered—he loved reading. Petru would accuse him of hitting him earlier. He’d probably skip past me and crawl under you. And Hamda. I didn’t get to know her for long. I imagine she’d be a lot like you. Just…observing. In her own little world, she is special and curious. Maybe even a little mischievous…” I shake my head as if to clear the fantasy away. 

“ No, no. Stay there. Go further. You gotta’ take me to the end of it. I love it when you talk like that…”, she pressed. 

I smiled at the hopefulness in her face. I thought it was endearing how she always juxtaposed our dynamic as teacher and student. She always wanted to know about the world from my perspective, but I’d learned so much from her already. “ From time to time I think about what they’d have been like as adults….”, I hint. 

“ I think Alexandru would be a lot like you. Quiet maybe? What do you think?” she suggests. 

I chuckled defensively, shaking my head. “ I don’t want him to be like me.”

“ That’s because you don’t see what I see...”, she said. I feel her feet sink into my lap from under the table. “ But, go on ”, she urged. 

“ I like to think that Alexandru would be loud—at least when he has to be, especially with the stutter and all. I didn’t want him to be afraid to speak”, I pressed. My tone was more serious than I wanted it to be ….

She nodded quietly, giving me her full, undivided attention. I look away from her to gather my thoughts. “ Alexandru would have loved academia. And…Petru would be the wild card, I think. He was obsessed with swords and fighting. I think he would have been a skilled swordsman. A fighter. But he didn't just love fighting. He was passionate about what he loved—you.” I snorted. She laughed out loud. She saw those visions firsthand, and by then she could see everything. She shared those memories with me like home videos. 

“ And…Hamda”, she trailed off curiously. 

“ The boss”, I joked. 

Her face lit up at the thought. “ I like the sound of that. She would whip all of you into shape”, she laughed. 

We went quiet for a moment, then she muttered, “Your voice to the universe’s ears, right? Or whoever and whatever you subscribe to?” She shrugged. She didn’t push for more in that moment, but instead took another long swig of her drink, looking out to the water. Hook, line, and sinker. I was already in a thought spiral by then. I was so sure that I knew the possibilities of this world. I gave way to a community that defied all physics and logic. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. There are some things in this world that you can only experience once. But I was wrong. So, so wrong. 

Later in the night, we continued watching the waves from our balcony in Dakar. It was very late at night, and we burned through an entire bottle of wine. We hadn’t spoken to each other for hours. A habit we formed when we first met. We knew how to enjoy each other's company, even without speaking. This time, though, we were both thinking. I  knew she was working up the courage to ask me more. Suddenly, she let the words slip quietly to me. “ If I told you that I think that I can get them back, would you let me try?” 

For every excuse I made, she had a rebuttal. For every doubt I voiced, she had a counterargument. It really all came down to fear. This was the one thing I knew that I couldn’t give her. My mind couldn’t grasp how much legwork her magic could do. “ Don’t you think about how unfair it is that we’re here and they’re not?” she asked. That was the final straw. No more debates. We owed it to our children to at least try. 

She anticipated that a viable pregnancy would take a few years, so she decided to stop aging. She was at her ideal health. Minimal drinking, no smoking, healthy diet, working out, and minimal stress. Being a High Witch allowed her this perk, which she used to her advantage. She didn't want to risk waiting too long and falling into perimenopause, which could happen as early as the mid to late 30s in some cases. Key word—some. The added fear-mongering about “Advanced Maternal Age” from human experts didn't make things much easier. Did I think that would happen? No. I knew that it wouldn’t, but human doctors were so finicky about the correlation between age and reproductive health. It was her choice, of course. 

I underestimated the number of detours and pivots that would take place. Amina’s career had morphed into this multi-tiered otherworldly state. She often straddled the line between a miracle worker, an artist, a witch, a teacher, an alchemist, and a scientist. We’d become ships in the night, with her even busier than I was. Ironwood needed her expertise as the headmaster of the potion and herbology department. Naturally, we were being torn in different directions. What little time we had together was spent on working towards an objective. Making a baby. 

She believed she could temporarily heal me. I can’t count how many concoctions she made me drink. Some tasted fairly nice, and others were absolutely wretched. I’d turned into her guinea pig. I couldn’t, and still can’t, digest anything, yet her genius somehow made it so that it all went down smoothly. Nothing came back up. Once again, a master in her field. I had to give her credit for it. 

On the topic of souls, they were still a mystery to me at the time. Amina had to get approval from a witch council to bring our children back to us. As Deborah warned, ethics were always being brought into question. Why should a soul be brought back? In many cases, there was little reason to bring anyone back. We were sure the committee would forbid her, but as it turns out, they have a soft spot for children. 

It would be a two-step process. Get her pregnant and then allow the souls to enter her body. “Soul Regeneration,” Zanto called it. As an expert in mediumship, Zanto was of great value to us. I knew little of the Ins and Outs. What I did know, however, was that it started with a collection of items. Dolls, teething necklaces, toys, clothes, locks of hair, and baby teeth. Anything that could possibly create an energetic charge large enough to call the child back. This could happen nowhere but Poenari. Zanto would help guide the children back into Amina.  It wasn't a guarantee, and it didn't always work. Notably, Amina would have to make it past 4 weeks pregnant before any regeneration could take place. Why? Well, Zanto hadn’t seen it work before a certain point. There was a “sweet spot” for this sort of thing. Witch rules were always so one-off and specific yet also unspecific? I left it to the professionals.

Amina made a habit of roaming the halls of Poenari, collecting the marbles that the gargoyles brought to her over the years. I only knew them to be peace offerings. They’d taken a strong liking to her, eventually becoming more protective than they needed to be. She came around over the years, growing affectionate towards them. One evening, she ran to me with a pouch of the marbles she’d collected over the years. She ran in place, stomping her feet as she tried to find the words. I looked over my laptop, watching her jump and down. “ Do you know what these are ?!?!”, she squealed. 

“ Marbles..??”, I chuckled. 

“ Eyes”, she whispered, pulling one out of the bag. She held it up over her eyeball. They were, in fact, eyes. Brown eyes, yellow eyes. Pupils and all. “ I used this wolf eye on you in my spell. They brought it back, but they found others too. This one is Hamda’s eye”, she pulled another marble out of the bag. Then Petru. Then Alexandru. Each child had a varying shade of brown.

I looked back at the little stone bodies peeping around the corner at us. 

“ Brilliant... Even for them”, I chuckle. 

“ It’s almost like they knew this whole time”, she grinned, rolling them around her hand. “They’re going with the kids' stuff,” she called, taking off down the hall. Her little legion followed her closely. 

For a while, nothing happened. No baby. No heart beat. She had all her parts. A working and healthy uterus. A perfectly regular cycle. Two normal ovaries. It was I who was defective. Every concoction she conjured up was to somehow fix that for a very short window.  As one would imagine, it was no easy feat. Here she was, a woman who had relieved so many other people of their reproductive issues, struggling to have a child to call her own. I blamed myself. She blamed her magic. 

Every now and then, we’d get really close. I’d notice a change in how I felt. We would try again, what followed resulted in... almosts. The almosts hurt us both to the core. The lines were so faint on the pregnancy test that blood work had to confirm it. Too early to take that sigh of relief. Too early for any definitive symptoms, even. A slight change in her chemistry would have prompted me to tell her to see the doctor. One week there would be a positive and the next, nothing.  It wouldn’t take. We couldn’t make it past the 4th week. We’d later find that my DNA damage was causing the issue. In other words, once again, I was the problem. 

Dr. Bach was a willing collaborator in our journey. He was not only a physician but also the leading researcher in vampirism, which meant his expertise was most needed. Amina was attempting to do something no other witch or human had ever done. Creating a live viable embryo from a man who was practically dead. That had to be documented and studied. 

Together, they’d already transformed the research on vampire biology and physiology. 

“ Mr. Tepes, I mean no offense when I say this, but you are no spring chicken. The smoking and drinking stop today. If we’re going to do this, then we’re going to do it right. I don’t care if the libations and the tobacco have no direct damage to your heart or lungs. We need to approach this as if you were a mortal man. We need to reverse the DNA damage and improve the quality of the sperm”, Dr. Bach lectured. 

Amina shakes her head. “ I don’t understand. Is this a sperm health issue? Shouldn’t my magic be able to replace whatever is depleted?” she scoffed. 

“ If you’re making a pathway for his body to create live sperm, and you’re only doing it for a very short window, then what’s present at the time of conception needs to be healthy and intact. Creating pathways for pregnancy is one thing. Fixing the damage is the other half of the battle”, he preached.

I can’t even remember how many times I apologized to her. The last thing I wanted was to be the midwife to her suffering. Amina entered a tunnel-visioned state after Dr.Bach left. She left herself no time to grieve or process, insisting, “ Ya’ don’t know what ya’ don’t know.” Somehow, our last almost pushed our attempts into overdrive. There were too many people involved. Too many people waiting. The doctors' appointments were nonstop, and every small change was documented. 

It felt like the entire world knew we were trying, from Zanto to Dr. Bach to the twins, to the married couples we hosted from time to time. Vampires I haven’t spoken to in years sent us flowers and unisex baby clothes. Organic diapers and expensive nipple balms. The pressure was getting worse. Amina was no longer interested in the passion or the excitement of starting a family. She only wanted a result. The longer it took, the more personal she took it. Our breaking point was when Nya announced her first child with Alex. 

The couple broke the news at a family get-together. Alex and Nya had been married for three years and had no issues conceiving. I could hear her heart beating out of her chest when she turned to Amina for her reaction. Amina was happy for Nya. They talked extensively about their children being best friends for life. Amina even started arrangements for a top-of-the-line baby shower to celebrate her friend. But at night, I could hear the exhaustion in her voice. 

After I rummaged through the sound of the squirrel running by our pool, the maid doing her last load of laundry, the low rumble of TikTok playing on our chef's phone, the splat of a cricket landing in the pool, the rustling of a bird in its nest, I finally fine-tune my hearing to the 2nd floor to the far right. In a low, muffled tone, I hear the familiar sniffle of her cries. 

“ Please come back. Please. Come back to me”, she begged. 

I sent the staff home and tried to approach her gently. At first, she insisted that she didn’t want to talk, but I insisted. I owed it to her to be honest. “ Maybe it’s time we took another break?” I suggested carefully.

She was sitting on the closet floor holding Petru’s bonnet. Her eyes and nose were rubbed and raw from the number of times she wiped her face. She was on defense the moment I walked into the closet. 

“ No”, she said defensively. 

I squat down to meet her gaze. “ This is taking a lot out of you right now, Amina”, I soothe. 

“ Well, that’s easy for you to say”, she scoffed as she stood up. I could already see where this was headed. “ You’re not the one who starts fucking bleeding out every time it fails.” 

My brows shoot up from the sharpness of her words. In an instant, she went from wounded to defensive. My mouth tries to find the words before my mind could. I blinked a few times, trying to recalibrate. “ None of this has been easy. I’m just saying it’s really distressing to watch you go through this and not be able to fix it. You’re overworking yourself…”, I warn. 

She dismissively cuts her eyes at me.  “ You didn’t really want this. Not like I wanted it. I should have known when you made all those excuses back in Dakar. I couldn’t take no for an answer,” she muttered under her breath. 

“ Amina”, I warn. 

She continues. “ You have no idea what this feels like. To be so physically attached to this. To be so powerless over this. To know that I’m the one behind how fucked up everything is. I don’t want you to tell me how I didn’t fail. I want this to work”, she sneers.

“ We’ve been trying. I’ve tried, but this isn’t working for Amina. Things are changing between us. I barely see you, and when I do, you’re upset. …”, I sigh tiredly. 

She rolled her eyes. “ All you have to do is stick it in”, she spat. 

I turn towards the entrance, momentarily contemplating whether I should leave. I felt myself losing patience, but my anger won. For a millisecond, we just stood there, looking at each other. I was so stunned at the words that left her mouth that all  I could do was squint at her and shake my head in disbelief. “ If I didn’t want this, do you think I would have done all those things that you and our doctors asked me to do?”, I croaked. I run a tired hand over my forehead, trying to calm myself. “ It was my loss too, Amina. Do you think it makes me feel good to hear my wife lose her composure at the end of every month for the one thing I can’t fucking give her? Then all these people are in our fucking business, treating me like a goddamned science experiment. People I haven’t talked to in years are asking me personal questions. Questions they have absolutely NO business asking. Every time I go to an appointment, I'm getting grilled by the doctor for failing to rise to the occasion. You never stopped to think about how that might have made me feel?”, I sneered. The words were bitter in my mouth. Talking to her like that made me hate myself. Truly. 

I noticed her gaze soften, and she pulled back. She lets out a long sigh, wiping a hand over her face. “ Look, I’m sorry…that I didn’t ask you about how you felt in all of this. To answer your question, no, I didn’t think about it. At least not extensively”, she paused. Her eyes dart around the room in panicked desperation. Already so scared that I would shut the whole thing down. “ I just need a little bit more time.  I- It’s a part of the process. We’re getting closer. I can feel it!” she begged. 

“ This isn’t healthy anymore, Amina. You’re becoming a shell of yourself. We’ve been trying for years. I don’t want to disappoint you anymore”, I plead. 

She rolled her eyes dismissively. “ It’s not you. My spells aren't—.”

My temper flares. For the first time ever, I actually shout at her. 

“IT'S ME”!!, I say with my hands out. “ IM FUCKED. ITS ME! THIS IS NOT WORKING!”

She flinched, and I despised it. I heard her heart racing all the way from across the room. Her composure crumbled, and she broke down, sinking back onto the wooden floor. I backed away, as if the distance would give her some relief. It didnt. At the time, I believed that I fucked this whole thing up even more.  

“ I’m sorry…”, I stammer. I sway from one foot to the other. In disbelief that I lost control like that. Control was the onlything I had. It was the only thing that made our dynamic safe. It was the only thing that gave her autonomy. Her face rested in her hands as she curled up, away from me. I wanted to hide from her. I wanted to hide from this. But if I walked away, I knew the damage it would have done. 

I met her at her level, sitting beside her before I pulled her into my lap, bridal style. She didn't try to slink away from me. She just further collapsed into me as if the physical comfort was what she wanted all along. I sunk my face into the top of her soft hair. 

“ I’m sorry”, we said in unison. She sniffled, rubbing her wet cheek into my shirt before leaning back to look at me. “ I didn’t ask how all of this made you feel, did I? I didn’t ask permission to let so many people in. I just let it spread like wildfire”, she hiccuped.

I hated to see Amina upset. We'd never experienced those kinds of issues in our marriage before then. After we talked a bit more, we eventually reached an understanding. She calmed down before she straddled me, throwing her arms around my shoulders. “ I just wanted to make this right”, she sighs. 

“ You already made it right. You didn’t fail, Draga", I reassured her quietly. 

I pull her back into me. From my shoulder she mutters in finality. “ Yeah, actually…a break would be good. I’m tired now”, she sniffles. “ I’m tired now…” 

We took a year-long break. During that time, Amina and I opened another dual-owned gallery in Baton Rouge. She sold her highest-selling painting yet and showcased her work overseas. Focusing on Nya’s pregnancy eventually became cathartic for her. She was of great help to her friend, taking her to her doctor's appointments when Alex was away on business. We were ecstatic when we were offered to be the godparents to her little girl. Alex was so enamored by his daughter that he lost his train of thought when he looked at her. I remember those days fondly. We offered to help, but we knew the couples had large families, which meant no shortage of extra hands. 

We circled back to the idea of parenthood and agreed to give it one last shot, working towards our goal discreetly. We fine-tuned the process. I continued abstaining from smoking and drinking, as did she. There wouldn’t be the continued testing, however.  We detested anything that would stress us both out. 

I turn to her. “Maybe our mistake was allowing all of this to feel closer to building a machine than to making a life”, I commented in bed. I flipped through a book about postpartum hormonal shifts.  Amina placed Hamda’s mittens under her pillow before fluffing it. 

She shrugged slowly. “Aren’t we all machines in a sense?”

I grimace, closing the book and setting it down on the nightstand. “ That’s debatable”. 

She turned to look at me on her side. “ Is it? Our hearts are electricity. Our brains are the computer. Our muscles, the engines…” She yawns. 

“ Eyeing this so closely, I feel, is taking away from the process of bringing a child into the world. The spontaneity of the way it comes to us.  Up close, of course, it will seem as if there is no progress. When’s the last time we really took our time?” I suggested. 

Her eyebrow raised curiously, smiling at what I’m sure were old memories. “ If I let you take your time, I’d be stuck in Poenari for days, and we have jobs ”, she countered. 

I shook my head. “ Is that so horrible?” 

She goes quiet, looking back at the tv. She was already becoming invested. I heard her heart quicken by a few beats. Excitement. “ You know, I think you need an attitude adjustment. You need some of your humility back”, I teased quietly, flipping through the book. 

Her head swung to me in surprise. “Excuse me ?!”, she chuckled. 

I smirked. “ Oh yes. That’s what’s been missing”, I nod to myself. 

Amina crossed her arms. “I’ve got plenty of humility.” 

I shrugged. “ Of course you do. I'm simply referring to the kind you get from my hand”, I hint. I hold my palm up, turning the back of it towards her. Her eyes grazed over my knuckles and then back at me.

She abdicated, needing the break much as I did. With so many residences, there would be times when I’m in one country and she’s in the other. So we left the next morning. We hadn’t even been fully inside the Poenari before I started peeling her clothes off. A mouthful of her couldn’t even satiate me, I was on her in a way that bordered on concerning the moment our feet touched marble. I relieve staff for most of the day. But I knew my wife with my hands tied and my eyes covered. I knew her limits. I’ve been in her head. It didn't scare me in the slightest. 

It was as if we were under some spell. Candlelight dinners were flipped in seconds. She'd end up crawling on the table while trays of food shattered to the floor. We left dinner picking gelatin from our hair. We couldn't leave each other's sight. Every single word we spoke was a confession. I'd grown addicted to the raw honesty I pulled from her in those heightened states. 

We flitted through the halls like newlyweds. Ancient memories blended with new ones until I had trouble remembering what century I was in. It was as if we were retracing old steps. Spilling old secrets. We frequented the places we used to spend time together. There was finally nowhere to go. No appointment to rush to. I took my wife in the old way. Before, time seemed to quicken. Before facial recognition and speeding cameras. Before, life seemed to run a mile per minute. A slow, measured, and all-consuming pace. 

Then Spring came, the snow melted from the mountains, and the ice stuck to the edges of Poenari was washed away by the sun. Something had changed. What was supposed to be two weeks of retreat turned into another three. 

The two lines on her test read "pregnant." Then came the blood test. Yet again, Pregnant. At her official appointment, she was five weeks along. Even more of a shock, the fetuses looked larger than they should have been. I nearly passed out when I saw the three gestational sacs on the screen. 

All of those sessions with Zanto had worked. Everything finally worked. Triplets, as rare as they were, were no coincidence. Somehow. Amina was able to bring our children back.

Amina spent most of her pregnancy in Poenari. She couldn’t get quite as comfortable anywhere else. I ensured that Amina had the best care, providing her with a private obstetrician familiar with supernatural maternal care. This way she’d receive a personalized treatment plan with frequent communication throughout the week.  We were on the precipice of something extraordinary. Her pregnancy was in a league of its own. It was yet to be determined if the children would possess any of my vampiric abilities. 

At that time, I never knew a human being could sleep so much. Symptoms-wise, her pregnancy was fair. Morning sickness was rare, and heartburn was strictly associated with red sauces and oranges. Otherwise, she got on pretty well, all things considered. There was no getting around the fact that a triplet pregnancy was high risk. I hated to be the one to give lectures on the importance of slowing down, but it had to be said. I loved seeing her waddle to the bathroom in the mornings to fix her hair even though she wasn’t going anywhere. She was gorgeous all the way to the end. No matter how much she complained about her swollen ankles or fingers. No matter how much she missed her old T-shirts. She was stunning. 

Over time, it became clear that she would not make it to a “full-term” twin pregnancy. Her discomfort was constant in those last weeks. With their lungs and brains fully developed, our children wouldn’t need extensive medical intervention, her doctor felt. A decision was made to schedule an early cesarean at 28 weeks. 

I found the procedure fairly barbaric. Sure, I’ve had some fairly brutish moments over the past few hundred years, but this was different. The pushing of the organs, the separating of flesh, the digging. I used research to quell my anxiety, but in the end, it did little to settle me. And to think that in my time, these procedures were a last-ditch effort to save the child and not the mother. Long ago, I had night terrors of having to make that choice. Having to choose between my son and my wife. I couldn’t imagine a worse fate for our family.

A few weeks before her cesarean, Amina had been wanting to see her aunt for quite some time. Aunt Sheila was getting older and trips over 30 minutes were irritating for her arthritis. Both of us worked out a plan so that Amina could see her before her due date. 

Having to show up at an 80+-year-old woman’s house and compel her and her family to let me take her to Wallachia via shadow travel felt like a testy situation. Ever since that day Sheila threatened me, I’ve been steering clear of her. I wasn’t entirely sure if she even liked me, and to be honest, she wasn’t sure either, from her thoughts. She thought I’d take care of her niece, though, at the very least. 

“ My lord. What in the world? What is this place?”, Sheila gasped, looking around at the grand paintings. I step back from my protective embrace around her shoulders. 

I waited until her gaze met mine again and compelled her. “ Right now you don't care about this place. You have no curiosity about where you are. Your only objective is to visit Amina. You think the gargoyles are puppies. When you leave this place, your memory will be that you visited Amina at her house in New Orleans.” 

A dazed look settled over her tired eyes, and she repeated the command back to me. “I don’t care about this place. I think the gargoyles are puppies. I’m visiting Amina in the 8th ward…” she slurs back. 

“ I drove you to visit Amina”, I add. 

She slowly nodded, still under my control. “ You drove me to visit Amina. 

She broke out of her daze and quietly followed me to the bedroom. Amina was lying in bed reading a book. When she heard her aunt round the corner, she was already beaming, attempting to get up. 

“Oh, Don’t you get up, Mimi. My goodness, have you got yourself in a situation?” Aunt Sheila cooed as she closed in on her niece. 

The two embrace. Amina mouthed a “thank you” over her shoulder as she nuzzled into her aunt. I smiled at the exchange.  Sheila pulled away, and Amina lifted her shirt over her belly and pressed her aunt's hand to it. 

“ Girl, you’re about to pop. Three?”, Sheila hissed dramatically. 

Amina just laughed. “ Yeah. I can’t even believe myself sometimes…” she said. 

“Sleep while you can”, Aunt Sheila joked. 

“ That’s what everybody has been telling me”, Amina sighed. 

One of the gargoyles runs in, circling the bed posts. I try to coax them out of the room. “ You two sure are animal lovers. Bless your hearts. One moe' thing to do", Aunt Sheila observed. Her tone slightly borders on judgy. 

“ Already starting with the shade”, Amina snorted. Sheila smirks, knowing her niece caught that. “ We’ll have plenty of help.” 

“ Good. Good. And how ya’ feeling?” said Sheila as he leaned in to press her hand to the side of Amina’s cheek. 

Amina shrugged, but I could see the tears forming in her eyes. Aunt Sheila grabbed her niece's hand. I quietly left the room so the two of them could talk. At the time, she was terrified about going under the knife. Multiple times per day, I had to diffuse her growing anxiety about her due date. Now that she was going to be a mother, her own mortality had come into question so many times. She herself was motherless now. She didn’t want that for our children. I knew that a visit from Aunt Sheila would settle her. They spent the afternoon in deep conversation, which I tuned out for the sake of their privacy.

A few weeks later, we found ourselves in the operating room. My fingers wrapped firmly around Amina's hand as she looked up at the OR lights. She was strapped to the operating table with one free arm. I briefly slipped the surgical mask down on my face to press a kiss to her forehead. She was shivering all over. Dr.Ngozi said it was a side effect of the epidural. The needle was so long that I had to actively look away. Everything about women’s health was so overly complicated and harsh. One would think they’d have found an easier way to achieve the same result. 

I remember the indescribable look on her face when she stared back at me. No tears. Just pure fear.  It was her first surgery in her life.  All she could manage was “I wish my mom were here.” I tried my best to soothe her, but I was just as terrified as she was. During the entire pregnancy, neither one of us could fully relax. I could feel her worry from the other end of the house daily. Then suddenly it had all come to a head. 

I heard the first cry. Dr. Ngozi held each twin over the sterile field so we could see their faces. Amina was as quiet as a church mouse. At the time, it didn’t register with her that she was a mother. All she could focus on was the fact that she’d been cut open, and I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t want to leave her here or allow her mind to part ways from her body.  I stayed seated beside her as the nurses ran tests. 

Hamda was placed in my arms. There was a pink fitted hat on her head, and I remember how perplexed I was at her size. She was so tiny that I was afraid I’d break her if I held her too tight. I stared at her little face, cranky and fussy. I bounced her softly, lulling her to the sound of my voice. She opened her big, dark eyes, squinting in the OR light. They roll around the room, introspective, as she calms down. 

Amina holds our sons in each of her arms. Her eyes swam from one face to another. She can't believe they're real. She was quietly trying to verify who was who between the two of them.  We shared the same look. Disbelief. I looked down at Hamda, who was now sucking her fingers quietly as she fell back to sleep. It had been so long since I felt my heart again. Their presence had wounded something in me. Opened something in me that had long closed. It’s pain and love coexisting. I shouldn’t have been given a chance to do it over… but I was. 

 https://pandora.app.link/rMrHOulHn4b

In the quiet of the recovery room, sometime around midnight, all three of them were wide awake. Their tiny eyes blinked around the room, mixed up on their nights and days. Amina sat in her hospital bed staring at Hamda and Petru inspecting their tiny fingernails. Their feet weren’t much wider than the pads of my thumbs. It almost felt wrong for something so sweet and so defenseless to be born into a world like this one. 

The tears finally hit her then, in the dark. The realization fell over her like a heavy blanket. That they were, in fact, her children. Children she grew and made from scratch. That our lives would be changed forever. In a sense, who we were before was gone now. Something of the past. The future belonged to them. Priorities shift when our eyes meet. “ Thankyou”, I cry. “Thank you. I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

Nothing can prepare anyone for how much space such a tiny human can take up in your life. Let alone three. With each passing month, the decision to leave my forward-facing position at my company grew stronger. The triplets were simply a handful. Even with hired help, they were a handful. Even the gargoyles have trouble keeping up with them. They weren't regular children. They were advanced. They hit milestones well before they were supposed to. There were little things that tipped us off to how different they were. They were talking early, walking early, taller than other children their age. Their hand-eye coordination was well beyond what would be considered appropriate. Dr.Bach would stop by to run a few tests every few months. His hypothesis was that they were already displaying vampiric traits in secret. He found a collection of toys stuck to the ceiling in one of the watch towers. It was easy to think that gargoyles were doing it at first. I’ll admit I had my dismissive moments. 

What truly confirmed their true nature was when they got into my stash. The three of them had worked together on a secret plan at just 18 months old. They came running into the study with their hands and mouths covered in red. Amina screamed, checking them for injuries. 

They led us to the absolute mess they made. Bloody handprints stained the walls and carpet, and their footprints were outlined on the marble floor. Hamda walked to the edge, licking it before a trail of blood could slink to the floor. They never asked for it again. We let Dr. Bach know, and he warned us that there may come a time when they would request blood. Neither Amina nor I was ready for that day. 

They eventually had a growth spurt, a tricky facet of childhood I had long forgotten. There were groans of “I'm hungry” every hour. We offered a multitude of foods, including yogurt pouches, crackers, fruits, and cheese. It was as if they couldn't get full enough. I vividly remember filling each of their sippy cups with blood from the canisters I kept in a separate room. Amina seemed terrified, unsure if it would work, but at her wit's end. They took to it immediately, and the whining stopped. We had finally figured out what had been missing from their diet. The growth spurt that ensued afterward had our heads on a swivel.

At age two, they would have periods where they would sleep half the day and then barely sleep at all. Their habits would change monthly. Amina and I tried everything to get them down. Then the next month they'd sleep from 7pm to noon. We lined up numerous doctors' appointments, and to no avail, they were perfectly healthy on all fronts. Dr. Bach suggested that as they grew older, their sleeping patterns would change. They wouldn't have to sleep as much as a normal human, but would certainly need more than a vampire. 

I eventually decided to step away from my work, relinquishing my title as CEO while still profiting as the Founder and Chairman Emeritus. This would cut my work down to five hours per week, only stepping in to make major decisions for Meridian Property Group. New ventures or acquisitions would only require my approval signature. My main goal is to focus on long-term investments, succession planning, and major acquisitions. Anything too large for the CEO to handle, I would take ownership of. This meant fewer meetings, only needing about 1 every month. Any in-person visits to the office would be reduced to a few times per year. Long story short, the money would make itself. As an international company, it had all the tools it needed to sustain itself. This was my second chance with my children, and I wouldn't miss a moment. Not like before.

Amina was hesitant at first when I posed the idea. I had made it clear to her that I wanted to be the primary parent while she focused on her expanding career. Besides, I wouldn’t be doing it alone. There were so many people ready and willing to lighten the load, from Nya to her aunt Sheila and, of course, Zanto, whom Amina had grown very close to. And of course staff. We had a few nannies on standby.  It took a while for her to fully let go. Eventually, she started taking on more opportunities almost 2 years postpartum. Returning to Manhattan 2 days out of the week to network. 

We found our rhythm as parents. Managing children with growing abilities while still finding time for our own hobbies. During our downtime, we filed through art portfolios, selecting art to feature in one of the galleries. Amina loved to help me pick the artists to feature over dinner. Date nights were still and always would be designated for Fridays. 

Now 4 years old, the triplets are in their last full year with me. I felt proud to say that I taught them most of what they knew. I taught them how to read, how to count, and how to brush their teeth. I taught them their colors and numbers. Of all the things I've accomplished, nothing in this world made me prouder than my own children. 

They’d be starting school next fall, which meant less time with us. I was torn about it. I liked the idea of having a little more time to myself, but when I was away from them, I thought about them constantly. Amina and I had been looking into schools for children like ours. The supernatural world had but so few. 

I designated myself to make breakfast in the mornings. My staff could have done it but I wanted it to be special for the kids. Besides, I'm always the first one up. My morning starts the same as it always does. Hygiene, read over company reports, smoke, then prepare breakfast. The kids were creatures of habit like me, so they had the same thing every morning. Fruit, eggs, meat of choice. Though they had an affinity for bacon more than anything. 

Hamda loves Strawberries, Petru loves Bananas, and Alexandru loves Kiwi. After I get them ready for the day, they sit patiently in the dining room, playing with Legos. I have to re-cook the bacon because I burned it while defusing an argument between Petru and Hamda. Ethiopian Jazz keeps them relatively calm in the morning, lessening the likelihood of any meltdowns. The Melodies sweep through the house from the overhead speakers as I plate up the last of the bacon. 

I round the corner, seeing Hamda press her finger against her sharp little fangs, retracting them into her mouth when she sees the food. They put their toys away as I set the table. A little arm wraps around my leg, which pulls me out of my focus. It’s Alexandru, now the youngest and the neediest. This time around, I'm the favorite, and he's my little shadow in more ways than one. 

“ Sit down.. I'm almost done”, I instruct gently. Alexandru doesn't move an inch until I guide him back to his seat. He fidgets around as expected for a kid his age.  I don’t yell at him when he slides from his seat again and wraps his arms back around my leg. What had I forgotten this morning? Then I realized that I hadn't said good morning to him, nor had I given him a hug. Hugs were big in this house, especially between multiples. The inevitable fights always ended in a truce. A hug was a peace offering. A reset. But they were also how I started the morning. My mind must have been somewhere else. I swept through the morning, going straight into their routine by taking them to the bathroom to fix their hair and guiding them as they brushed their teeth. 

I find that the most trivial and quizzical things matter to a child. The things we forget in adulthood. Of all my children, Alexandru, the one who looked the most like me, had the most gentle heart. I suppose I had one once upon a time, too. Though it's too far away to remember. To be the first face he sees in the morning was surely impactful for someone who had lived only 4 years. I pick him up because that's all he really wanted anyway. I wrap him in a bear hug, swinging him side to side playfully. I feel the vibration of his giggles against my chest and kiss him on the top of his head. “ Good morning, Alexandru,” I muttered into his temple.

Every time I do this, I feel that I am undoing something terrible that happened to me. When I look into his eyes, it makes me wonder how it was so easy for my father to harm me. He knows nothing about the world, yet everything about it. I’m in awe of his curiosity. His gentleness. His receptiveness to the moods of others and his watchfulness.  He is four feet tall of walking truth, a mirror to all that he encounters. He broke me open completely. All of my children have in different ways, I suppose. Maybe this is why people become enraged with children—because their humanity and innocence are a reminder of what they’ve lost or given up. Most of all, they have exposed where I have been most wounded and where I have stopped growing. 

I set him down, and all is well as he climbs back into his seat. Once I've filled their plates, I sit at the table and talk with the kids, cradling a cup of coffee. A ritual older than they realize. As soon as the triplets could sit up by themselves, I’d wake them up, make their bottles, fix myself a cup of coffee and sit in the green room. I’d always believed black coffee to be a dad drink. I want them to be able to say “my dad drinks coffee” with children their age. Or even, “My dad drinks coffee in the morning with me” 

One normal thing. One normal thing to tell their friends along the way. To know they had a father who was as simple as he was complicated. To know that their father wasn’t all that different from most dads who tried. That...I loved them despite how different our family was. Despite how different they would surely become. If there was nothing else in this world they could relate to, they had this. They could turn on the TV and see the dad in the sitcom drinking coffee in the morning and say, “ My dad does that too.” 

“ What did you dream about, Dad?” Hamda asks me. A smile just like her mother's when she beams at me. The question is a testament to how often we talked to them. 

“ Hmm”, I tap the table, looking around. “ I dreamt about your mom coming home.” I smile. 

“ I miss mommy”, Petru says with a mouth full of bacon. 

“ Me too”, Alexandru chimes in. 

“ Me three”, I said. “ Who’s ready to ride the horses today?”

A choir of “Me!” echoed off the walls of the dining room. Some of the smaller gargoyles hung around the table waiting for the triplets' inevitable burst of energy. They seemed to be the only creatures in this house that could tire them out. It created a nice distraction so that I could answer some weekly emails. 

“ What should we do after the horses?” I ask patiently. 

Hamda perks up at the questions. I already knew what she’d say. “ We should play Mancala!” The boys agreed with her, just like her mom. She loved games. 

“ Okay. Mancala. Then what will we have for lunch?”, I chuckle. 

“ Pizza!” the three of them said in unison. I’d been outnumbered. BUT it was Thursday. They’d always wanted pizza on Thursdays. 

“ Petru. You get to pick the movie today”, I remind him. 

“ What movie do you want to watch, Petru?” Alexandru asks. 

He thinks for a moment, mouth smeared with the ketchup he requested for his eggs. “ Hmm…Ratatouille”, he says astutely, as if we hadn’t watched that very same movie last month. Alexandru and Hamda groaned because he’d always choose from the same 4 movies. Ratatouille, Spy Kids, Brother Bear, or Rugrats in Paris. But fair is fair, and the kids loved the sentient street rat subplot more than anything. 

After breakfast, I put away the dishes and got the kids ready for their horse lessons, which last all but three hours. As Hamda requested, we all played Mancala before lunch. Demitri ran and got pizza for the kids. They jumped up and down in excitement as he passed the box to one of the nannies. Pizza and then a movie before nap time. 

After nap time they had their snack before going to their foreign language lessons and any of their other extracurricular’s before dinner. They were nearly fluent in Romanian and Arabic, but still chipping away at Spanish. Amina said that I could be intense when I set a goal for the kids. I took every parenting book that I read very seriously. Before they were born, one of the books expressed the importance of teaching a child a new language before age 7. I started with teaching them the basics from the moment they could form a sentence.

Amina had also dedicated time to learning Romanian and had since moved on to Arabic. It was beautiful to hear her speak in what was technically her mother tongue. Learning foreign languages had opened up a whole new world to her. She was reading from manuscripts brought to Poenari by her past life with proficiency. 

As our day wound down, the chefs worked on dinner while I helped the kids get clean for bed. I braided Hamda’s hair into two pigtails to make it easier to style in the morning. She always fussed about it and tonight was no different. After dinner, we waited up for Amina. 

Amina’s keys jiggle in the doorway, and the kids stampede her. “HII!!”, she squeals as they jump on her and tackle her to the floor. She picked each of them up into bear hugs, kissing their smiling faces. 

“ Alright, Alright. Let her breathe”, I chuckled as she fought to get off the floor. The staff takes her luggage, but I go for her coat and hang it in the coat closet. Before she could get settled, she was hit with a wall of questions. 

“ Did you sell a lot of paintings?” 

“ Do you see any tigers in Thailand?!”

“ Did you bring me back any dessert?” 

“ Yes, no, and yes”, she chuckled. She opened up her tote and pulled out three packs of Thai candy. The kids started to jump around as they held up their bags of sweets. 

“ Anybody who wants candy tonight is going to be brushing their teeth a second time”, I warn. They didn’t care, they raced to the living room to open their snacks. 

“ Honey. I’m hooomee....”, Amina sang in a teasing manner, arms outstretched and waiting for me. I didn’t watch much TV in the ’50s, but I did know about I Love Lucy. She joked that I was a ’50s housewife. I never really minded it. In fact, I found it pretty funny because a couple of hundred years ago, it was starkly different. I don’t think I would have minded it back then if I could have done so without judgment. 

I pull her in by the waist, slotting my lips over her own. All these years later, she’s still not immune to my touch. I felt the same way about her. The tension in her body melts, and her mouth opens ever so slightly, giving me permission to deepen the kiss. She’s sweet against me. I don’t know whether it was the candy she ate before she got here or just her. The closer she presses into me, the more I believe it’s just her. Her essence alone. If it were a trap, I’d lose every time. 

Her hand sinks into the back of my head. It unravels whatever civility is left in me as I lean forward, leaning her back as I dive into her mouth. A giggle comes up but fizzles out when my hands press into the globe of her backside. 

We rush at the speed of two people, governed by three very nosy children. Rushes and hushed and hard. Her hand reaches under my shirt. Pulling me closer and closer until the inevitable chorus of “mama” and “Papa” subdued us both. She pulls away first, muttering something about bedtime. I peck her between every other word, over and over until we hear tiny footsteps running in our direction. 

“ Papa”, Petru called. “ Can we watch another movie?” he asks hopefully. I’m so eager for my wife that I let the kids have it. I knew it wouldn’t be long before they crashed. I hear them run back to the couch, crumpling more candy wrappers. She steals a kiss before clicking down the hallway in her stilettos. I’m not ashamed to say that I watched her leave before I was pulled back into the living room by Hamda. 

Amina reemerged about 5 minutes later, hair pinned up and hands washed. She joined the kids and me on the couch. Every single one of them scooted onto her, leaning against her. Petru finally chose something different, a movie called “The Parent Trap” from our endless collection of physical media. Movies were the only screen time we allowed the kids, and they cherished movie nights more than anything.

Stolen glances across the couch say what we can’t. Thank god the kids don’t last long- maybe 15 minutes before they drift off to sleep. They’re all splayed across Amina like a litter of puppies, squirming every time she moves. Eventually, we carried them off to their bedrooms. I balance two kids on my shoulders, and Amina handles Hamda. We put them in their respective rooms, closing their doors quietly.

Amina and I tiptoed down the hall and the stairs until we got back to the living room. We pick up the stuffed animals, puzzle pieces, and board games from the floor. The maids close out their shifts, leaving the quietness of Poenari to ourselves. I pour her a tall glass of wine, and one for myself. 

Any kiss after we were alone was just indulgent. The perfect word to describe this marriage. I don’t believe in too much of a good thing. But then again, I never really have. I don’t question just how much we enjoy each other's company. I don’t care why we do. Be it from chemistry, astrology, or instinct. We just do.

We end up sitting on our bedroom floor, door closed and terrace doors wide open. With our backs against the bed, we flip through her father's old CD collection. The soft notes of Al Green flit between the empty spaces of the master bedroom. Nights usually ended like this. A drink or a smoke or both. We made a vow to always set aside time every day. To this day, it hasn't changed. 

“ So. How much did it go for?” I prompt. 

She lands on the Marvin Gaye section of the collection. 

“ Mm… 1,635,000 Thai Baht”, she hummed casually. Clearly a mild day for her. I do the calculation in my head. 50 thousand American dollars. I would expect nothing less from Thai nobility. 

“ Did he like it?” I ask.

She nodded enthusiastically. “ He cried. Which I was really surprised by, because portraits aren’t really my strong suit, but they insisted he wanted me. He said I really captured her spirit”, she smiled fondly. “ He obviously doesn’t know that she visited me and told me what to put on the canvas”, she snorts. Amina had found a way to merge her artistic gifts and her spiritual gifts. As it turns out, spirits could be pretty particular about how they're depicted in art. 

“ Well, did she like it?” I ask in a hopeful tone.

“ She said it was fine and left.” She shrugged, taking a last swig of her wine. 

“ I consider that a job well done”, I quipped, pulling her into my lap. She pulled the cigarette from behind my ear and offered the end to me. I light it with the tip of my finger. She takes a few drags before placing it in the corner of my lips. I look at the doorway, noting the blankets stuffed under the door. We only smoke here. We don’t let them see, per my request. 

“Where’d you pick up that nasty habit ?” I joke, turning my head to exhale the smoke. 

She snorts playfully. “There’s this guy…” 

It starts raining, and I hear her yawn. I knew then that we wouldn’t be up for much longer. I couldn’t blame her, though. I’m sure the jet lag was getting to her.

She starts. “ One of the K-12 schools called me back. They seemed really eager to have the kids. The dean kept going on and on about the diversity of the students. You know, at first, I thought she was talking about race, but then she started listing all these different creatures. Werewolves, elves, orcs, Minotaurs. I don’t know when any of this will finally feel normal”, she sighs.

The things that go bump in the night have children of their own. It’s not often that it happens, but it did happen. Until a few short years ago, it never happened for vampires. Our children were one of a kind. It brought us both great pride and great worry. Parenting them was a learning curve. I shake my head, feeling the worry seep in before any of the excitement could. “ Where is this school?” I ask curiously. 

She perked up. “ It’s hidden like ironwood. They’ll need portals to get to and from”, she says.

I frown. “ We could always homeschool”, I suggest. 

Amina’s expression flattened as she shook her head at me. “ They need to be around kids their own age if they’re going to have any sense of normalcy. Playdates at Nya’s and with their cousins aren’t enough. They need to be socialized, Vlad”, she warned gently. 

“ Is there anything normal about our lives?? They certainly won’t have a normal one..”, I counter. 

She playfully rolls her eyes. “ You’re scared to let go. Admit it”, she teased. “ With the triplets enrolling in school…Haven't you thought about putting the suit back on? I think some time to do your own thing will be good for you. You do an awful lot for all of us.” 

I scoff. “ If you saw how big a 4-year-old Minotaur was, you wouldn’t want that little shit around your kids either.” 

Amina’s jaw drops. “ OH my god???” she blubbers. “ Oh my god, you’re….terrible”, she cackled. 

“ What?!” I ask. 

She slaps my chest. “ I would say racist, but that wouldn’t be the right word. The word, I think, would be species—st,”  she huffs, trying not to hold back a laugh. 

I roll my eyes playfully, taking another long hit of my cig. “ I don’t want the kids hurt…is all”, I explain. 

She turns around, straddling me to get a good look in my eye. “ Getting hurt is a part of life, Vlad. I think you need to be more concerned about our kids hurting somebody else’s kids. They are very smart and cerebral, like you. If their abilities continue to develop, they’ll have a lot of unchecked power that they’ll have to learn how to handle in social settings. Being around other kids will teach them the importance of self-control and patience. Especially patience with people who are different from them”, she pleads sweetly. “ Besides, I thought you liked having something to do. Ya’ know? Having something else to think about other than doctors' visits, and horse riding lessons and who’s leaving crumbs in the bed.” 

I pause for a beat, thinking. “You… may be right”, I sigh tiredly. I knew I’d already lost this battle. School taught children how to be functional adults. There was no way around it. I pass the cig back to her, turning my head to exhale my smoke. I caught a glimpse of a handmade Father’s Day card sitting on the TV mantle behind us. “I have plenty to do between the kids and the galleries. If nothing else, I’ve had a lot of time to grapple with what I was put on this earth to do, and honestly, I think I’m just meant to be a dad. That’s my job”, I confess. 

Her gaze softens as she presses the flat of her hand against my cheek. I already see the tears forming in her eyes. She’d been so tender-hearted since she became a mom. She could cry at the drop of a hat—as the Americans say. I was the same way now, too. It left us both so surprised by how children could deepen our capacity to love one another. 

She leans over to kiss me on the cheek. “You really are the best daddy.” She begins to trail a line of kisses from my cheek all the way to my mouth. 

“ And you take really, really, really good care of your wife”, she mutters against my skin. 

I expect her to turn away, but she deepens the kiss, settling the seam of her dress pants at my crotch. Soft nips at my bottom lip put my body on alert. As she pulls away slowly, she uses her left hand to pop the buttons on my shirt. Starting at the bottom, she unfastens each button while watching for my reaction. She takes a long drag of her cigarette with her slender manicured nails, making no move to deter the smoke from my face as she reaches the last button at the top. 

“ I should take good care of you too, huh?” she asks innocently. Her tone isn’t doing much to hide the intentions of her face. I can feel arousal begin to course through my body.  There were a lot of things I loved about my wife. Her resilience, her empathy, her motherhood, her power, her weaknesses. But at the top of the list was her unwillingness to pull her punches. It’s no surprise I like it when she makes it hurt. 

I’m staring too long and too hard. She tilts her head patiently. She was clearly waiting on an answer. “ Yes”, I mutter quietly. I’m perfectly still. I don’t want any sudden movement to ruin the momentum of this moment. 

You were just passing through. The longer stretch of the trip was still six hours ahead of you, traveling upstate in your used sedan that you finally paid off a month ago. 

This short stop was for gas, dinner, and maybe a beer because your car doubled as your hotel room the last few nights since you saw no point in wasting a hundred bucks on a bed when your backseat and blanket did the trick just fine. But it was a bit much on your back…a beer or two would help.

The bar you found was a few miles from the run-down gas station where you filled up and grabbed handfuls of bags of chips, Little Debbie snacks, Gatorade, a gallon of water, and a couple hot dogs. Dinner tonight and breakfast when the sun rose the next day. Killing two birds with one stone and saving money and time? A win-win-win.

But the beer at the tiny dive was nearly seven bucks…seven bucks. The bartender seemed to turn his hairy nostrils up at you asking him to verify the price. You couldn’t name this place on a map and, no, you didn’t have one but this small, dusty town seemed to be all on one road so what the hell? You fished through your wallet and found a few singles that you could use and the rest would go on your card but you hated to use it when every dollar counted at this point. 

Those remaining three bills could go towards gas, another hot dog, or a new pair of sunglasses from the dollar store since the ones you hit the road with fell off your face and into the river you were peering at your reflection in when you pulled over to ask a pedestrian in a different town how to get back on the interstate from there. That’s what you get for wanting to rest your weary eyes with a picturesque view of burbling waters and lush greenery instead of cracked asphalt and neon signs.

“I’ll pay for it. Put it on my tab, Steve,” a voice wafted over your left shoulder and you almost flinched. It was close, or rather he was close, the voice a kind of deep, coarse, melody that snatched your attention from your wallet as you whipped around to see the man who had generously paid for your Corona.

He was towering over you as you sat on your barstool with his hands in his dark jeans pockets, his arms concealed in a black, leather jacket that didn’t really do much to hide his biceps, or his chest that nearly strained against his navy t-shirt. Two thin, silver-plated dog tags on his silver chain necklace graced his thick neck, his Adam’s apple present as he cleared his throat when your eyes caught his, his grayish, stubbled jaw clenching before his pink lips grew into a soft smile that touched his brown eyes. You noticed the crinkle around them like he was much older than you or just tired like you, but either way, you smiled back and said, “Thank you.”

There was a hesitancy to your voice that didn’t outweigh the politeness in it because you didn’t believe in meeting kindness with rudeness, but you weren’t a dummy, either. You were a young woman on the road and on her own and that meant virtually anything could go wrong. For that reason, you kept a Smith & Wesson 640 under your seat when you drove or tucked it into the pocket of your denim jacket that you wore now. You could feel the weight of it on your left side as you slipped your wallet into the other pocket on your right and watched this man slip onto the barstool next to you.

He had a casual look about him, his strong-looking thighs spread wide—the muscles apparent even in the heavy denim—as he placed his right hand on the right one and his left elbow on the bar before he grabbed one of the two Corona bottles Steve had sat on black napkins in front of you both. The man tipped it to you before he took a swig, his lips glistening a bit afterward with the liquid before he licked them and smiled again, a soft, reserved one because maybe he noticed your smile wasn’t as big as his. But you still grinned as you took your beer now, too, and enjoyed a few icy cold swallows that made your chest feel nice and warm before you raised the bottle in the air a little as a silent cheers back.

“You’re not from around here,” the handsome stranger stated. And yes, he was handsome. A little too easy on the eyes because he made it difficult to pull your eyes away from him as he kept his gaze on you like you were some heavenly body that descended from space and landed right in this bar before him. Made you glance around the dive bar then, at the rustic wood floors and tables. The cream-colored (or maybe it used to be white) jukebox crooning a scratchy rendition of “Don’t Be Cruel” by Billy Swan. The one small, plasma screen TV mounted in the corner of two walls blaring the local news. And the glowing beer signs littered on the rest of the wall space highlighted some interesting characters. Mostly men, mostly in leather like him, and mostly older. Like him. But he had a look about him like he didn’t belong here, either. A bit too clean and polished, his auburn, salt, and pepper hair cut too neat, his skin too moisturized instead of weathered, and even his voice too soft where the chatter around you was rough, grumbling, and in some corners, boisterous.

But he didn’t seem soft…actually, he seemed very aware of the way your fingers flexed on your lap when you weren’t taking sips of your beer. You weren’t reaching for anything in particular but, of course, you would if you had to. And he looked like the kind of man who knew how to protect himself, too. Made you wonder what he was hiding in that snug, leather jacket of his.

“I’m not…just here for tonight,” you replied and he nodded his head. You raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you from around here?”

He smirked at that and brought his hand up from his lap to rub at the scruff on his chin. Didn’t take his eyes off you and for some stupid reason, that made you twitch. Not your fingers this time, though. You looked away and at your beer that was a swallow from being empty and you saw from the corner of your eye this man wave over Steve to give you another one. He brought two and the man tilted his head back a bit to finish off the beer he was working on to catch up to you. His neck had muscles that lead to his collarbones just peeking above the rim of his shirt, those muscles moving with his sips and you felt yourself lick your lips. Um, yikes. You yanked your eyes away again to enjoy your second beer on the house as his pleasant, raspy voice cooed from your left, “This is my hometown but I live in Pittsburgh. Just visiting my folks for the holidays.”

That made you take a glimpse at him again with slightly widened eyes as you rested your elbows on the bartop. “Shit,” you whistled. “I forgot Thanksgiving is this week.”

It was Tuesday and the holiday was this Thursday but that hardly registered to you because you weren’t here to see family nor on your way to do that, either. You weren’t sure where you were headed, actually…somewhere in Rhode Island, Chicago, or maybe Maine…anywhere that wasn’t Alabama, to be honest, and very far from it. 

“Not close with your folks?” The handsome stranger asked as he held his beer to his lips. Almost like he paused himself to hear you speak, his eyes on you again, and, really, they had never left. He seemed fascinated with you and a part of you was thawing to the fact that maybe it was because you were a breath of fresh air in this sausage fest of a bar and maybe his family, too. You used to hate forcing a smile on your face at family functions with your ex during the holidays when you’d rather be anywhere else on earth.

But the other part of you still shrugged off his question as you sipped your beer and looked ahead of you at the wall of polaroid pictures behind the bar. A lot of them yellowed with purple sharpie writings in the white space that used to be black ink, you were sure. Groups of guys and some women smiling, holding up pitchers of beer, shooting pool, but you didn’t see a pool table in here now. You just saw this man who was making you a bit warm with his gaze…or maybe it was the second Corona heating up your blood. You spoke slowly because you didn’t want to accidentally reveal some shit that wasn’t his business just because you may or may not be getting a buzz.

“Not really. I like to move around a lot. On my way to my next spot come mornin’.”

“Where to?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Are you on the run?”

“You always ask people you just met this many questions?”

He chuckled at that. A hardy one that made him hang his head with a little shake before he lifted his eyes to look up at you with a smirk. He wagged his finger at you. “No. No, I don’t, actually. I’m just curious…you can probably tell from the look of this place that people like you don’t walk through the door often.”

“People like me?”

“Beautiful women, yes.” 

There it was. You were waiting for it. All this sweet talk, if you could even call it that, was to butter you up for the impending onslaught of compliments to hopefully coax you out of your panties. That is, if the beers he was intending to feed you didn’t soften you up enough. It made you set your bottle down onto the bar with a clank as you clapped and wringed your hands together in an almost pleading gesture, but you were not about to beg this man for shit.

Instead, you hissed resolutely, “If you think a couple of free beers and pleasantries is all it takes to get me out of here with you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

The man’s eyes widened a bit before they settled into a disappointed grimace. But to your surprise, the disappointment didn’t look like rejection but rather…empathy? The fuck?

He held up his hands in defense as he said softly, “I apologize if I came on too strong. I just…I couldn’t imagine walking into a place like this and feeling…comfortable. Just wanted to show some decency.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable,” you spat but then jumped out of your skin when a roarious cacophony of gruff laughter and fists pounding on tables from someone apparently making a hilarious joke exploded from somewhere behind you. That you could deal with. Kind of snooty bartender you could deal with. Handsome stranger gazing at you with warm eyes that matched the warmth creeping up your nape and spreading into a blush your brown skin wouldn’t reveal? Um…

He breathed out a laugh through his nose before he wiped a big hand over his mouth and stubbly beard. Looked like he was thinking of what to say next to keep you from running away from him but you beat him to the punch. “Thank you for the drinks but I gotta head out. Long drive ahead of me tomorrow.” You went back into your pocket for your wallet to leave those three dollars on the bar as a tip and stood, not bothering to finish your beer as you started to turn and walk away. 

“Wait, hold on,” you heard him utter at your back. You didn’t stop walking, though, pushing the heavy or stuck door open to step into the humid night as you swiveled your head to locate your car. It was a rather small parking lot but it looked a lot different when the sun was out and now the moon was just a slither among scattered, dull stars and one, lone streetlight that flickered like a strobe light. You heard the bar door open and shut again behind you and you rolled your eyes. It could’ve been other patrons stumbling out but you knew when you looked over your shoulder, it would be the handsome stranger man. That should have struck panic through your spine but…it didn’t. He stood there and he didn’t follow you any further and just held out his hand. You saw your pistol resting on it.

You sucked in a gasp as you patted at your jacket pockets and, sure enough, neither of them held your gun, but he did. It must have leapt from your pocket when those noisy patrons jumpscared you before. He wasn’t pointing it but, instead, held it in his palm like an offering to you. You started to begrudgingly walk back to the bar and towards him, staring at his other hand at his side to make sure it didn’t reach anywhere it wasn’t supposed to…taking in his posture that was kind of militant with a slightly wide stance, squared shoulders, and chin tilted up a bit as he stared at you, too.

Made you wonder if he’d served, if the dog tags weren't already an indicator, and if this stance was to disarm you because he kept still and compliant even when you stood right in front of him and plucked your weapon from his palm. Even though you appreciated him handing you your gun, it was a bit jarring to see him go from easygoing inside the bar to stoic outside in minutes. You tucked your piece into your pocket and took a step back from him, watching him watch you with those eyes that had an almost playful gleam in them before that now shined with concern.

“I know you’re not at liberty to say, but…if wherever you’re headed requires protection like that,” he tipped his chin towards your jacket pocket, his voice low with hidden worry, “...are you equipped with enough power for the trip?”

Your jaw tried to drop but you clenched it and inhaled a sharp breath to steady yourself and keep from blurting, “I do not need your help.”

Because any more favors from this man might make him think you owe him one, giant one. But the truth of the matter was…you only had as many bullets as the chamber could fit. You weren’t some gun freak who toted a variety with ample ammo and touted how you’d use it if pressured. You just wanted to keep yourself safe. And you didn’t think you’d ever need more than five bullets. God, you hoped you’d never need even one.

The longer you took to respond, a few seconds lingering between you in the hushed night, the more worry filled his eyes and he spoke right as you parted your lips to speak, too.

“I can get you squared away with some, if it helps.”

“I don’t need anything, thanks.”

You talked over each other and it didn’t help that ruckus laughter and music from inside and barreled against the door you two stood by.

You said, “What?”

He said, “Huh?”

And then you repeated, “I said I’m good on ammo, thanks.”

“Come with me to my truck. I got somethin’ that can help,” he suggested at the same time.

You caught the first part this time as he was saying, “Sorry,” for interrupting you and it made you shake your head furiously at him. Handsome or not, didn’t seem like the best idea to follow him anywhere.

“I’m good. Really,” you assured him but then he walked off. Rude. But he didn’t head back inside and, instead, through the parking lot and into the shadows where he disappeared for a minute before emerging back through the black with his hand out again. This time you saw his palm filled with a smallish, greenish paper box with red labeling. You didn’t have to look too closely to see it was bullets. At least fifty rounds. “I’m not on the run,” you answered his question from earlier with a quieter tone, folding your arms over your chest as a sultry breeze crossed by. It kicked up some dust from the dirt you both stood on and also his cologne that you didn’t notice before. Something heady like tobacco and vanilla and it made you look up at him and hold his gaze that was already steadfast on you.

“I believe you,” he replied just as quietly. Jiggled the box in his hand once like it was a treat but his face was smooth. His tone became insistent but still soft. “Even if you were, I don’t think you’d get caught ’cause you’re smart.”

You went still as you assessed his words. There wasn’t a lick of sarcasm in them, but rather a well of sincerity you were starting to see wasn’t running dry because he didn’t move. He waited for you to move and his gaze flickered down to your hand that swiped the box of bullets from his palm.

You shoved them into your jacket pocket along with your wallet, peering down at it when it wouldn’t fit all the way in, but your eyes shot up to glare at him when he declared, “Atta girl.”

“Nah, I’m a grown woman,” you reminded him.

“Apologies. Noted,” he replied and watched you huff when the damn box still wouldn’t slip into your pocket without threatening to fall and spill bullets all over the dirt…and maybe you also huffed because his gaze was still warm and trying to simmer beneath your skin like he could see the depths of you.

It made you twitch again, somewhere in your gut like you had butterflies and maybe a bit lower and you wanted to curse at him for making you feel that. You didn’t know this man and what he was capable of…but he did just do you a kindness. Even though you never wanted to be in the South again, that Southern hospitality was rooted in you something deep. “Thanks,” you muttered, instead.

“Welcome,” was all he said before he extended his hand again to you. This time for a handshake. You looked down at it and then back up at him as he added, “I’m Jack. Can I know your name or are you not at liberty to share?”

That made you almost smile before you rolled your eyes and declared, “Ugh, give it a rest already,” and told him your name. Jack didn’t hide his smile from you, especially when you put your hand in his and shook it. You couldn’t help but notice how his hand tried to swallow yours and how warm and mostly soft his palm and fingers were. A bit calloused in the grooves and thick as they held onto you and you felt those butterflies again when he slipped his hand from yours gingerly, like you were made of glass and he didn’t dare let your hand carelessly drop to your side. His thumb brushed along your thumb knuckle and your hand jerked itself away, a reaction out of your control because, well, you weren’t used to anyone touching you lately and certainly not kind, handsome strangers.

“Sorry,” he gave under his breath and even took a step back from you to give you your space. You shook your head, not to refute his apology, but to clear your thoughts that were coming in hot and fogging up your mind with stupid ache because, Jesus, had it been that long since you’d been touched that a handshake made you feel tingly all over?

You knew the answer to that question was an unfortunate and resounding yes.

“S’okay,” you gave back and then crossed your arms over your chest to glance around the lot awkwardly as you rocked on your heels. Trying to avoid his warm gaze that was fixed on you. Curious about you. And maybe you were a bit curious about him. But the words, “I should get out of here,” still left your lips. 

Yet when your feet didn’t move, Jack asked, “Not tryin’ to get in your business, I swear, but…did your piece come loaded or did you load it?”

You forced yourself to meet his eyes and you could still see the concern in them for you. This man had maybe fifteen years on you and likely had those “traditional values”—yuck—of protecting women he found helpless, but you weren’t helpless. You had a loaded weapon on you right now. And what’s more, you wanted to find it weird that a stranger would want to care this much about another stranger in this day and age.

But then again…maybe he knew better than you did of the dangers that lurked in this seemingly small town that you planned to sleep through in your car. He was from here after all…

“It came loaded,” you answered honestly, hands tucked in your pits as you thumbed the seams of your denim jacket. You shrugged and added a bit flippantly, “And no, I’ve never loaded it before. But I was gonna teach myself.”

“How?”

“YouTube.”

Jack sucked his teeth at that and placed his hands on his hips as he assessed you again with new eyes. You could feel the weight of his concern needling into scrutiny and you pouted at him. “What?!”

“Have you even shot it?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Do you wanna learn?”

“Why are you assuming I don’t know how to shoot?!”

“Because you don’t know how to load the damn thing, either. Bet you were gonna ‘YouTube’ that, too.” He threw up air quotes with his fingers at the word like self-guided videos were the bane of his existence. And you took special offense to that because you taught yourself how to change your car’s oil with one of those videos, damn it.

“Excuse me?” Your mouth fell open with shock to hear him curse at you and you pouted again as you unfurled one of your hands from your chest to point a finger at him with an accusation, too. “You know what they say when you make assumptions…”

“Yeah, well. I’d rather make an ass out of myself than know you have a piece you can’t use when you need it. And because you’re smart, you’ll let me show you before you get back on the road.”

Your hands at your sides now turned into fists before you took a tiny breath in and out through your nose to relax your shoulders and slowly unclench your hands, just as slowly folding them back over your chest as you said through your teeth, “Fine.”

Jack let out a gruff snicker at that and said back, “There’s a clearing less than a half mile from here. You probably passed it if you got here off the east exit. We can practice your shot there.”

“You drivin’?” you assumed and felt your cheeks burn to do the thing you accused him of just moments ago. His face remained even and calm, thankfully.

“Whatever makes you comfortable, ma’am.”

Your better judgment would normally scream at you to ignore the handsome stranger’s charm, hop in your car, and peel out of the parking lot with the free ammo. But…he was also offering a free lesson you could actually benefit from…and there it was again when you looked at him. The warmth in his gaze that softly glimmered in the faint moonlight and showed no malice or mischief. Just a man who wanted to see to it that a woman like yourself could hold her own. Hmm…

“I’ll follow you there,” you decided and Jack nodded in agreement. The clearing was indeed only four minutes or so away from the bar, the black of the night nearly swallowing the brown grass, dirt, and tall trees that were mostly bark and limbs as the fall had stolen their leaves or turned them the same color as the grass. You parked your beat-up car next to Jack’s sleek, champagne-colored pickup but that wasn’t the source of shame, oh, no. It was how bad your shot was when you imagined a simple point and shoot would be a piece of cake. At least loading the gun after he showed you was fairly easy.

But Jack was patient…taking his time to walk over with a slight limp you just noticed, crouch down, and reset the row of empty water jugs he’d had bagged in his truck bed that were due for the recycling center now getting dinged by your shot, no holes. He kept his headlights on to illuminate the clearing and they were goddamn bright so it wasn’t like you couldn’t see. Maybe the targets were too small? Or maybe you were still a bit fuzzy from the beers?

You huffed as you saw another plume of dust rise from the dirt when you missed your shot again, the water jug in the center of the five untouched. Felt like you were wasting bullets at this point but Jack stood nearby behind you to watch your form and provide a little feedback.

“Your point is steady but you jolt when you shoot…gotta keep still.” His voice floated over your shoulder, benign like he wanted to ease your growing frustration. You still whipped your head around to glare at him with slits for eyes.

“It’s too much kickback…I can’t keep still.” You lowered your arms, both your hands still on your piece as you started to turn to face Jack who was shaking his head and coming closer.

“Yes, you can. Here…may I?” he encouraged as he hovered his hands around your arms. And again, you wanted your better judgment to try and step in, warn you that you shouldn’t let him touch you…but once again, it was silent and replaced with the reality of his big hands settling on your shoulders with a warmth you felt seep through your jacket to your skin after you nodded once at him.

He gently turned you back around to look at your targets, standing close enough that the heat of him was against your back but he didn’t brush up on you. He just guided your arms into place to aim again, keeping one on your upper arm as the other ghosted along your wrist so his fingers could find yours to guide them, too. His touch was tender again, his hand overtaking yours but his thumb merely rested on yours as his pointer carefully cushioned itself between the trigger guard and your pointer finger. 

You felt like his puppet for a moment as he held your hand steady in the air, the weight of the piece and your hand in his much larger one as he pointed for you. You also felt his other hand slip to your elbow to bend it a little, a gentle motion, gentle like his warm breath on the side of your face. He must have popped a mint into his mouth on the short drive because it smelled sweet and fresh, but you didn’t hear the suckle of it in his mouth. You did hear the slight crinkle of his leather jacket shifting as he posed you, you could smell it, too. It was real leather, clean yet earthy, and mingling with the succulent scent of his cologne you got a whiff of before. 

And when his voice grazed your cheek with a hushed question, “Does this feel good?” you felt tingly all over again. God, you tried to stay still and prayed he didn’t feel it, too.

“Mmhm,” was all you replied with through your sealed lips.

“‘Good’ like…does this stance feel natural to you?” Jack replied back with more heft in his tone. Maybe to wrangle in your focus since you didn’t offer him much in response, but you were paying attention. Your eyes were on the middle target, even if your mind was on the soft coarseness of his voice next to your ear as he added, “If I let you go…can you hold it comfortably?”

“Yes...it feels good.” The words left you automatically but it felt like the truth, especially with his fingers still gently pressed to yours. You felt his breath on your nape when he breathed out a small chuckle at you and while it made you tingle again, you felt yourself grin, too. A half-shy, half-charmed grin…ugh.

“Alright…go for it. You got this…” Jack took a little longer than you thought he ought to to step back from you and let you hold your aim on your own…but you didn’t mind it. You took a breath through your nostrils to steady yourself and closed one eye to zero in on your target, that pesky jug, before you pulled the trigger.

And you saw a hole appear almost through the center of it before it toppled over on the dirt.

“Oh, shit!” you squeaked.

“Well, look at that!” Jack yelped behind you.

You lowered your arms and switched around to stare at him with an “o” for a mouth and a light in your eyes that wasn’t from his headlights still shining on you. You saw him staring back with a smile and his eyes twinkling, too, crinkling at the sides, he was smiling so big. A half-impressed, half-satisfied smile.

He clapped his hands four times, a mini applause just for you, before he started walking towards you and you felt your heart skip a beat. Was he coming in for a congratulatory hug? Why did the thought of him getting close to you again and holding you to him sound delicious?

But Jack breezed past you and towards the jugs to reset them again as he asked, “Wanna keep going?”

You thought about it…nailing that shot felt great but you’d popped enough shots tonight that you worried local authorities might show up to see what was all the noise about. Jack didn’t seem worried but where you were from, it was a real and very unwelcome possibility. “Nah. I think I got it.”

He nodded at that and started collecting the jugs, holding them between his fingers instead of you like he did moments ago as he turned to you and stated, “You can keep these if you want…free target practice whenever you want. I can put ’em in your car for you.”

“Um. Sure,” you piped up after a moment because you didn’t trust your voice not to betray you with a quiver from the thought still rolling around in your head about how good this handsome man smelled and looked. And he looked at you now with a nod before he breezed by you again to pop open the door to your backseat and load it with the jugs.

When he finished, he was turning around to see you’d migrated closer to him to stow your piece under the driver's seat. You felt his eyes on you and that warmth that was becoming more familiar and welcomed by the minute. It slipped up the backs of your legs and over the curve of your bottom that his gaze followed along your lower back, a bit of exposed skin where your shirt and jacket lifted as you bent to nestle your pistol and the bullets he gave you where they’d be safe. And, sure, it could all be in your head that he was staring at how your hands flitted to your chest to smoothen out your jacket as you stood up right, but you caught his eyes flitting away when you looked up at him. 

Your heart raced again and you began to wonder if now was a good time to get on the road because god forbid you fall behind schedule thanks to a handsome stranger who made your thoughts race, too. Okay, you didn’t really have a schedule…you just weren’t that type of woman…you didn’t give in to men just because they talked a good game and did you a favor…right? Right?

“So…you drivin’ straight through the night or you have some place to lay your head?” he asked slowly. The words left his lips one by one like he knew each one would be blocked by your sarcastic, little “not at liberty to say” comment from earlier that amused him, but it seemed like he couldn’t help but ask. A layer of empathy blanketing his tone that amused you because it was likely second-nature to the man. You’d only known him a few hours but for all the men you knew from Alabama for years were only this caring for their ATVs or motorcycles.

Jack shoved his fists into his jacket’s pockets as he watched you and waited for your answer which you decided to give him earnestly, albeit you tooted your plump lips to quietly blow a raspberry and awkwardly tuck your hands into your jacket pockets, too. “Gonna sleep in my car. Beats payin’ for a fancy hotel.”  

His hooded eyes widened slightly at that before he shook his head in disbelief. “If it’s a hotel here, it’s a motel and the furthest thing from fancy. They should be payin’ you to sleep there.”

That got a little giggle out of you and he grinned when he heard it before you both parted your lips to speak over each other again. 

“I’ll be alright,” you said.

“Put anything on your stomach today besides those beers?” he asked.

He tilted his head at you and you rolled your shoulders at his question, trying to appear taller and firmer in your stature even though Jack had a good five inches on you. But you kept your voice even as you responded honestly again. “Yeah. Picked up somethin’ at a gas station earlier…but listen. I get it’s almost Thanksgiving but…I’m not a charity case, Jack. I can take care of myself.”

Now it was Jack’s turn to straighten his posture as if to brace for the impact of your words, his chin tipping down before he ultimately sighed and pursed his lips. He had that disappointed glint in his gaze again and you felt it in your chest. Made you feel kind of…silly…to keep shirking off his kindness to prove to yourself that you could survive without it. Because, yeah, you could but…

“I know you can,” he said in a soft, matter-of-fact tone. Squared his shoulders as if to mirror you, maybe try to put you at ease once more? It was kind of working, especially with the warmth of his eyes on you as he added even softer, “But would you like real food and a real bed for a night? Would it help you get rested for your drive in the morning?”

“Who’s bed?” The intrusive thought escaped your mouth and you wanted to slap your hands to your face because what the hell was that question? Jack just sucked his teeth with another shake of his head, meeting your eyes that you swore shone a whisper of the same intrusive thoughts…hmm.

“It’ll be your bed tonight. My place isn’t too far from here…got a guest room with its own bed, bathroom, and such,” Jack explained as you crossed your arms over your chest. It wasn’t cool out, quite the opposite, but you felt a slight shiver dance along your spine at the thought of going to this man’s house…this man you just met…this very handsome, generous man…

This is where your better judgment was supposed to kick in for real this time because it was already a choice to follow him to a second location for this impromptu shooting lesson…and now there was a third location? You’d been traveling alone for three days with no real run-ins with trouble because you always kept it moving. It was gas, food, drive, sleep, repeat. 

You were just a passing breeze on this unseasonably humid, autumn evening. Here tonight, gone tomorrow. You were out of cash but had just enough cash left in the bank to get somewhere nice upstate and then come up with a more permanent plan. And staying the night at Jack’s was nowhere in that plan. That sounded like trouble.

But…

“You said you have real food…are you gonna cook or…?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Well, then…

“How, um, how long is the drive to your place?”

“Fifteen minutes headed northwest.” He removed a hand from his pocket to throw a thumb over his right shoulder in that direction. “If you’re headed further north, I’m about twenty minutes from that exit. You probably noticed this tiny ass town has one way in and one way out.”

You giggled again and tried to stifle it by clearing your throat. “Does this town even have a name?”

Jack giggled a bit, too, and pronounced his next word slowly as if he knew you’d find the name funny-sounding. “Ellsinore.”

You nodded dutifully, keeping your arms crossed and shifting your weight to your right boot as you looked around the clearing and then up at the crescent moon like it would tell you the next thing to say or do. But you knew you didn’t need the extra push to take him up on his offer that was too good to resist…a good meal, clean, soft sheets, and a long, hot shower? God, yes.

And when your eyes fell on his to find he was studying you like you’d studied the moon, looking at you like you were the moon…that curiosity about you lingering in his tender gaze, tender on you as heat kissed your cheeks…

Well, there wasn’t anything left to say but, “Let’s go…I’ll follow you again.”

The little red numbers on your sedan’s dashboard clock glowed 11:32 P.M. before your eyes flit back to the dark road. It grew darker and narrower when the rear of Jack’s pickup lit up with brake lights as he made a right turn. This road wasn’t paved like the main stretch of asphalt that ran through the town…Jack’s home was the dead end of a lonely dirt road surrounded by a dense forest of trees you could only see through when both sets of your headlights cut through the pitch black of the night.

You parked next to him on the grass, a makeshift driveway from the repeat tire tracks indenting the brown blades down to more dirt and dead leaves that crunched under your boots when you hopped out. Jack climbed out of his truck, too, and approached you to grab your duffle bag from your trunk after you popped it for him. He insisted he carry it and anything else you wanted to bring inside as you trailed behind him to his porch that lit up when you both neared it. The small, lantern light mounted to the right of his front door highlighted the silver of his hair and turned the rest of it hazel, the same hazel you saw touch his eyes from the glow when he glanced over his shoulder at you with a cute, inviting grin.

“Come right on in,” he chirped as he stepped inside and flipped on more lights to chase away the dark. First the lamp on the console table against the wall by the door and then the ceiling fan light that revealed the open space of the living room, den, and kitchen as his home. Reminded you of the double wide mobiles you left behind this week to prayerfully never see again. But Jack’s place was cozy…“Your bedroom is here, second door on your right. This other door is the linen closet if you wanna grab extra towels or sheets.” Jack’s voice filled the place as he walked ahead of you towards a couple of doors on the opposite end of where you meandered by the loveseat, just a few steps from the front door as you nodded and took in his domain. 

It wasn’t what you pictured in your head on the drive here…a refined, possibly military man like him lived in a quaint cottage? It was roomy but that room was teeming with walnut wood furniture and rustic knick knacks—like the row of porcelain duck figurines on the mantle above the fireplace—that belonged to another time, well-preserved, though.

The quilted throw over the back of the loveseat felt soft beneath your fingertips that you skimmed along it as you followed him into your bedroom. It held a large chest of drawers and a storage ottoman bench at the end of a queen bed made with a cream-colored, down comforter and several floral-printed and tan pillows stacked against the barnwood headboard. It even smelled nice here, pleasant and homey like patchouli and a hint of vanilla…but maybe that was Jack’s cologne filling the room.

You watched him slip your duffle bag strap from his shoulder to set your things on the edge of the bed before he turned to face you and clasp his hands together near his chest. “This is all you. Bathroom is through that door there. Soap, shampoo, and such under the sink…please make yourself at home. If you need anything in the meantime, I’ll be in the kitchen,” he made known with a nod and you nodded back. With that, he went to leave but not before you muttered his name to make him pause in the doorway, a hand on the doorknob as he looked back at you expectantly.

“Thank you,” you gave softly and for the first time tonight, you really meant it. Jack didn’t say anything but he gave you a half-smile that put those butterflies in your tummy again before he closed the door behind him and left you alone. Alone with your thoughts that didn’t usually race this much because you weren’t an anxious woman…just a cautious woman. 

Caution led you out of the seedy neighborhood you grew up in. Caution carried you away from the people who meant to do you harm. Caution kept you whole, kept you breathing. And here, standing by yourself in this quiet room, your breath hitched when you thought about how you were throwing caution to the wind because the handsome stranger successfully sweet talked you and coaxed you out of the bar.

But not out of your panties as you originally assumed was his intention. 

You were starting to see now Jack had nothing but good intentions…but when you closed your eyes in the shower and let your mind race with images of what his muscles looked like under his clothes…what his hands felt like when they weren’t on your shoulders but between your thighs…you weren’t so sure the same could be said about you. 

The water was deliciously hot with the perfect pressure that pulsed on your tired muscles you’d been ignoring from days in your car, sitting behind the wheel and riding the day or curling up in your backseat during the night. You didn’t realize how much tension was in your neck, shoulders, and back until you were able to melt in the shower for more than an hour.

You almost felt bad to run up Jack’s water bill like that but he did say to make yourself at home…so you took your time washing your braided hair and lathering and rubbing every inch of your skin with the fresh bar of soap you found under the bathroom sink cabinet. The mirror above that sink was foggy when you finally stepped out and wiped your palm over it to see your reflection, dripping wet afro coils and dewy, brown skin that felt as warm and supple as it looked from that wonderful shower. You’d wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel that was nearly as big as the blanket you slept under each night—and it was much softer. Reminded you that you should probably throw that poor blanket and your clothes in the wash before bed, if Jack didn’t mind adding just a few more dollars to his water bill, that is. You had a feeling he wouldn’t mind at all.

You decided to keep taking your time since you weren’t going anywhere else tonight…Jack’s home was your residence for the next ten hours or so. You rooted around your duffle bag until you got your hands on your body butter and coconut oil to moisturize your body and your hair, perched criss-crossed on the soft bed as you rebraided your hair that framed your face and fell down your back. You couldn’t find the hair tie you knew you’d packed in your bag and you already knew Jack didn’t have one with that near buzzcut he sported, so you shrugged and got dressed in the last clean bit of clean clothes you had: gym shorts and a t-shirt. It was a baggy fit and swallowed you up, which you liked because it was comfy and would deter the male gaze from trying to undress you with their eyes.

Yet it hit you again that Jack was the only man here and maybe…maybe you wanted him to see you. The thought of seeing him without clothes still flitted through your mind as you tiptoed around your temporary bedroom, spotting a small picture frame along with the other little trinkets atop the chest of drawers. When you leaned in to look closer, because the picture couldn’t be any bigger than four by six inches, you saw it was a faded photo of Jack next to two other men. The three were in uniform, you assumed from the camouflage it was the Army, and each wore thin smiles as they stood in a line in a field of some sort. Jack was missing his gray hair and the crinkles around his eyes, but you noticed even on active duty, those eyes were still warm as they looked back at you from the photo. You couldn’t help but think he was a handsome, young man and an even more handsome, older man…or maybe you thought that because the older man had fully charmed you this evening. Oof.

That fact remained indeed a fact when you wandered out the room to follow the alluring aroma of butter and herbs…and your nose didn’t steer you wrong because you stepped into the kitchen, you found Jack standing at his stove manning a cast iron skillet and spooning sizzling butter with a sprig of something green over a strip steak. You tucked your arms under your pits as you leaned against the wall and remained silent, watching him cook, hesitant to startle him because it appeared he might burn himself from the looks of the dish towel he’d wrapped around his hand to hold the skillet handle and tame the steam rising from it.

Which worked out for you because you were enjoying the view…he’d been wearing a leather jacket all evening but now it was gone and you could see the muscles of his large, freckled biceps as they flexed with his movements. Those muscles moved in his neck and shoulder blades, too, and leading lower to a firm butt in his fitted jeans. Made you wonder how often he worked out, how much he could lift with all those muscles, how strong would he feel if he laid his weight on top of y—

He startled you when he glanced at you and caught you staring. You even jumped a little, goddamn. It made him breathe out a chuckle before he returned his attention to the task at hand and remarked, “I meant to ask what you had a taste for before I left you earlier, but I didn’t wanna double back and disturb your shower sooo…hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

“M’not,” you replied quietly, your heart still thudding a bit as you tried to compose yourself. “Smells yummy.” You padded across the wooden floors and sat down after you pulled back a chair from the small dining table, also made of wood like everything else in this old-fashioned but intriguing house. You used your fingertip to trace the lace patterns on the placemat in front of you before you added, “You have interesting taste in decor, you know.”

That made him laugh aloud as he plucked your steak from the skillet with a pair of tongs to rest on a ceramic plate on the tile countertop. “I can’t take the credit. This is my mom and dad’s place. They definitely had…‘interesting taste.’”

“Oh…I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, you’re good. I take it the photorealistic mallard bathmat didn’t freak you out, huh?”

Your eyes widened in surprise as you met his gaze and blurted, “I didn’t even notice. I think I was…zenned out from my shower.”

Jack laughed again as he opened the oven to retrieve a baking sheet of roasted potatoes and asparagus from it with his dish cloth still in hand. “I’m glad it treated you right…” he offered softly as he fixed your plate. Then he walked over with your food prettily presented with the herb sprig as a garnish atop your steak, setting it on your placemat with a timid tone that you found sweet. “...I’m no chef and I was in a hurry at the store to get back here and start dinner…my, uh, sincerest apologies if the steak is charred.”

It was your turn to laugh because from the sight and smell of the meal alone, it was going to be good. And when you picked up your fork and knife from your placemat to dig in, you were right. Juicy, savory, buttery, a bit spicy, and you loved your meals with a little heat…it beat gas station hot dogs and snack cakes by a thousand miles. 

“I have no complaints. None. Wow,” you mumbled midchew and realized that might look unbecoming so you hovered a hand over your mouth. Jack didn’t seem to mind and admired you with a proud smirk as you chowed down before he fetched two tall glasses from his cabinet, a plastic pitcher of iced water from his refrigerator, and took a seat across from you after pouring you both a drink.

He sipped it a couple of times as he leaned his elbows on the table and kept his eyes on you, making you look up from your plate when you felt him staring. “You’re not gonna eat?” you muttered with your mouthful, pointing your fork at him.

Jack shook his head with a playful frown and replied, “No, I’ll have more food than I can fit in my truck on the way home come Thursday. My family overdoes it every year. This is all for you…you’re spared from my Aunt Betty’s hot chicken salad since you’ll be long gone by then.”

You snorted with a giggle as you swallowed your bite and wiped your mouth with the paper towel you tugged from the wooden holder in the middle of the table. “If that’s a kind of casserole…I can do you one better. You ever had a ‘dump and bake’ Doritos casserole?” You giggled again when Jack stared at you like none of the words you said existed in the human language. “I swear it’s delicious. Cheese, sour cream, salsa, nacho Doritos, ground beef, and more cheese.”

“You don’t have to confirm this, but you gotta be from the South, too, if you’re eatin’ shit like that,” Jack quipped as he folded his arms and teasingly inspected you with narrowed eyes. You grinned at first before it wilted a little because, unfortunately, yes, you were from the South…and you didn’t expect to think about that right now and definitely didn’t quite want to share why with him. Or anyone for that matter. 

It dawned on you that his hospitality could only soothe you so much before reality tapped at your spine, making your shoulders stiffen and your appetite wane as you placed your fork on your half-eaten plate to drink a bit of water, instead. Wash down the bitter reminder that no matter where you were headed, where you came from was likely written all over your face, your speech, your damn taste in food, even.

And it wasn’t his fault…you didn’t want the man catching strays from old battles that had nothing to do with him. But it seemed like he felt the shift in you, anyway, because he quickly uttered, “You, ah, ready for dessert? I picked up some ice cream, too…butter pecan,” to switch the topic. You appreciated that, but you need to let him know at least a little something about you to clear the air…

“No, thanks. I’m full but this was amazing.” You sat up straighter in your seat and gave him a tired smile. “You’ve been amazing, actually…men where I’m from…I’m, uh, I’m just not used to this. I don’t wanna get into it. Hope you understand.”

“I do,” he agreed with a nod. His eyes fell to his hands that he’d clasped together on the table, running a thumb along his pointer as you saw the wheels turning in his head to say something else in that hushed tone to make you believe that he truly understood. When his soft gaze touched you, you already believed him before he said quietly, “You don’t owe me anything. If it’s a privilege to know you…I’d like the chance to earn it.”

“Yeah?” you heard yourself say in a voice that sounded nothing like you. Too breathy, too drawn out, too charmed by his words floating in the air between you. 

Even though you were certain he had his central air conditioning running, the air became warmer…or maybe that was his body heat when he’d slipped from his chair to come closer to you, leaning into you slightly as he grabbed your plate for you and replied, “Yeah,” in a raspy voice that you felt breeze through your scalp. Made a warm tingle crawl down your spine and that feeling was nothing new at this point. Made you want to feel it again…and again.

You stared after him as Jack went to his sink and used your fork to scrape your scraps into the drain. Must have been a garbage disposal, you figured, and he must have felt that warm tingle, too, because he didn’t dare look at you as he mumbled, “I bought some other stuff to make you breakfast in the morning, too…eggs, bacon, bread. Take it with you, if you want. I have an extra cooler…I’ll box it up for you.”

“Oh, that sounds good,” you mumbled back but you wanted him to look at you…you wanted to see if his eyes still held that warmth and if it was simmering into a heat you felt, too. Because if it was…well…maybe you wanted to feel it. More of that heat…more of him. His warm breath that was on you just a moment ago…maybe you wanted to feel it on your face when you kissed him…

You were on your feet before your brain finished the thought, swiping your water glass to add to the sink as you approached him. Your bare soles moved on the cool wood beneath them that creaked a little with your steps. Jack didn’t move with the sound alerting him that you were behind him as he turned on the faucet to rinse off your plate, but you did notice him glance at you through the corner of his eye when your hand appeared next to his as you dumped out your water. You were going to grab the dish soap he was reaching for, too, to wash your glass but his elbow poked yours in the process and hit your funny bone, forcing it to fly out of your hand. Smooth.

The poke didn’t hurt but the glass that shattered at the bottom of the sink when you uttered, “Oops, sorry,” slit your left middle finger when you tried to clean it up really hurt. “Ow!” You hissed sharply as you noticed the running water try to wash away your blood that colored the white resin. 

“Shit, you alright?!” Jack asked but took your wrist into his hand to inspect your cut even when you nodded to his question. The cut didn’t feel too deep but you were still bleeding, and the only thing that seemed to slow it was the running faucet when he guided your finger under its flow. “Keep it here for a minute, okay? I’m gonna grab my first aid kit.”

“Okay,” you whispered and watched him rush out of the kitchen and to the other side of his house where his bedroom must be. He rushed back in less than a minute, holding a small, white box with a red plus symbol on it and placing it on the counter to pluck the tools he needed from it like he did this task every day. He assembled them in a neat, little row next to the kit: an antiseptic wipe packet, a tiny tube of antibiotic ointment, and a bandage. “You’re handy. I meant to bring one of those with me on the road but I guess it slipped my mind,” you gave in a small voice, hearing it hitch when Jack reached to remove your hand from the running water to hold in his again.

You shut off the water with your free hand as you studied him at work with a half-grin on his lips from your comment, eyes on your finger that he patted dry with a paper towel he swiped from the roll near the sink before he cleaned your thankfully minor cut with the antiseptic. That stung pretty good and you hissed again through your nose as he murmured, “Sorry. I keep one in my car, too. And another at my place in Pittsburgh. Guess I’m wastin’ money when I could just steal the supplies from work.”

“Work?” you parroted and his eyes flit up to yours for a second as he nodded. 

Jack reached for the ointment next that he dabbed with the blunt tip of his finger, applying pressure that matched the softness of his skin. The sting was gone now as the ointment and his touch soothed you for a few seconds. Made you fight to concentrate on anything but that sensation as it threatened to shoot a thrill through you he’d likely feel. You were grateful when he spoke again so you could focus on that. 

“Yeah. I’m an attending physician. Emergency medicine. Happy accidents like this are my speciality,” he replied as he wrapped the bandage around your finger snugly, even though the bleeding had thankfully stopped. You hummed understandingly at his profession. That explained…a lot, actually. His kindness. His generosity. His tenderness. “Feels better?” he nearly whispered and pulled you from your thoughts before you nodded again. You didn’t feel the cut at all now. Just his touch. He observed his handiwork for a second longer like he wanted to make sure he’d done a good job for you before giving you your hand back.

Except you didn’t let go of his gentle grip on you. 

That stupid ache that’d been gnawing at you since the moment you laid eyes on him didn’t feel so stupid anymore. You weren’t one to come on to men because maybe a large part of you didn’t trust men anymore. But this man…those intrusive thoughts that you’d been pushing out of your mind were louder than ever in the hush of the kitchen. You could only hear his breathing and your heart starting to pound in your chest when you felt the urge to act on another thought before it finished playing in your head.

You saw Jack’s eyes slowly lower to your lips when you brought his hand to them to lay a kiss on his middle knuckle. Lingering your kiss there before your lips trailed to another knuckle. Then to the back of his thumb. You didn’t pull your eyes away this time as you watched him watch you kiss the tip of his thumb, firm enough to just barely suckle it between your lips with one more kiss. That made his lips part like he wanted to sigh but no sound slipped out.

Instead, he carefully slipped his hand from yours to cradle the side of your face in his palm. His thumb skimmed the corner of your mouth and you were tempted to kiss it again, but he moved first, closing the space between you when he took a step that brushed his body against yours. His lips brushed against you, too, making your eyes fall shut as you felt his warmth surround you. His touch, his breath, his lips, letting you feel how soft they truly were when you tilted up your chin to put your mouth on his. Made that thrill finally shimmy through your body that you knew he felt when he slid his other arm around your waist.

Jack kissed you back like your lips were too precious to ruin, tentative pecks as his nose nudged yours and his thumb caressed your cheek. His palm even rested just so on the small of your back and it made the ache in you swell. You hadn’t let a man touch you like this in a long time…so long that the need to jerk away as you did earlier completely drained from your body to be replaced with greed to be held. Greedy for him to pull you closer. Greedy for him to kiss you harder. Greedy for him.

You moved faster than your thoughts again…your lips pressing in and your hands smoothing up his torso to feel the hard muscles behind his shirt until you could spread your fingers across his wide chest. Your bandage tried to catch on the cotton as you felt his pecs flinch under your touch like he couldn’t stop his reaction…and felt his own fingers start to rub circles along your spine he pressed his mouth to yours, following your lead. Tasting your greed.

You tasted his, too, when he let out that sigh, husky and sweet, you caught it with your tongue. Your lips wove together to taste more of each other, the greed dripping off the tip of his tongue as it grazed yours like he wanted even more. You sighed, then, too, more than eager to give it to him because his mouth fit yours in a way you didn’t expect. Lips not nearly as full as yours but still meshing just right with yours at the seams before he suckled your top lip to let you suckle his bottom one. His big hand on your lower back turned into both settling there to pull you against him, fingers softly digging into the fabric of your shirt and making you sigh again as you cupped his face in your hands.

“Is this okay?” Jack breathed, lips still on yours with just enough room in between to let you answer. Thumbs pressing into your back with a bit of urgency as he waited. 

“Yes,” you breathed back, fingers crawling into his hair to tug him back into your kiss that he dared to break for even a second. He let out a quiet groan when you licked into his mouth a little, squeezing you a little less than gently in his hands as you, and you didn’t hide the groan it pulled from you because, god, his grip on you was good…strong hands that you knew were strong from the look of them. Veins and thick fingers, feeling those fingers rub on your lower, gripping your bottom to pull you flush against him so he could feel you, so you could feel him, so he could guide you a couple of steps to the counter.

The backs of your thighs pressed to it when he boxed you in with his hands gripping the edge of it now instead of you. Trapping you between him and the hard place, feeling his mouth mold to yours like he was hungry for a deeper taste of you. He didn’t feed you the tip of his tongue this time but nearly the whole thing as he lapped at your tongue because you greedily opened your mouth to let him in. 

You didn’t try to whimper when his lips closed around the tip of your tongue to swallow the saliva from it, it just happened, and he chased your involuntary sound with one of his own, a tiny huff as you tugged at his hair again, your fingers so entwined with every strand you could reach that you felt the warmth of his scalp under your touch. A warmth that competed with his body pushed up on you and you swore you could feel how excited you had him…his heart thrumming against your chest…his bulge growing prominent in his jeans.

The whimper that pulled out of you was closer to a moan because you didn’t expect to feel it, let alone his hands that crawled all over you as he tucked them under your bottom again to lift you off your feet, sitting you on the counter so he could stand between your legs. Your head tilted back as Jack’s mouth followed the angle of your jaw to your neck, leaving soft kisses that lingered at your pulse before he tasted you there with a small lick, almost like he was testing how much you’d let him explore you…how much of you he was allowed to have.

You didn’t have any real parameters for that test because your mind was one track at the moment, focusing on the way his nose skimmed your collarbone over your shirt; the way his breath seeped through the fabric when he kissed there; and the way his palms soothed up your back, through your braids, down your sides and along your thighs, shifting your loose clothes around on accident, surely, because you didn’t think he meant for his thumb to hook under the right leg of your gym shorts and graze your inner thigh.

Any higher and he would have discovered you weren’t wearing any panties, just like he’d learned you weren’t wearing a bra when his other palm ghosted over your chest before you released a hand from his hair to make him hold your breast, breathing heavily as his thumb swept over your nipple until it was firm and pronounced through your shirt. You thought he’d peel your shirt off and suckle it like he had your tongue, fuck, that’s what you wanted, your body already arching into him as he held you there and squeezed at your thigh with a hand that was half-hidden under your shorts.

But no, Jack seemed to have a one track mind, too, as he was still caught on your lips like your kiss was the only thing providing him air. Every heavy breath he inhaled and exhaled with a pant and you wanted to hear it turn into a moan like yours when his hand snuck further up, his thumb tracing the seam where your thigh and hip met, letting him hear how pathetic you sounded when he accidentally stroked your bare mound. 

Or maybe it wasn’t an accident this time because Jack did it again when you moaned like that from the surprise of his touch…carefully thumbing through the thin coils of your bush to find where you were becoming slick before he pushed a little to part you. Swiped his thumb there, just over the hood of your clit, his lips still against yours but his kiss paused as he listened to the sound you might give him then. Your arms draped over the bulk of his shoulders and you were tempted to reach down and help him touch you again, make him rub your clit firmly because it tingled from the mere glimmer of his touch circling there without pressure like he just wanted to feel the silk of you under his thumb, making you mewl to him in a heated breath he took in like it was his.

You thought about tilting your hips up to meet more of his touch but Jack started to pull away altogether, the abrupt action ripping your eyes open as you watched him take a step back from you like you were on fire. You were on fire, though, your whole body hot and throbbing from just a few minutes of his touch and his lips still burning on your skin where he’d kissed you. Teased you. So maybe it came out a bit rougher than you meant it when you uttered, “What…what’s wrong?”

Jack’s chest heaved with a deep breath you shared because he seemed to still be as worked up as you, and yet he stood nearly two feet from you now, wringing his hands together in front of himself like he was guilty of something he didn’t want to speak on. That was concerning to you, and a little scary, because you’d been trying to remind yourself that you made a sound decision to come here tonight, that you weren’t in any danger here with this man. This man you barely knew. This man you barely knew in his home in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night. Oh, god.

“What?” you pressed and now you sounded a little worried but you tried your best to not let him hear it in your voice that maybe this was all one big, huge, stupid mistake and that you should leap down from his counter and yank open the nearest drawer to find a knife in case you needed it. Because of course your fucking gun was still under your driver’s seat in your car outside.

“I think…I think we should get some sleep,” Jack said under his breath, holding his fists to his chest before swinging his arms at his sides awkwardly. Your jaw went slack at the switch in his demeanor. Huh? Before you could say anything, he settled his hands on his hips and looked down at his feet in black combat boots to add, “Yeahhh…it’s late. I’m, uh, used to bein’ up this late but I don’t know. Maybe we both need to go to bed before we do something dumb.”

“‘Dumb?’” The word jumped out of you as you repeated it like you didn’t understand it. Because you kind of didn’t, actually. You remained on the counter but your fingers curled around the edge to literally and figuratively get your bearings as you looked at him with your eyebrows knitted together. “Did I…misread things? Did I come on too strong?”

You thought back to earlier in the evening when he’d said those words to you in that shitty, little dive bar. The dive bar where you were starting to think you should have never stepped foot in or bothered to turn your head when he saddled up next to you to chat. You took a sharp breath and let it out slowly. You didn’t want to be as frustrated with him as you were getting right now because, deep down, you knew it wasn’t his fault. You just…you didn’t like this feeling. At all. It was too close, too humiliating. You didn’t have all the pieces to the puzzle to solve what exactly was happening here but you’d solved plenty of similar puzzles…each one revealed a picture of a man who would say and do anything to fuck you and leave you like you were the dumbass for believing the sweet things they said when they wanted something from you. 

“No, no. You didn’t. Swear to god,” Jack quickly replied as you were taking in another deep breath through your nose. You could tell he realized he may have upset you and you felt bad for the way he thought to hold up his hands and soften his voice to say, “I just…I don’t want you gettin’ the wrong idea about me. I offered you my guest room so you’d have some place comfortable to sleep for the night. Don’t want you thinking this is how I expect you to show your gratitude. Because it’s not.”

He gestured at the tiny space between the two of you and a cool whisk from the air conditioning vent somewhere nearby fit in that space, reminding you of how hot he had you just a moment ago. Your face and neck still felt warm with a blush that wasn’t from arousal but a prickle of shame because that’s not what you believed just happened. “I don’t think that. I thought we were two adults who just wanted some…relief,” you stated in a low tone, your fingers flexing around the countertop edge as you glanced around his kitchen before your eyes sought his again...his eyes a kind of wince like your words twisted the knife you didn’t realize you already found and stuck in him, after all. 

You noticed it was 1:57 A.M. when your gaze had drifted to the digital clock on his stove. It was indeed late but you could see from just observing Jack’s scrunched face, his rigid posture, that he had been hoping for that relief. Just like you. That he was maybe touch-starved like you. That he wasn’t denying himself to earn any points with you. It seemed like he just genuinely wanted you to find respite in his care…even if it was for just one night.

He didn’t protest your words that tried to steer his comforting words to you into something that benefited you both because you could tell by now Jack wasn’t interested in kindness for it to be reciprocated...you felt it when he decided to close the gap between you one last time to leave a whisper of a kiss on your cheek and murmur, “I'm sorry. Good night…see you in the morning,” and walked away. You watched him head off into the shadows reaching from the hallway right of his kitchen, and after several seconds, you heard two light switches flip and a door softly click shut.

You were frozen in place for a minute or so, not sure what to do with yourself because you’d never been rejected before…not like this. Not by a man who clearly wanted you back but thought against it for your sake. Practically unheard of where you’re from, from the men you’ve “dated,” from the man you almost married before you skipped town.

Jesus, that wasn’t something you wanted to fall into your ex-shaped rabbit hole thinking about tonight. Or ever again. Instead, you eased off the countertop and onto your bare feet that embraced the cold wooden floors that warmed under your soles as you stood there for a moment too long, debating if you wanted to go to bed or go knock on Jack’s bedroom door and tell him he was wrong. Tell him you wanted to have your cake and eat it, too, because you never truly got the chance to savor it and that maybe this was his chance, as well. Because he couldn’t fake the hunger in his kiss…his touch…and you had never been touched like that before. With tenderness.

You were touching the bandage around your finger now, mindlessly, damn near picking and peeling it off as you started to walk and turned in the direction he went, instead of the opposite that led to your room. Every room except for the kitchen was dark, including the living room to your right as you passed by it, just a spot of moonlight entering from sliding glass doors that appeared to house his back patio and outdoor laundry room as you noticed a washer, dryer, and empty clothes hamper huddled in a corner. You thought to go poke around in there to figure out how the controls on the machines worked because you’d like to wash your things…and maybe you wanted to be a little nosy? See more of the man who had you tiptoeing closer to his door like there was an invisible string attached to him on the other side of it, tethered to you, too, and luring you forward when you realized you should probably leave Jack alone at this point.

He said what he said and you refused to be the sex pest whom he assumed you thought he would be. And as you approached his door, eyeing the soft, gold light that escaped from the crack above the floor, you weren’t going to knock and ask him to reconsider now. Even if that was your first, instinctive thought that yielded to the ache still in you, the one that he’d soothed for a few, sweet moments. Because no, your second thought was what was that sound you heard wafting from behind his door? 

When you got right next to it, leaning in to hold your ear near it but not your body weight as you folded your arms across your chest, you heard water pitter-pattering in the quiet, near distance. The telltale drip of excessive water falling from a wash cloth he may have wringed or simply rolling off his body to the tile let you know Jack was in the shower. You tried not to let your mind wander away from you picturing that…besides, there was another sound that caught your ear. Soft music. Soft like the melody was doldrums with bluesy guitar and dreamy vocals…but also soft like he was purposefully keeping the volume down. Maybe because he didn’t want to disturb you in your bedroom where you should’ve been.

You just found it difficult to pull away before you could place the artist of the song…after a few more seconds, you deemed you didn’t know it but you were certain a man like Jack shouldn’t, either. It sounded indie and interesting for a middle aged doctor. You didn’t mean to pass judgment, you’d done enough of that tonight, and you truly weren’t, you just…you were curious about him all over again. Curious how in the hell you found yourself so enticed by him when you’d been fighting all night not to be. Running from yourself all night. Running for years. Trying to trick yourself into thinking you didn’t need anyone, not a friend, and definitely not a man because you’d gotten yourself this far on your own and you’d be indebted to nobody. 

But as you retreated to your bedroom and crawled under the sheets, your mind wouldn’t let go of the theory that perhaps independence wasn’t compromised with support. You had a support system once…very small, but steady. When you were younger, just shy of your early teens. However, the older you get, you realize some things you have to handle yourself. Sometimes you have to save yourself. But maybe Jack wasn’t trying to save you. He opened his home to you to support you on your way, not trap you here or manipulate you to do his bidding.

Maybe it was you who felt trapped in your head too often because while you weren’t anxious, or at least you didn’t think you were, there was something always holding you back from just accepting that good things could find you. That those good things could hold you gently and mean the sweet things it whispers in your ear. You couldn’t help but think of Jack’s voice, letting it play in your head as you rolled over onto your tummy to try and get more comfortable. The bed was plenty cozy, actually, not too firm with soft sheets, pillows, and a downy comforter that swallowed you beneath it…it was your mind that was keeping you from falling into the sleep you needed.

Your eyes were closed, though…picturing Jack’s face when it was just inches from yours an hour ago. When he was breathing you in, holding you to him. His raspy whimper on your lips just from kissing you…you let that sound play on repeat until you felt yourself throb between your thighs. And throb again when you remembered his warm palm on you…his wide thumb rubbing at your clit…

You were wet then and even wetter now, you felt it sticking to your skin and the center of your shorts that were more snug as they bunched up the more you tossed and tussled. You huffed into one of the pillows your cheek lay on as you decided to take the shorts off altogether to free yourself of the restriction, reaching down and tugging them down your legs until they were bunched up at the foot of the bed under the comforter instead. The sudden thought of Jack under the comforter, too, behind you and on his knees as his palms smoothed up the backs of your thighs made your bare pussy twitch and you huffed again. Your fingers didn’t feel like his but it still felt good…especially when you squeezed your thighs around your right wrist just a little to keep it in place as you rolled your hips against your palm.

Thinking of how he would hold you like this, too, if he cupped his hand to your pussy and let you grind on his fingers…if he circled harder on your clit like this when he felt you twitch like that…if he held your ass cheek and spread you just to hold you open as he pushed in a middle finger like this to find your g-spot and make you buck against his palm…if his voice floated over your shoulder in that handsome, coarse tone as he coached you…

“That feels good? Keep goin’...chase that feeling.”

“You’re so close…so wet…goddamn…I need you to come so I can taste it.”

“That’s it…yeah…come on my fingers. No, don’t stop grinding. Give it to me. All of it.”

You wanted to pull your fingers away when you felt yourself grow too sensitive, but at the same time, you couldn’t stop because it felt too…fucking…“Ohh…mmhhh...oh, f-fuck.” The pillow absorbed your little moans that you couldn’t hold in, and thank god because you didn’t want to feed the chance of him hearing you if he was still awake, even if he was across the house. You hid your face to whimper when you curled your finger and rocked yourself against your hand again, ignoring the dull ache in your wrist because the way your palm was soft and sticky and slick with your wet that coated it made it so delicious each time your clit met it.

You didn’t stop until you came again, feeling yourself getting wetter as this time visions of Jack with his tongue shoved in your pussy to lap up the mess you made took over your thoughts. Your finger still cushioned inside you acted as his tongue and you fluttered around it from the mental image of him gripping your hips to lick and wring every throb of your orgasm that dripped into his mouth. Your tired hips bucked once more before you finally relaxed back onto the mattress, your tummy indenting it with each pant as you slowly retrieved your soaked fingers that you wiped on your shirt before you peeled it off and threw it to the floor.

The sheets settled around your satisfied, trembling, naked body like a hug and your eyes fell shut again with a calm exhaustion you hadn’t felt in a long while. You didn’t remember the last time you masturbated and you knew it’d been even longer since you came like that. For a long while now, pleasure just wasn’t your priority. Survival was. 

But here…you felt safe. It was a feeling that embraced you before you embraced it as you quickly fell asleep without dreams because your mind was at peace. If it wasn’t for the morning sun flooding the bedroom through the curtains that were already open because you didn’t think to draw them shut last night, you’d still be knocked out and enjoying the best night of rest you ever had. 

You weren’t sure what time it was because you were too cozy to reach for your phone on the nightstand to check, but you debated going back to sleep, anyway. Where you were headed would still be there when you got back on the road. You just didn’t want to disturb the nest you’d made for yourself in this warm bed…even if the smell of fresh coffee found its way into your room in hopes to tempt you out of it.

You knew it was fresh because you’d been “refreshing” yourself with burnt, gas station coffee for the last few days. And when you remembered that Jack said he’d also bought breakfast ingredients…it made you wonder if it’d be a mistake to leave behind this little slice of heaven before the sun went down again.

Before you agreed to spend the night, the answer seemed obvious. And even as you started to sit up in bed, you knew that it still was. Even if you’d like to maybe stay a little longer…you had somewhere to be. And it wasn’t in Jack’s arms.

You didn’t expect to see him in the kitchen when you emerged from your bedroom to grab a cup of coffee. You had taken his sudden attitude shift to mean he wouldn’t show his face around you until perhaps he had to…like when he’d see you off as you shoved your things back into your car in another hour or so—you imagined that’s how long it’d take to wash and dry your clothes and blanket—and waved goodbye forever to each other.

But there he was. Standing at the counter close to where he had your thighs around his waist last night, tending to the old school glass pot and coffee maker as he filled it with a water bottle. The pot was less than half full but you didn’t see his mug on the counter. You thought to make yourself quiet as you went to find a mug for yourself, not sure if you should even say good morning or bother him…but you weren’t sure which cabinet held his glassware.

“Hey, mornin’.” 

His voice was coarser than before, deeper, stretched a little thin with sleep he just woke from up or didn’t get enough of the night before. You hoped it wasn’t the latter, hoped it wasn’t your fault, and really hoped he didn’t catch you freeze from the surprise of his greeting as you turned to look at him, your hand midair to open a cabinet as he glanced back at you over his shoulder. 

“Hi,” you mumbled, feeling caught for some reason? Maybe it was the residual awkwardness of how you both ended things just a handful of hours ago after getting each other riled up…or maybe it was because you were struggling not to moan his name to yourself as you came to the thought of him right after. You thought you’d washed away the guilt when you took another shower and brushed your teeth this morning, but when Jack turned away from brewing more coffee to lean against the counter and fix his gaze on you, you felt hot all over.

“You’ll have to wait a few minutes, if that’s alright. I almost drank the first pot by myself so…figured I’d make you a fresh one,” he explained quietly, the loudish burble and drip of the coffee maker brewing almost drowning him out. “Mugs are in that one.” He squinted an eye and pointed to the cabinet on your right before you rummaged through yet another one that contained spices instead of cups.

You gave him a nod and a small, “Thanks,” but cut your eyes away to grab the first mug you touched, which happened to be a chipped, brown ceramic one that sported a flock of ducks painted on it. It made you crack a tiny grin because his parents really seemed to have loved their ducks and you hadn’t actually seen even one in Ellsinore so far. Or any animals for that matter. Maybe that was something you could ask him about if you didn’t think it was potentially inappropriate.

You didn’t want to share your past with him so you couldn’t expect him to share what happened to his parents with you. Yet he was blocking the coffee pot where he stood with his hands in his navy plaid pajama pants pockets, his freckled and brawny arms exposed in a white t-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. You may have felt awkward but he was still handsome and you couldn’t help the quick once over you gave him, including when your eyes flitted to his feet in gray loafer slippers, his right foot black with a dull glisten like it was metal from what you could see under his pants leg. You weren’t going to ask him about that, either, because you felt it was also inappropriate. But it made you wonder if he’d lost it when he served?

“Excuse me,” is all you said, instead, once the coffee maker finished with its noise, watching him scoot a couple inches to his right to make room for you to reach the pot. The lingering silence was filled by the slosh of coffee you poured into your mug, standing still for a moment to blow away the steam and take a slow, delectable sip. You peeked at the bag of coffee still on the counter and made a mental note to find that exact brand again in a store…wherever you ended up.

When you shifted to go and take a seat at the dining table with your mug to your chest, its warmth comforting, Jack’s voice followed you as he asked, “Slept okay?” You didn’t turn around to look and respond until you were in a chair with your elbows on the placemat and your mug to your lips as you nodded and took another sip.

“Did you?” you more or less mouthed, the piping hot coffee scalding your throat a little. And maybe your throat was thick with emotion you wanted to be embarrassed to feel? You weren’t going to cry or anything but the tension in the air was just as thick and you thought you might choke on it. And that felt so, so silly when you reminded yourself that none of this would matter at the end of the day. You’d be gone and Jack would become a memory. A half-formed one of tentative moments in the sun made even more tender by your own resistance to that warmth because maybe it was too bright, too sudden…then a sudden courage to bask in it…only to be met with the sun hiding away from you because maybe you were the moon after all.

You couldn’t blame the sun. You’d done a damn fine job resigning yourself from warmth like it for a long time now because what if it burned? Yet what did it matter that when you actually wanted it in, god, who knows how long that you couldn’t have it? Jack was a grown man who made a decision and you were a grown woman who respected it. These things happen. You weren’t a brat. You were just…feeling the fatigue of endless nights with no sun in sight. Until now.

Because there was a light at the end of the tunnel. It was somewhere north and somewhere waiting for you to begin a new life. You had nowhere left to go but up and it could be anywhere…but not here.

You peered into the deep brown, almost black, liquid of your mug that still swirled from your last sip as you heard Jack scrape a chair back to sit across from you, just like last night, as he replied to your question in a meager tone, “You want the truth or do you want me to say, ‘Yeah, I slept great?’”

You looked up at him then and tried to keep your face even, but the way he was sitting back in his chair and looking back at you with that glint of warmth in his eyes that felt all too familiar now made you furrow your brows with concern. Did he…hear you last night? Oh, Christ. “The truth.” You could handle it.

“I grew up in this house but I never liked how quiet it gets at night here. I live in the city now and without those car horns, people yellin’ at each other down the street, and all that racket, I can’t get to sleep. The quiet is too loud,” Jack said with a chuckle, the charming sound of it tugging at one corner of your mouth. 

“I’m used to it. Well…I’m used to at least a few crickets chirpin’, too. It’s dead quiet ’round here,” you gave as you palmed your mug and watched a brief smirk appear on his face.

He mimicked your pose, elbows on the placemat and his hands together but no cup in the middle. Reminded you of how he sat in that same spot last night and observed you like you were his muse, like you were a poem he hadn’t quite figured out how to interpret. But when he expressed, “Yeah, it is. Doesn’t help, either, when I’m up all night thinkin’ about you,” he spoke your language.

“What about me?” you heard yourself ask as curiosity got the best of you yet again. No point in hiding it now. Not with his soft eyes on you that kept stoking the flames of it. 

Especially when he said, “Everything about you. Where you’re from. How you ended up here. With me. What a woman as beautiful as you would ever want with an old guy like me.” Jack blinked with an incredulous smile and a shake of his head. Perhaps to clear his thoughts as he added wistfully, “I think when I saw you at Steve’s last night…I had some liquid courage to approach you? I was over in a booth by myself and had a couple beers before I watched you walk in and decided to sit next to you…but I was sober when you kissed me. I started thinkin’...‘you need to cool it, Jack, because you don’t know this woman and—’”

“You didn’t want to do something ‘dumb,’” you murmured to yourself but he stopped talking like you interrupted him. Your words made him shake his head again.

“No. I mean, yeah, but…I didn’t want to open my old wounds and make them your problem. I figured I’m used to sleeping alone so one more night wouldn’t kill me…but you in your room, me in mine…it kind of did. That’s weird or crazy, I know, but—”

“It’s not,” you interrupted him on purpose this time. You didn’t know what his wounds were but something told you they were similar to yours. Something that had carved fear into you both to never touch a rose lest its thorns cut you first. And all that ever did, you realized, was train you to nip a beautiful thing in the bud before it had the unlikely chance to blossom into something ugly. Maybe Jack was the same? You sighed and tapped your fingers on the side of your mug, debating if you wanted to be as honest with him as he was with you. Here goes…“I couldn’t fall asleep until I got you out of my head.”

Jack’s face was smooth but his voice dipped an octave and struck a chord in you as you felt that tingle trace your spine when he asked, “How’d you accomplish that?”

“I think you know.”

“I do. I finally got some sleep after I thought about how you might’ve sounded if I’d gotten down on my knees while I had you on the counter.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It felt like déjà vu to you, the rasp of his handsome voice coaxing you. Damn near coaxed you right out of your chair and around the table to cup his face in your hands, straddle him, and kiss him. Hard. But if this truly was déjà vu, you learned your lesson last night that making the first move may not work out so well. Your coffee was cool in your mug when you went to take another sip and you almost didn’t care because you were feeling hot again all on your own. However, you still chose to slowly rise from your chair and pick up your mug to heat it up in the microwave you spotted over the stovetop range. You slept wonderfully but if this was the direction the conversation was going…you needed more caffeine to give you the energy to wrap your head around it.

But Jack’s fingers slipped around your wrist at your side when you tried to walk past him. You went to look down at him where he sat but your eyes trailed up to meet his gaze as he stood and slid his other hand over yours holding your mug. “Can I take this?” he asked in a near whisper that grazed your lips because he was right up on you, taking your mug from you when you nodded and setting it on the table so his hand was free to cradle the back of your head. He didn’t pull you to him because there was only an inch between your mouths and you captured his lips to get rid of it. Replace it with the slow twist of your kiss as you craned your head to shape your mouth to his as he held your nape and hip to shape you to him.

He was solid muscle yet warm and soft, keeping you close in his arms that surrounded you when he circled them at your waist, his hands searching for the perfect spots to rub you before they settled on your bottom with a squeeze that accidentally parted you a little in your shorts and swept his fingers where it made you breathe out a whine. His grip felt even better than it did last night, holding you firm but not rough, just enough to pin you to him so you could feel how easily you excited him, just like the night before…

But unlike last night, you wouldn’t settle for what you imagined Jack would feel like if you got him in your bed. You pulled your lips from his just long enough to make it clear you wanted him to follow you as your palms on his shoulders fell to his hands so you could hold them and pull him towards your guest bedroom as you started to walk backwards.

Jack stood still and gently tugged you back to him, though, as he kept one of your hands in his and tipped his head over his shoulder in the opposite direction of your room with a cute grin at you as he stated, “My bed’s bigger.”

The room you found yourself drawn to last night opened up to you when Jack led you through the door by the hand. It smelled faintly like the candle you spotted on one of the nightstands, vanilla and lavender, and it was certainly the master bedroom as it spanned nearly as wide as the living room, making the space for a large window across from where you both stood in the middle of the room, the curtains slightly drawn to reveal a forest of brownish, orange shrubs and tall oaks and let in the late morning sunshine. 

That sunlight touched the rolled-up baby blue Yoga mat leaned against a wooden rocking chair in the right corner of the room, the tall, farmhouse dresser with a mirror, and the vast brown, faux fur rug that was soft under your feet. A few more steps and you’d fall onto Jack’s bed that was indeed bigger than the queen in your guest room, the king mattress dressed in golden tan comforter and chocolate brown sheets that matched the four pillows, two of them decorative with pinecone and green pine needles fabric. Not ducks, you were stunned. He’d taken the time to make his bed after he’d gotten out of it, you saw, and you almost felt bad that you’d be messing it up once you got him between the sheets.

But Jack didn’t seem to be in a hurry to fall into his bed. His thumb skimmed along the ridges of your knuckles with your fingers still laced with his at your sides as his other hand reached to caress your cheek with the backs of his fingers. The way he was staring at you made you feel as if he could see what you’d been trying to hide from him, from yourself...but the softness in his eyes didn’t seem like he wanted to peel the petals of your past apart to uncover the truth of you. No, his thumb on your bottom lip traced gently like he wanted, needed, your permission to even hold a rose as beautiful as you.

“What do you want from me?” he asked in a hushed breath as he still held your chin and planted a kiss on your cheek. Then another on your jaw. And another on your neck. You wanted every and anything you could get from him in that moment, his lips stirring the tingling warmth in you that started under his lips and spread through your entire body.

You used your free hand to curl your fingers at the hem of his pants, your heart starting to race at the thought of getting him naked, getting him on top of you. “I want these off. All of this off.” You breathed and realized you sounded perhaps a bit impatient and that’s because you were…you’d never been this aroused by a man who made you slick between your thighs with just his lips on your throat. 

But Jack let go of your hand to grab the one on his pants and hold it instead, compelling you to look at him when your eyes were closed from enjoying his mouth on your throat. You worried for a split second that maybe your greed was unbecoming in the light of day in comparison to how it nearly swallowed you both whole last night. But Jack didn’t appear disgruntled but rather captivated by you…his lips slowly forming a handsome grin that soothed your nerves that tried to prickle.

“How ’bout I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Deal?” he gave and sealed it with a light kiss on your lips when you nodded, making you smile against his mouth.

“Deal,” you said before you slipped your hands under your oversized shirt to hook your thumbs into the waist of your gym shorts and pulled down your legs. You couldn’t take your eyes off Jack because he couldn’t take his eyes off you, holding your gaze and not staring at how your shorts pooled at your feet and exposed the tops of your bare thighs that your shirt just barely covered. “Your turn,” you quipped and he grinned, following suit as he lifted shirt up his torso and over his head. 

You tried to keep your eyes on his as he did with you but you couldn’t resist letting them feast on the body you knew looked as strong as it felt. A bit of salt and pepper hair at the sternum of his broad chest and soft abs that led to a softer v-cut right above his pants. His pants that couldn’t hide the slope of his bulge that nearly grazed you as you stood so close.

You didn’t back away because you wanted to be even closer but you had to take a slight step back to remove your shirt without bumping him since it was your turn again. Once you discarded it to the floor, you were nude, nothing left to hide from him…and Jack’s gaze washed over you like a warm caress as he saw you naked. You expected him to lift a hand to touch you where his eyes lingered but instead, he found your eyes again with another handsome half-grin and began to tug down his pants. You grinned back and willed yourself to keep your hands at your sides instead of wrapping them around him when he stepped out of the fabric that he tossed to the side. No boxers underneath.

“You’re a commando kind of man,” you noted in an airy tone to settle yourself and calm the heat whirling through you at the sight of him. You wanted to be patient like he was as he studied you right back but it was difficult to ignore how he hung between his athletic, freckled thighs.

Jack laughed at your observation as he slid off the loafer on his left foot with his right one. “No, uh, not usually. I like to practice Yoga at sunrise to stretch, clear my mind…guess I forgot to put a pair on when I got dressed to make us coffee.”

“Ohh,” you mouthed and you were listening, yes. He did Yoga…nude? The more you learned about him, the more you liked him…and that made you feel a bit rude to stare at the tuft of hair trimmed just above what appeared to be seven or so inches, thick with a slightly pointed tip, a little veiny, very pretty…

You felt his fingers gather under your chin and shift your focus back to his face. In the morning light, you noticed his brown eyes had specks of green in them as he witnessed the appetite in yours that he whetted with his mouth pressed to yours. Letting him show you that his appetite matched yours when he deepened the kiss, your noses brushing together as his warm, wide palms followed the swells of your bottom and hips and lower back to secure you to him. All of him was warm and wide, actually, fitting you like a puzzle as the curves of your body and the grooves of his melted together.

He didn’t let any space sneak between you even when he carefully hooked his arms under your thighs to lift you as you wrapped your arms and thighs around him, kissing on his lips and cheeks and hearing his quiet grunt as he crawled onto his bed with you in tow. His right arm was cushioned around you and he used his left to reach down and remove his prosthetic that he placed on the rug next to the bed, then extending that arm to the bed as he settled you on the plush comforter under him, your long braids fanning out along one of the pillows. 

You could tell he was trying to keep his weight on you but not crush you, but you wanted to feel the fullness of his warmth seeping into you. Every muscle, every inch of skin, especially as his mouth traced your throat to kiss there and make your hips move on their own, a slight tilt that helped the hard length of him prod at where you were slippery for him.

Your thighs locked around him, using them to pull him closer and Jack obliged, tucking his hips into you and making you groan softly when he rubbed up on your clit and nuzzled his nose beneath your jaw. Jack’s voice was almost a moan when you started to gently rock your hips against him, breathing onto your skin, “Tell me…what you want.”

You wanted his clothes off and he’d given it to you…and now all the other things you wanted from him filled your mind like a sensual blur of scenes you craved to create with him. His mouth on your breasts, his head buried between your thighs, his hands on your hips as he thrust into you…you wanted everything. 

Jack’s lips parted to smudge kisses along your shoulder and collarbone and bring you out of your imagination and back to reality…back to him guiding your hips with his fingers that left soft dents in your skin as he pulled you to him, rolling his hips until you whimpered and kissing the valley of your breasts as he whispered your name. “Talk to me,” he urged you sweetly and your hands found his face to steer his eyes to you so you could see him. See him just like he saw you…something beautiful.

“I just want you,” you whispered back to him. 

“I want you, too,” Jack purred to you, the coarseness of his voice tested with a heavy breath from how he must have felt you throb against him when you pressed your hips to him. You matched his sound as you stroked your thumbs at his cheeks and watched him bite his lip before he panted, “I…I want to make you feel good…what makes you feel good?”

You weren’t used to that question or any of this, really, but one particular desire came to the forefront of your mind…and you could see in Jack’s eyes that he was willing to indulge you. “Your mouth would make me feel good.”

“Yeah? Where? Here…?” Jack’s voice trailed off as he kissed the top of your breast, opening his mouth a little to kiss the bud of your nipple. Your hands slipped around his head as you huffed, wanting to close your eyes to enjoy the feel of his soft lips closing around you as he licked and sucked lazily on you. “Or did you mean here?” He switched to your other breast that he cupped in his hand, lapping at your left nipple until it became a stiff peak on his tongue as you whined and combed your fingers through the silken blades of his hair.

Your hands moved with his head as he moved lower, taking his time to run his tongue along your skin and marking it with a wet kiss over your ribcage, down your tummy, and on your right hip…across your mound…your left hip…then back to your mound where his warm breath spread through your bush that he kissed. “Right here, yeah?”

“Yes,” you uttered, a bit pitched, your hands falling to the comforter that you palmed in anticipation. Butterflies circling in your belly that pulled in with your exhale from the cool air of the room that quickly dried his kisses but couldn’t do a thing about the wetness sticking to your inner thighs when Jack held them apart in his hands as he laid on his elbows and stomach.

He went to rest a palm on your mound but his fingers fanned through your bush, his pointer and middle gently spreading you open more than you already were so he could see how you glistened in the delicate sunlight filling his bedroom. You felt…vulnerable but not exposed. You liked how Jack looked at you…his gaze was just as soft as his two fingers that ghosted down your slit, over your clit and just barely through your folds and back again…and again as he gathered your wetness of the softish pads of his fingertips to slowly slot one of them into you. 

He met no resistance because you were soaked, feeling him glide his thick finger into you until his knuckle met your skin and you contracted around it. He watched how your pussy did that again as he pushed a little, starting to move in and out as he curved his finger to the shape of you, his eyes only leaving how his finger disappeared in you over and over to look up at you moaning and holding your breasts as you thumbed one of your nipples.

You didn’t know what else to do with your hands because you didn’t want to push his face to you, even though the thought entered your mind. Instead, you wanted to silence your greed to savor the moment, savor him…and you knew that he wanted to savor you, too, because he still wasn’t in a rush. Jack wanted to prolong your pleasure, you could feel it in how he slowly slipped his finger out but paused each time you throbbed and whimpered…only to hold two fingers together to slip back in, feeling yourself stretch around them as he angled them up against the spot that he’d found on the first couple of drags, making a deep groan escape you.

“Does that feel good?” he asked under his breath as he lay his hand on your inner thigh to keep you spread when your hips bucked a tiny bit on accident. It didn’t disturb his rhythm as he drew his fingers from you an inch just to sink them in again and up until your face fell apart. Your hands were on the bed again and digging into the comforter as a hot wave lapped at you right where his fingers curled. Goddamn, you were about to come and it made your head spin because you didn’t realize you were already on the edge until he spoke. It was like his voice lapped at you, too, your back arching a little when that wave caressed you again as he cooed, “You’re close…aren’t you?”

“Yes…mmhh…” Your mouth stayed open because you couldn’t hold in the moan that fell from it, a louder one rushing from you when Jack pressed his fingers in firmly to rub your spot and dipped his head to cover your clit with his mouth. The way he laid his tongue flat in a lick that swirled into a languid circle on your clit with the tip of it on each pass made you come from just the third pass as he held his fingers in you, feeling yourself flutter around them and under his tongue as white-hot waves washed over you from head to toe. His name spilled out of you just like your orgasm you felt coating the scruff of his beard on you as he closed his lips around your clit to suckle you softly. “Fffuck!”

You couldn’t lay still if you tried, your body sitting up on its own as your hands flew to his head to tug his hair, push him away, pull him deeper. You wanted everything at once but you didn’t know how to communicate it when your head was fuzzy as Jack let you close your thighs around his head and held your waist in his free hand. “Jack, mmmff! Oh, my god…” His name was a sharp cry that must have alerted him you were losing your damn mind because he suddenly unfastened his lips from you to kiss at your bush, instead.

“You okay?” he huffed in concern, your eyes finding each other when you finally opened them as he withdrew his fingers again. You nodded as you fell onto your back again but Jack didn’t stop touching you, though, almost like he wasn’t sure how as he flexed his fingers on your waist and aligned his two, sticky fingers at the seam of you again, not pressing but carefully spreading your puffy folds again like he wanted to see his handiwork, admire how your pussy was soft and leaking with a lone drip onto his comforter in a tiny puddle under your bottom. It reminded you of last night when he tended to your cut finger that was all better today, the bandage discarded earlier this morning. Your only worry now was if you’d be able to handle another orgasm if this is how he’d use his skills to mend the ache in you…

The ache was beginning to ease the longer you allowed yourself to settle into yourself, your body still humming with tingles but from the afterglow that Jack paid special attention to…kissing up your body until his lips were on yours and your hands were on his back. He tasted like you and you tasted his sigh as it left him, deep and throaty when your nails lightly scratched down the muscle of his shoulder blades to the small of his back. It made him tilt his hips towards you like he was inside you, but instead, the curve of his thickness nestled to your clit again and you whimpered from the sensitivity.

“I want you…” His words were a low smolder that simmered on your lips as he breathed them out but you felt that simmer all over, especially where he pushed his hips again to get you to whimper for him again. His palms were on the bed on both sides of you now and your thighs trembled around him, feeling your pussy weep from the feel of him, wetting him as he moaned from the feel of you, asking faintly, maybe even a little desperately, “Can I have you?”

As tender as you felt, god, you wanted him, too. You wanted him to have you...but it had to be at your own pace because if this is what overstimulation felt like...oof. It was too much of a very good thing. And you knew Jack wanted to satisfy you, that he’d listen when you murmured to his lips, “Only if I’m on top.”

You touched his face with your palm on his cheek when he looked down at you, your thumb grazing the crinkles at the corner of his left eye as he gave you a small grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

He eased off of you to give you room to sit up at his side, watching him lay down with his head on the pillow next to the one you’d indented. You let your eyes sweep along his bare body as he got comfortable and placed his hands on his stomach, watching you take particular interest in the swell of his muscles in his thighs, his taut balls between them, and his dick that rested on the left one before it moved by itself with slight twitch. 

It was too tempting not to touch before you climbed on him, and Jack’s eyes fell to your fingertip that soothed a path from the base to his tip and back, fascinating yourself with how easily you made him twitch again and listening to him let out an airy sigh. That sigh deepened into a gruff moan when you wrapped your fingers around it to hold it upright and feel him pulse in your palm when stroked up and down and up to catch the bead of arousal you’d coaxed with your thumb. He felt bigger in your hand than he looked and made a lush thrill shiver through you at the thought of fitting him in you as snug as he did in your fist…it’d been a while and you still felt pretty supple from just his fingers…

“Do you have a condom?” you asked and bit your lip when you heard Jack give you a handsome whimper. He nodded and pointed behind you at the nightstand to your right.

“There, in my wallet. Let me get it.” Jack started to sit up but you laid a gentle hand on his chest. 

“I got it…I didn’t know people still stashed condoms in their wallets,” you remarked as you pulled your hand away and rolled onto your knees to crawl across the bed and pull open the drawer. You were half-kidding, half-serious because you’d only seen that trick from a scene in the movie House Party. 

“Been doin’ it that way since high school. Some habits never die, I guess.” You heard Jack reply with a chuckle over your shoulder as you retrieved his black leather wallet, flipping it open to see his pretty mug on his driver’s license behind the clear panel, a couple of credit or debit cards, and three fifty dollar bills tucked into the center flap with his dog tags necklace and the gold tinfoil wrapped condom cushioned behind his money. And not to your surprise, the wrapper looked a bit worn like it’d been in there for a while once you fished it out, just like in that movie you watched.

“Uh…I hope this doesn’t pop,” you thought aloud as you put his wallet back where you found it and returned to his side. “Have you had this condom since high school?”

Jack laughed again and you did, too, especially when his freckled cheeks turned a cute shade of pink at your teasing. He still sucked his teeth and muttered, “No…I think I bought that one sometime last year?” before wiping his hand over his face like it would get rid of his blush.

“I believe you,” you voiced with a sweetness woven into it because you didn’t mean to make him bashful, no matter how adorable it was. He recovered quickly, anyway, as he took your wrist and brought your hand that held the condom to his lips, kissing your wrist before he used his other hand to take the condom from you. You’d thought to put it on for him but he unwrapped himself, so you did the next best thing you could think of and made a fist around him again to hold him as he rolled it down his length.

You moved your hand for him to sheath himself to the base but circled your fingers around him again to feel how he filled out the smooth latex, keeping him steady in your grasp as you raised your left thigh to straddle his thighs and stroke him in front of you. Jack moaned to you and it encouraged you to twist your wrist as you worked him, feeling him grow somehow harder and placing a hand on his chest again to balance yourself as you sat up and leaned into him, your braids falling around his head like a curtain. He helped you with his hands on your waist and breathed out another moan as you breathed in a tiny gasp when his head prodded softly at your entrance before you lowered yourself on him.

“Mm, slow down…m’not goin’ anywhere,” Jack reminded you in a husky moan as his thumbs brushed at your sides, yet his grip on you was firm like he wanted you to give each thick inch a minute or two to form to you…adjust in you…mold you two together. And for a fleeting thought, you wondered if that was because he just wanted to keep you here longer…if he just wanted more time with you.

You weren’t in a hurry, anymore…you just wanted to feel more of him because the first few inches or so already felt so fucking good. Pushing up on spots you didn’t remember you had and nestling to your g-spot…making you feel warm and full when he sat in you to the hilt. He was the perfect fit…

Both your hands were on his chest now, the muscles of his pecs barely giving to how you squeezed a little as you sat on him, moaning to him as you felt that warm wave tingling between your thighs, making you clench around him until he moaned back to you. God, you felt like you could come already…but you wanted to grind on him…wanted to watch the faces he made when you bounced on him. You took a little breath to steady yourself and started to rock on him, slow swirls of your hips that made his dick knock into your spot that crumpled your face as much as his before he mouthed, “Fuck…” and bit his lip.

His face, his sounds, his hands pinning you down on him when you whined from the way his groin rubbed to your clit each time you rolled your hips, all of it was urging you to return to the edge…luring you closer to it with deep throbs of your pussy that made you feel weak to fight it, that he made you want to surrender to when he reached a hand to tuck a braid behind your ear and hold your face. 

Gazing into your eyes, lips parted, and letting the rasp of his voice lap at you as his thumb swept your cheek. “You’re holdin’ back from me…just let it happen…use me,” Jack whispered on your lips before he kissed you and you whimpered into his mouth. Your forehead rested against his because you were losing the strength to sit up, only reserving enough for your body to act on instinct and chase the heat you felt coiling deeper, hotter, before it broke you down piece by piece with jagged moan after moan.

Jack waited to drink your moans until they thinned into whines as he held you together with his arm wrapping about your waist and his hand palming the back of your head. Your head felt fuzzy again and you swore you saw spots when your eyes flitted open to focus on his face, his eyelids low, brows knitted, and mouth an “o” as you kept rocking, hearing the soft slosh of your wet sticking to him as you kept letting the tender throbs of your pussy guide you to use him because your orgasm hadn’t let go of you yet so you couldn’t let go of him…

“W-wait…I’m close,” Jack abruptly stammered to you and you groaned at the same time as him when his hands shot to your hips to pull you up. There was something delicious about the gentle urgency in his airy tone, something about it that made you want to milk it, watch it lead him to pant and run his tongue over his bottom lip that he bit when you mustered a bit of strength to sit up and sink back down onto him. You placed your hands over his and redirected them to glide up your tummy and palm your breasts that held on his own when you released them and reached behind you to grip the bulk of his thighs.

Maybe it was the way your body glowed with a pleasure you never felt so liberated in…maybe it was the way you had this grown man whining and trembling under you…but as you locked eyes with his, that sweet urgency staring back at you, you wanted to see him it break him down as it did you. Feel him fall piece to piece so that you could hold him together now and know that for one of the first times in your life…you were in control. Not the kind of control that steals, no…the kind that Jack gifted to you willingly because he wanted you to have it. 

“Do you want to come?” you purred to him as you perched on your knees that sank into his comforter and arched your back, your body a beautiful slope that slowly slid up and down the length of him with a wind of your hips.

Jack looked so damn handsome, so wrecked, as he whimpered, “Yes…please,” to you, still holding your breasts like he was stuck in pleasure you commanded with every thrust you made him give you as he rode him.

“I want you to, too…let me have you.”

He gave you a gorgeous grunt, one after the other, as he tipped his hips up and slid his hands down to cup your bottom, his eyes following to watch how your pussy swallowed him before they squeezed shut as his orgasm devoured him whole. His moans made you churn your hips faster on him, the sound of it stroking you in the right spot as you moaned back until it left you in heavy breaths that matched his when he uttered your name. 

When he groaned it again, your eyes fell to him as his hands on your thighs grasped underneath and tugged you up so he could pull himself out, seeing his biceps flex with the motion as he settled you back down on him. You felt him exert a bit of effort to reach around and remove the condom as his chest rose and fell with another little grunt when you lay on him, feeling his heart thudding like yours when you rested your cheek there. When you closed your eyes, you swore your hearts were beating in sync.

“Are you alright?” you couldn’t help but ask softly, shifting to rest your chin to his chest, instead, so you could see him. Jack gave you a tired yet satisfied smile as he traced a few fingertips through your braids and along your spine.

“Yeah…more than alright. Just not used to this,” he admitted slowly, mirroring your words from the night before whether he meant to or not. It made you smile back at him, especially when he added, “I…I don’t have another condom, unfortunately. I’d have to run to the store if you wanted…to go again.”

The pink returned to his face and it prompted you to inch yourself up with your palms on his chest so you could kiss him and assure him in a whisper, “No, no…I just want to lie here with you and…talk.” It was the truth. You didn’t want to disturb the warmth he’d made for you, held you in…not yet.

You could hear the relief in his voice to not have to leave you as you felt his fingers caress your side before he curled around you there and whispered back, “I’d like that. A lot.”

The morning sun slipped into the afternoon, and the only way you could tell was from how the shadows shifted in Jack’s bedroom, cloaking his comforter that hid the lower halves of your bodies where your legs were entwined while you faced each other…the sunlight slipping past your shoulder to illuminate the green in his eyes again as they focused on you speak. 

You were telling him you were indeed from the South, Alabama to be exact, and that you decided to hit the road to leave a bad situation behind before it got worse. You didn’t want to alarm him with the gritty details because you didn’t want to rehash them yourself…all he needed to know was that you needed that gun he helped you learn how to shoot just in case your ex-fiancé made you decide whose life was more precious, his or yours…

“I didn’t want to kill him…so I left before I did,” you shared in a small but resolute tone, the harshness of your words in such contrast to the softness of Jack’s pillow beneath your cheek. His fingers were soft, too, that were holding yours under the sheets.

He tried to make you smile after that by offering to cook you breakfast if you were feeling hungry or pack it up for you or even give you money if you told him the number, anything in his power to assist you on your way. But you made him smile when you said, “You’ve done enough for me…I don’t need you to be my white knight riding in with a shiny stethoscope.”

However, there was one thing you thought that he could do for you…“What song were you playin’ late last night? I, um, overheard it…I thought it was maybe Mac Demarco.”

“Never heard of him,” Jack confessed and you giggled. “Ah, one of my med students. She was with us for maybeee three weeks last spring. Couldn’t keep her AirPlugs or whatever out of her ears. Said she had anxiety and music helped. I get that. Caught her on her phone in the break room once and I must have spooked her because she jumped and one of her plugs fell out of her ear. I picked it up for her but before I handed it over, I heard the song she was listening to and I actually liked it. Not the one you heard last night but the same artist. Blood Nose.”

“‘Blood Nose?’ Yeah, sounds like something up your alley,” you teased him and he rolled his eyes before teasing you back with a little poke to your belly with his finger because he’d learned you’re ticklish there. A laugh slipped from you as you swatted at his hand and reminded him he’s the one who said his shift team calls themselves “The Night Crawlers” because they preferred “weird and wild” cases. You were almost afraid to ask what one of those cases looked like.

When the sunlight began to wane outside and blanket you both in soft shadows, you knew it was time. You finally got your clothes in the wash and took a shower in Jack’s bathroom this time, hearing him walk in to announce that he had fresh towels for you and ask you quietly if you thought it was a good idea to get back on the road so late. The concern in his voice sounded genuine…and it wasn’t like you hadn’t pondered it as you bathed…but you decided if you didn’t leave tonight that you’d have trouble leaving the next night and the next. Besides, how would he explain to his family on Thanksgiving Day that a young woman he met a day ago was suddenly staying with him? You did not want to be in the middle of that...

Jack was still standing there when you cut the water and pulled back the shower curtain, your towels folded beside his hand that gripped the edge of his sink countertop as he leaned against it. You both talked while you were still rinsing your hair, the conversation straying to lighter subjects…like him asking you if you were excited to see more of the country or settle down somewhere soon.

He handed you the towels and watched you dry yourself and wring the water from the tips of your braids, wrapping one towel around you and the other on your head like a scarf. The silence was charged with a twinge of forlornness even though Jack said he was happy for you when you admitted, “I don’t know where I’m headed…but I know I want to get there by the end of the week. And I know wherever I wind up will be the right place.”

“I believe you,” Jack said with a soft grin. He watched you approach him and drape your arms over his shoulders, compelling him to grin bigger when you kissed his cheek. That’s when he encircled you in his arms, too, his thumbs skimming your hips over your towel. “Forgive me. I’m bein’ selfish…I shouldn’t want you all to myself, huh?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth this time and Jack turned his head to kiss your lips, tempting you to fall back into his warmth as he held you close. Yet as you pulled apart, his nose bumping yours, you murmured to him, “In another lifetime, maybe.”

EPILOGUE

“I have good news and bad news, Ms. Gutiérrez. Which do you want first?” Jack asked as he put his hands on his hips, standing next to his patient’s bed as she slowly turned her head on her pillow to look up at him with a weak smile.

“Bad news. Let’s get it over with,” she replied in a tired voice but with enough flippancy to make Jack smile back. Especially since it wasn’t even an hour ago that her son hurried her inside in the wheelchair the nursing staff promptly provided as she wailed at the top of her lungs in pain. Tramadol for the win. But Ms. Gutiérrez still pursed her thin lips at him with a tsk tsk sound. “And what did I tell you, hm? You can call me Lucia.”

Manuel had his arms folded over his chest, his glare locked and loaded to tell his 74-year-old mother for a third and final time to stop being fresh with the doctor. But instead, he asserted, “Ma, let him speak. Please.”

“It’s alright,” Jack assured him as he held up a polite hand, shifting his weight to one foot before he folded his arms, too. Wasn’t the first time a patient hit on him—and, unfortunately, he knew it wouldn’t be the last. He leaned in a bit to catch his mother’s eye again as he added softly, “Okay, Lucia. Bad news first. You have a right femoral neck fracture. But the good news is we can prep you for the OR and give you a partial hip replacement so you can walk out of here in the mornin’ feeling brand new. How’s that sound?” 

“Like a pain in my ass and hip.” The gleam in her brown eyes dimmed a little under the overbed light before she rolled them like the news annoyed her. Jack knew for a fact it did. He’d only just met Lucia but he could tell she wasn’t the kind of woman who wanted to rely on anyone’s help, pre or post-operation. After all, she broke her hip trying to remove her dwarf fiddle leaf figs from the mantel above her fireplace to repot them…she used a step stool but as Manuel filled him in, she fell because she just had to do it herself and couldn’t wait for him to get back from picking up dinner ingredients at the grocery store to do it for her.

“Ma, stop that. He’s trying to help,” he said now with quiet exasperation and Jack just shook his head with a half-grin at them both. He could understand that getting older and losing some independence was never fun, especially when your kids decide to move back in to take care of you when you didn’t ask for their assistance. Jack didn’t have any kids but on days he was drained from last night’s shift and didn’t want to be bothered with cooking for himself or spending cash on expensive ass deliveries, he’d appreciate a Manuel. The man now gave him a pleading look with his downturned eyes as he added, “She’ll be going into surgery tonight?”

“If she elects to have it, yeah. Or we can schedule it. Whatever’s convenient for you, Lucia. The procedure will take two hours, tops. Dr. Yolanda Garcia is our best trauma surgery fellow physician and your best bet to get Manuel off your back…no hard feelings, Manuel,” Jack murmured the last part with a teasing shrug to him and wink to his mom, making a raspy chuckle escape her. He noticed Manuel thaw a little, too, his shoulders falling even though he kept his arms crossed. 

The son looked almost the same age as him, give or take a few years, so Jack couldn’t imagine the man was thrilled to put his life on hold to care for his mother. But the fact that he did so voluntarily was beyond noble to him…and Jack made sure to give him an encouraging word and pat on the shoulder as they spoke just outside of Lucia’s room while waiting for Dr. Garcia to arrive.

So far, it had been easy cases like this all night, likely due to the thunderstorm pouring down outside and keeping folks away, but Jack almost didn’t want to jinx it by taking a trip to the break room to sit for a minute and grab a beverage. He could hear the soft pitter patter of rain beyond the hospital’s walls and it made him realize that he hadn’t drank water in maybe three hours—and god forbid he neglected hydration before the seats filled with an influx of patients who needed critical care. He rounded the corner to slip into the lounge that was surprisingly empty because he was sure everyone would take advantage of the slow shift. But it just reminded him that his staff liked to keep busy helping people, which meant he’d done his job right. He, too, would hop on the next case as soon as he quenched his thirst.

Jack swiped a bottle from the fridge and eased onto a chair at the table, fishing his phone out of his scrubs’ pants pocket to check his notifications as he tilted the water to his lips for a few cool, refreshing gulps. It was only 10:12 P.M. on a Tuesday and the rain paired with unusual quiet made his mind drift and his eyes glaze over his work emails and personal texts when he realized he wasn’t in the mood to respond to any of them. Instead, his thoughts wandered to you. Again.

Where you might be. How you were holding up. If you were safe. If you were happy.

Something in his gut told him you were. There was something about you that was not only resilient but…ardent. You weren’t going to stop until you ended up exactly where you desired to be.

Jack understood you wished to leave no trace of yourself behind once you left his place that day, but man, he wished he had your phone number to check in on you from time to time. Make sure everything was okay with you. If that was okay with you. He just wanted to hear your voice. Thankfully, his memory of it was clear and palpable...your cute laugh…your pretty whimpers. Some nights and most days, they played on a loop in his head along with flashes of your beautiful face because even four months into the new year, he hadn’t met another woman like you. 

You weren’t easy to forget and he didn’t want that, anyway…he wanted to hold on to you in the only way he knew he could. Even if that was simply to think about you almost every day.

“Hey, hey. You got mail.”

Lena’s singsongy voice interrupted his thoughts and he glanced up at her holding a wad of envelopes as she stood in the doorway. He quirked an eyebrow at her as he put his phone facedown on the table. “Oh, yeah? If it’s another medical supplies catalog or AARP newsletter, you can trash it,” he said as he tapped his fingers on the side of his water bottle and made his charge nurse giggle.

“You know you can call their customer service and opt out of them…if you’ve got three hours to spare,” she reminded him as she walked over to him and plucked a single postcard from her stack to place on the table. “But you got lucky this time.”

She slid it across the surface to him like she was passing him a secret note before she spun on her heels and left. Jack’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion when he read the words GREETINGS FROM THE WINDY CITY on the front of the card in glossy, red, orange, and blue retro-style letters. He’d never received mail solicitation like this. These medical suppliers were getting creative.

He picked it up from the table and flipped to the back where he spotted his name and the hospital’s address in almost-cursive yet elegant handwriting. Odd. But when he noticed the little message next to it in the same penmanship with a phone number at the end…he chuckled to himself and his lips curled into a smile he couldn’t make any smaller if he tried. You just had that effect on him. Permanently, it seemed.

“Luella’s hot honey chicken is going to change your life. I’m sure it’s no Aunt Betty’s hot chicken salad, but you can come and tell me if it’s close.”

If you made it this far, wow, THANK YOU so much for reading. This is my first big fic, like, ever...I started writing it in March and meant for it to be a lil 2k one shot and then this spilled out, lol. Hope you enjoyed. 🥹

Likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated if you liked this! Thank you again for reading! 💚

Tagging @sippingchai @joannasteez @333creolelady @eve-the-temptress @loreofsarai

“See y’all later!”

“Drive safe! You sure you don’t want a lift to the parking garage?”

“No, no. It’s only a couple of blocks and I could use the fresh air.”

You hugged and kissed your homegirls goodbye as you tried not to stumble down the sidewalk from the little venue you’d left after a successful girls night. You were tipsy, you felt warm and happy, even the music was still buzzing in your blood and making you hum the last song you’d danced to with your friends.

A patch of uneven cement tried to scrape at the toe of your stiletto boot and trip you up but you caught yourself before wrapping your arms around your waist to brace the slight chill in the autumn night air. But it felt good on your hot skin, especially since you’d peeled off your denim jacket to tie around your hips and act as the bottom half of your dress. You were grateful for the quiet stretch of walk ahead of you because you’d dealt with men and a few women complimenting the length of your dress and trying to get in it all damn night.

Normally you wouldn’t mind but your head was nowhere near a flirty space tonight. Or most nights. You just wanted to be outside tonight with your friends, with people you love and who love you, and make yourself remember that you do have that in your life…no matter what or who made you believe otherwise sometimes.

Goddamn Pope. He was an asshole.

You grunted softly to yourself as you neared the end of the first block and took a careful step onto the street to cross it. You did not want to be thinking about him right now but goddammit. You were. You had been all night. Perhaps the “success” of tonight hinged on being in the company of your friends to distract yourself with their conversation, the music, and the shots. Now that you were alone…the quiet was actually too quiet. Inviting in too many thoughts that you didn’t want to have. About him.

This part of town was usually lowkey on the weekends, hence, why you and your friends chose it. The small venue you were at was one of two establishments still open after midnight, the other a coffee shop across the street to your left that you just passed. When you glanced over at it, you saw through the large, single pane window the barista slumped onto her elbows on the counter, scrolling her phone, and a couple of patrons sharing a booth on their laptops and two mugs between them. You were the only other body in sight. You didn’t even see any cars line the streets as you clicked down the sidewalk.

So, that made you wonder why the fuck there was a car following you right now.

It’d been tailing you for the last block, rolling slow with its headlights off and not doing a great job of keeping its distance. You didn’t have to look over your shoulder to see it because you heard its engine softly muttering as the driver tried to keep pace with you without driving directly beside you. 

You gripped your clutch that you had tucked beneath your armpit as you folded your arms, thinking of the right moment to retrieve your pocket pistol from it and shoot this idiot’s front, right tire to keep them from pursuing you any further. But then your mind went to if the driver would just hop out and decide to pursue you on foot…then you’d have to smoke them. You could still feel the last spiced rum shot simmering on your skin, and maybe that might throw off your aim, but whatever. At least they’d know you meant business. You wouldn’t miss a second shot.

You acted natural, however, as you finally approached the parking garage but saw that it was not as well-lit as you thought it was when you pulled in around 9 p.m., the only light a single LED that flickered at the entrance above the gate. You slipped into the stairwell to climb up a few floors to the top level where you’d parked, but paused when you were hidden behind a cement wall with a cutout. You’d be able to see the driver but they couldn’t see you, and you wanted to watch if they would pass by the garage…but nope. They’d turned into it and you saw an arm covered in a black sweatshirt sleeve extend from the driver’s side window to tap their debit card to the screen before the gate lifted for them to drive inside. Oh, for Christ’s sake.

You weren’t concerned anymore…you were pissed. You knew the make and model of that gold, 1970 Oldsmobile 442 W-30 Convertible with your eyes closed…goddamn Pope.

It pissed you off that a thrill went through your body realizing it was him, the man you were trying your hardest not to think about…but it’s like you summoned him with your thoughts, materialized him right into his car that you heard revving up the winding path to the roof where he assumed you were because your car was missing from the other levels.

You didn’t even bother to get inside your car when you reached it. Instead, you slammed your clutch onto your trunk and leaned against it with arms crossed on your chest. Waiting for him. Waiting to give him a piece of your mind because he had some nerve.

When you saw him pull in a minute later, his headlights were still off but the soft moonlight illuminated the contours of his face through his windshield as he slowly drove up to you. Looking stoic yet somehow perturbed, his lips tight as he took the space right next to your car and cut the engine. If he was perturbed, you were about to be livid, because you were the one being tailgated.

You listened to his car door open and shut, hearing his boots slightly scuff the ground with each step he took to appear in front of you. Hands in his black jeans pockets as he hung his head and let his gaze crawl up to yours to give you a look that tried to say sorry before he opened his mouth.

“Following me now? Don’t know how to pick up your phone and just call?” you spoke first, your tone low but pointed. Sharp enough to make him wince a bit before he shrugged it off.

“Keepin’ you safe,” he replied in that light rasp that was nearly as cool as the breeze that just swept by. Made you tremble but you sucked your teeth at his admission.

“If keeping me safe interests you…I imagine something else does, too. So what is it?”

“Nothing…I’m just watchin’ you. Heard your boss is downsizin’ and it got me worried ’bout you.”

“Bullshit.”

You spat the word at him and he looked down like it landed on his boots, shaking his head like he didn’t understand where your disgust came from. But he knew perfectly well. He was a snake. He’d say one thing and do another because he liked to keep you on a leash…close but not too close.

And, to be fair, you did the same to him. You had to. It was the nature of your profession but you thought that maybe there’d be honor among thieves. Silly you for thinking this particular thief who would hold you all night while he kissed you and tell you that he loves you from time to time would actually mean any of that. Silly you for thinking love would mean anything to a thief when there was money to be made. His first love, clearly.

Pope was watching you now, hands still in his pockets, but he took a step closer to you and you blinked when he uttered, “‘Bullshit?’ Didn’t I do you a favor last time we saw each other? Didn’t that keep your boss from offin’ you?”

“He would’ve killed us both if you hadn’t,” you reminded him. Pope had a point but you weren’t going to concede with gratitude. Sure, did he catch you sneaking into his home to retrieve the chip you’d planted in his cell phone the last time you spent the night with him and still gave it to you? Yes, but only because he knew if you didn’t deliver that chip to your boss, he’d know you were protecting Pope. The man he’d assigned you to seduce information from…not fall in love with. “How do you know he’s not following us right now, huh? On his way to kill us, anyway?” you added and tried not to let Pope’s eyes burn a hole into your heart, especially when he spoke next.

“I would never let anything happen to you.” 

“Why?” You were genuinely asking. Time and time again it seemed like the easiest plan to execute was each other. Say and do what you need to say and do to keep the other comfortable while you plot…in your case, you were tasked to undercut the Cody dynasty by having the keys to the fortune handed to you through the “most gullible son,” your boss called Pope. The other two, in his opinion, were not as simple to trick, one of them too smart for his own good and the other a burnout but capable of locking in when it counted.

Pope was supposed to be somewhere in the middle…but to you, he was the most skillful of them all. Matters of the heart only affected his decision making when it behooved him, as well. Because when you thought you were playing him, he was playing you, too. The brutal, right hand of his late mother who was the brains of the operation but upon her death, everyone who was anyone knew there was a huge crack in the family operation to exploit. 

No one suspected Pope to be smart enough to fortify that crack, make the Cody family untouchable again…sometimes you wondered if the only reason he worked with you on supplying your boss satisfactory information was because he knew where all the bodies and cash were buried and could afford to spare several stacks here and there to trick his opps into thinking they had the upper hand.

The only problem with that strategy was that now you were never sure if his “protection” over you was to truly keep you safe…or just keep you alive to keep using you. Keep up appearances so that you’d keep running back to your boss with just enough money or information to keep his ass out of harm’s way. Not yours.

Fucking snake.

Maybe the same could be said about you but…but sometimes…when you were in your bed late at night thinking of him…you wanted nothing more than to leave all this bullshit behind and just be with him. Sometimes you believed nothing was as real as your love for him... 

“Because I love you.”

Pope murmured to you but he was close enough that you heard him clearly. You felt your heart try to skip a beat when he took another step towards you and closed the space between you, feeling his hands settle on your hips and his lips skim your throat. Soft grip and soft kisses on your pulse that almost made you whimper, especially when he breathed on your skin, “And I know you love me, too,” before he hid another kiss on your neck…but you forced yourself to snap out of it as you shoved your hands to his chest. 

“So what? Who cares if I love you?” you grumbled into the crook of his shoulder and neck, balling your hands into fists on his hard pecs in his sweatshirt. You wanted to push him off you but, actually, no. You didn’t. You pounded once on his chest like a warning but your voice was a whisper even as you threatened, “I could still put a bullet in your head right now…I don’t need you to keep me safe. I don’t need you.”

Pope was still and silent for a moment but you felt his fingers dig into the fabric of your dress at the small of your back. He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his nose brushing yours, before he whispered back, “I know you don’t need me…but you want me. I want you, too.”

You didn’t care for the matter-of-fact tone he was using on you. His voice was calm but there was something lingering in the gentle bass of it, something like…truth? His or yours, you couldn’t tell and that was the problem.

“You don’t want me,” you hissed at him but he pecked your lips with a kiss as if that would soothe you. You hated that it kind of worked. Especially when he did it again, bringing up a hand from your back to cup your jaw and caress his thumb along your cheek. He tried to kiss you again but you jerked your head back and punched his chest again. He didn’t even flinch. “I see you. You string me along. You give me just enough to make me go fucking crazy over you and for what, huh? For what?!”

Oh, you hated that your voice cracked a bit then, but you couldn’t help it. The last time you were in his arms like this was a month ago and he had pulled the same stunt he was pulling now…holding you to him and kissing you until you felt fuzzy before he sent you on your way with that chip because “you need t’get out of here before your boss gets suspicious.”

And yes, he was right…you’d been sent with an objective and timeframe of one hour. Your boss figured Pope would be asleep at four in the morning but that wasn’t the case…you found him sitting up in bed like he’d been waiting for you after you’d broken in. And he proceeded to break you down in that bed while telling you he missed you with just enough of his hands and mouth on you without even removing your clothes because he was a goddamn menace to your wellbeing. 

You had never felt so on fire and yet so unfulfilled. Sent away yearning and empty “for your own good.” It was humiliating. You hated him for that.

“That’s not true,” he gave and tugged your chin to meet his gaze when you tried to turn your head. “Hey. Look at me. It’s not true. I love you,” he mouthed. You looked at him and you hated the way the moon shone in his dark eyes that were gentle on you. His other thumb traced your spine in your dress and your lips parted like you meant to make a sound but he inhaled it with a kiss that lasted too long. You knew it was too long because your heart was thumping and goosebumps were rising on your arms and thighs, especially when Pope’s grip on your back fell lower to gather a handful of your ass and pull you to his pelvis. You could just barely feel the tip of his belt buckle before you came to your senses again and used the strength you had left to pry him off of you. He stepped back and let his hands drop to his sides but he made fists as he flexed his fingers and tried to find his next words.

“I wanna give you everything…you know that….but…can I trust you?” Pope asked softly and he sounded sincere. Almost as sincere as you earlier when you asked him why he’s even here tonight. Your hands twitched for something to do and you fiddled with the hem of your jacket sleeve as he asked another quiet question, “Do you trust me?”

“You’re still alive so…” you replied but there was no venom to it. You wanted to harness it and inject him with it, hurt him with it, but the way he was looking at you when you caught his eyes again made you want to unravel. It was like his gaze was melting through your skin, right into you, and seeing your heart…seeing that you wanted exactly what he said he wanted to give you…everything. All of him.

But it was a fantasy. Even if you trusted him, your boss and associates did not. Hell, even your homegirls who had no real clue how you made your money would catch Pope at your place sometimes in the past and tell you they had caught a bad vibe off him and that you should leave him. There was no great escape and happily ever after. Not without a lot of heartbreak and blood. Yours and his. There was only the here and now and his eyes that held yours like he had a million things to say but he only voiced one. 

“Stay with me tonight.”

Your eyebrows furrowed like his words made no sense but he didn’t repeat himself. He just tipped his chin towards his car to signal he was sliding back into it, and if you wanted to follow him to his place, you should slide into yours, too. The alcohol that would have impaired you to drive dissipated from your system the moment you realized it was Pope following you…watching you…and then kissing you…

It sounded like a delicious trap, one that you’d avoided for the last month as work kept you busy and your frustration with him kept you angry enough to pretend you didn’t want to see him. But as you cranked the engine in your car, you didn’t drive home to get some sleep and clear your head. You took the route you knew all too well, the road that led to sleepless nights and trouble you couldn’t shake. The Cody Compound.

There was no reason for Pope to be this gentle with you. Not when you were so rough with him earlier in the parking garage…hitting him with your fists and your words in hopes that it would wound him in the ways you felt he wounded you. But his hands on you pulled you to him with a soft tug, tucking you against his body on his bed as he kissed you like he meant to pacify you. Prove to you that he meant it when he told you he cared about you.

Little presses of his lips to your ear, your temple, your nose, your chin, your shoulder. Squeezing his hand at your thigh while the other slipped around your jaw to angle your face to his so he could capture your lips again and faintly groan against them, “Can I take these off?”

His hand on your thigh turned into fingertips that found themselves under your dress and tracing the seam of your panties. Your jacket and boots were scattered across his wooden floors along with his shoes and belt but neither of you had gotten out of your clothes yet because Pope just wanted to hold you at first…hide his nose in your hair as he breathed you in and strummed his fingers along your belly. It made butterflies flutter in it because it’d been a while since you spent enough time together for him to just…cuddle you. Listening to you breathe and feeling you press your backside against him so not even an inch was between you.

“Can I take these off, too? Like an exchange?” you asked back in a playful whisper on his cheek before you kissed it, letting your fingers fall to the zipper of his jeans. He nodded and kissed you again as you both took turns stripping each other…first, your panties…next, his jeans…then, your bra…and finally, his shirt and boxers.

His skin was warm, soft, but hard in all the right places, like the muscle of his arms around you, one of them curling around you to keep you snug against him. You accepted the weight of his torso pushing you into his mattress with your thighs around his waist and your hands in his cropped hair, making him kiss you firmer and flick at your tongue like he wanted the spit off of it. You knew you wanted it off his as you whispered for him to drip a string of it from between his lips and he obeyed, watching you catch it on your tongue before you pulled him by the hair to kiss you again as you swallowed it. 

You felt the grunt in his chest against yours, a deep, satisfying noise as you wove your lips with his in a slow kiss while also winding your hips on his because every tilt from you made his dick stiffen another inch until his blunt tip poked the pudge of your belly. 

But Pope neglected himself, you noticed, as he could have easily grabbed his dick to push into you…god, he had you wet enough just from his mouth on yours and his hands all over you. Instead, he continued with his mouth and hands…his big, gruff palms groping your breasts with a delicate rub of your nipples between his thumbs and fingers…cupping the mound of one to replace his touch with his warm mouth covering the bud.

Tracing the shape of it with his tongue before nipping softly with his lips over his teeth. Making your chest and fall with little sighs because he was spending his time just there, licking and tasting you as he held you in his hands. His heavy body still held you down as your hips tilted to find pressure again and met his solid abs that you made slick as you rubbed yourself against them.

“Do I take care of you?” Pope asked under his breath when he unfastened his lips from you with a soft suckle, the cool air of his room kissing your wet nipple that he lolled his thumb over until you bit your lip.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly but you knew what he wanted to hear. Because it was a similar sentiment to what you’d said to him only an hour ago when he asked if you trusted him. If Pope didn’t take care of you…maybe you wouldn’t be alive right now. And that’s not because he would take your life with his own hands, that you were certain of, but that he knew people who wanted to…like your own boss who might be starting to see through your tendency to never to get anything worthwhile out of Pope for the last year and a half.

A year and a half you’d been sleeping with the enemy because the enemy made you feel something you craved, but taught yourself to deny because it wasn’t safe. It just…wasn’t safe to love someone who had to love you in secret.

“You know,” he urged you with his nose skimming the valley of your breasts before he kissed down your tummy. Slipping further down your body and onto his elbows as he huffed the scent of you with his nose now nudged to your mound. His breath washed over you when he let out a shaky exhale through his lips and glanced up at you because you were exhaling, too. A little moan from his pointer falling up your soaked slit to carefully part you. “Just tell me…tell me how I should take care of you,” Pope commanded sweetly as his fingertip trailed along each petal of your pussy before using the wet it gathered to circle lightly at your clit. Just the hood of it, no pressure, still watching you try to think if you were ready to be more vulnerable with him. “You want that, right?” he kissed your inner thigh with the whisper of a question, using the pad of his finger to tease up the hood of your clit as he swirled his touch there and got you to stammer a moan.

You moaned, “I…” but that’s all you could get out before Pope pressed his lips to you, kissing your clit with a bit of tongue as he started to sink his thick finger into you. You felt yourself contract around it as he slanted it slightly and pushed up, seeking that spot that he knew would scramble your thoughts even more as he unfolded his hot, wet tongue on your clit with a wide lick that made heat spread through your core and to your toes that curled into his sheets. Your hands found the mass of his biceps to lock onto because you could feel from how he pumped his finger into you at the same pace as his tongue that he wanted you to come before you said something he didn’t think was true.

Because even though you were going to repeat that you didn’t know…you did…just like he claimed. And as he made you flutter against his knuckles and mouth as he lapped up the creamy orgasm that dripped from you, you still fought telling him what he wanted to hear. Trying to convince yourself again that he didn’t deserve it. He’d let a month go by without a single word to you. He…he let his tongue dip back into you and even lower, sweeping at your asshole and back up to your clit because he wanted every drop of you before it soaked into his sheets, cinching his fingers around your tummy to pull you to his mouth when your moans drifted into whines and your breath ran out.

He let you catch your breath when he took a moment to catch his, licking his lips clean of you and wiping his left cheek and chin with his forearm as he sat on his knees above you. His other hand wrapped around the back of your thigh, squeezing softly as he purred your name into the shadows of his bedroom. “Are you gonna let me take care of you?”

“For how long? What’s the expiration date?” you croaked, your voice already hoarse from the moans you surrendered to him. He’d already taken most of the fight out of you but not all of it because you wanted to know the truth. You needed to know. Pope looked down at you with that face you recognized from before, something between stolid and upset, his handsome features smooth but his lips a line that turned down at your question. 

He squeezed your thigh again before he clasped down on it hard enough to move you how he wanted, making you bark his name for the slight sting on your skin as he tossed you onto your belly. “Andrew,” you snapped again, albeit muffled from his pillow, as he used his weight to pin you underneath him so you couldn’t even squirm. You felt the weight of his length, too, warm, thick, and rigid on your ass as it seemed to grow harder with a twitch and weep his pre-come onto your skin from the sound of you growling his name.

He said nothing as your fingers snatched the pillow from your mouth and flung it to the floor but you couldn’t move any more than that. Pope was massive, especially compared to you, and he was able to box you in with just one arm while the other reached for his nightstand, yanking open the drawer and retrieving something that glinted even in the dull light of his room, catching the slip of moonlight through his blinds. You knew what it was but you were surprised he was bothering to put one on because he could rarely fit them…unless he’d finally bought new ones. 

But you wondered just for who in the hell because it couldn’t have been for you. You hadn’t fucked Pope in over a month…he tried to push that angry thought out of your mind, though, as he laid on you while ripping open the foil with his teeth before easing off you just a bit to glide the rubber onto his tip. You felt him struggling because his knuckles kept bumping against your ass each time the condom recoiled from his fat dick and he hurried to roll it back down.

“Just leave it off. What the fuck are you doing?” you growled again, trying to see something…

When Pope lowered his head to growl back in your ear, “What’s it feel like I’m doin’?” as he held his dick and pushed the head down between your cheeks to find your slick, little opening, wedging the first inch of himself into you with less tenderness than before…you got your answer. He was upset…just like you. His breath on your shoulder came out harsh when he fed you another inch of his heavy dick, feeling him make your pussy make room for him as he carefully rocked in and out while still holding his length at the base.

You moaned into his sheets as you felt him push again, removing his hand when it brushed your bottom so he could clap a palm to it, instead, keeping you in place as you felt him take his time burying himself in you. Sitting deep and forcing you to feel how he weighed in your pussy, nudging against every wall in you, before he pushed without backing out. Pressing deeper just to hear the whimper that escaped you, feel you throb around him. His voice was lower, darker as he moaned to you, “Are you all mine?”

You didn’t even know how to answer that and your moans kept you from getting the words out as Pope thrust into you hard. Tugging his hips back and into you with an audible, sticking sthmack as your skin met, your wetness smeared on his groin he worked you open and made you wetter, creamier, with each stroke that was beginning to hurt so good. 

You wanted to be upset that he was upset with you but maybe it was fair…maybe he was allowed to take his frustrations out on you with his fingers crawling into your hair and then the back of your neck to hold you down, shove the side of your face into his bed as he palmed his sheets and slammed into you until you cried. Or maybe you didn’t know what the hell you were thinking anymore because Pope was fucking the sense out of you, harder taps of his dick that sought the end of your pussy until you fluttered around him again, feeling his lips smudge to your cheek as he demanded, “Fucking tell me you’re mine.”

“Mmhhh…I’m yours,” you groaned all airy and you knew you sounded pathetic but you couldn’t help the way it left you. You couldn’t help the way your eyes rolled and the way your fingernails clawed at his sheets as he pounded at your poor cervix harder than you were ready for, even though he tested you with a deep roll of his hips that he held to the hilt and listened to you mewl to him. Doing it again as he picked up the pace…and again as you yelped his name…and again until you felt a familiar pop somewhere inside of you. 

“Fuck,” Pope mumbled into your hair before he regretfully, and slowly, pulled out, leaving you feeling hollow. Your eyes slotted open to see his arm stretching from the bed to his drawer again, still open, and fishing another condom from it.

“Don’t,” you breathed, a weary suggestion from you that he ignored as he ripped off the ruined rubber to roll on the new one. You heard the soft slap of it hitting the floor and you sighed because you didn’t see the point, knowing he’d pop this one, too.

“You’re ovulating,” he breathed to you in response and you barely had the strength to scrunch your face to ask how the hell did he know that?

But the answer came to you before you opened your lips to do anything more than whine when Pope fit his dick into you again once he got the fresh condom on. He’d been following you tonight…and while you caught him, you knew it was because he wanted to be caught. You realized then that even though you hadn’t seen him in a month before tonight didn’t mean he hadn’t seen you.

“…Why do you care, Andrew?” you mumbled to the sheets but turned your head just enough to glance over your shoulder at him. Try to read his thoughts through his complicated expression as he bit his bottom lip between his teeth while looking at you splayed beneath him, feeling his hands circling your hips and tugging you up and onto your knees. 

You didn’t fight it because his grip felt good…so fucking good when he pressed his tip to your entrance again and made you shiver in his hands. Your question still lingered between you and you thought maybe Pope was trying to make you forget it when glided into you with no resistance, your pussy wet and supple for him from his pounding before, making your back arch as you let out a long moan.

But he spoke right then, your noise almost drowning him out as he rocked you onto him, letting you feel the thickness of him spread you again as he uttered tersely, “Told you already. I love you.”

“No…no, you don’t,” you uttered back, making fists in his sheets and hanging your head until your face slumped against them again when Pope pulled you to him and drove his hips into you at the same time. A lethal rhythm that felt somehow deeper than before as he knocked into you over and over until your pussy ached with that white-hot pleasure you felt building and tingling around his every stroke.

“Shhh,” was all he said to your protests because he knew as much as you did that it was bullshit. You were just scared…scared to feel this good…scared to let him handle you like this. Heavy ruts that bottomed you out and shook his headboard and your entire body that he held with a rough grasp on your waist that might leave bruises…but he soothed you with his other hand that slid around your belly and lower to graze your clit with his middle fingers. Feeling how slippery and puffy and soft he’d made you for him. Feeling yourself part your thighs a little more so he could cup his palm to your mound as he took his time playing you, luring a second, messy orgasm out of you…only using his words then to let out a throaty moan. “This is how you want me to love you…isn’t it? Yeah?”

You thought you told him to go fuck himself because he knew you wanted more than this…you wanted this and the man who gave it to you. You didn’t want to hide from everyone anymore. But you realized your words were garbled with your cries into his sheets as he kept fucking you through your orgasm, hard. Fucking into you until your ass bounced against his hard body when he thrust harder again. Pounding you into submission again in hopes that maybe you’ll listen to him, feel him, feel how much he loves you when this is all the love he can afford to give you right now.

You did want it and yet you were running away from it…climbing up the sheets to find reprieve…but Pope trapped you with his hands on your thighs and hips to yank you back to him. Driving into you harder and making his name echo in the room when you sobbed it. You felt in your soul…he made you start to wonder if you could even withstand his love every day if this was the sheer force of it. And when you both felt the condom break again under the pressure, Pope almost didn’t stop. Grunting another curse that thinned into a moan because you felt his body shudder against you. He had been so close to giving you every single drop of his love. 

He retreated from you and you sank onto your belly again, your knees and elbows giving out. You curled up onto your side and felt your slightly sweaty skin stick to his bedding as you took a deep, quivering breath. Pleasure still racked your body even though Pope was crawling to lay at your side with you, not even touching you yet. You felt the heat of his hand hovering over your shoulder before he rested it there, a thumb running along your skin to mark the spot he wanted to kiss. Your eyes closed from the sweet feel of him, the feel of him scooting closer to hold you from behind like he liked to do…except his hard, condom-sheathed dick nuzzled up against your backside.

“Are you okay?”

“You’re wasting those,” you ignored his question and whispered to him, feeling his breath whisper back a soft, brief laugh on your neck.

“Maybe…but maybe right now isn’t the best time for you to have my baby.” Pope snuck an arm around you and rested his chin on your shoulder. You wanted to hate how cozy it felt but you couldn’t gather anymore hate for him at this moment. Not when he was tracing his fingertips on your belly, down your thigh, and back up until his fingers laced around your throat. Thumbing your pulse as he looked into your eyes, the gentleness returning to his touch because you both had had enough taste of vitriol, or perhaps you fucked it out of each other at last.

Either way, you tried to form the words in your mouth to leave your tongue without the bitterness you’d grown so used to as you murmured, “Would there ever even be a ‘right time?’”

You almost took concern with Pope’s silence but you fixated on his gaze and let out a breath you didn’t notice you were holding in as he hummed. “Yes. I just…I need you to trust me. You have to believe me when I say this…I’m workin’ to get us the fuck out of Oceanside.”

“I…I do…but how come you’ve never shared this plan with me?” You weren’t accusing him of hiding it…you just wanted to know why you both had the same vision and never worked together to see it through. Pope’s palm softly covered and caressed your cheek, but he looked into your eyes sternly.

“I gotta keep you clean. The less you know ’til it’s time to know, the better.” He planted a tender kiss on your lips to quiet the thoughts he could see brewing in your head behind your eyes. Because if that meant what you thought it meant…there was a safe house somewhere…offshore accounts…new identities…

He kissed you again when you parted your lips to maybe ask when that time would be because, fuck, you wanted it. It’s all you wanted. You didn’t mean to fall this damn deeply in love with Andrew. You didn’t try to…it just happened. He was tough, he was gritty, he was cunning…but he was also thoughtful, sweet, and protective. Protective over you even when you lashed out at him, even when you felt disregarded by him, because deep down, you knew he felt the same about you. You were finally hearing him as he lifted your thigh in his hand to make room as he carefully nestled himself inside you because he was still hard for you, he still wanted you, as he said in a hushed moan, “I love you, baby.”

You let out a whine when he tucked into you, pressing his hips to your bottom with shallow drags you felt slip over your spot as his fingertips dug into the back of your thigh he kept raised. Keeping you open to take him, all of him, as he stuttered his thrusts to punctuate his words…“I think about you…every fuckin’ day…I belong to you,” Andrew whined to you, his nose trailing your jaw before he kissed there. “Do you belong to me?”

“Yeahhh.” You didn’t recognize your own voice the way it floated out of you and into the heated air between you. Growing hotter with each grind of his hips to push you further into madness, feeling hazy as he controlled the pace of your orgasm starting to lick at you like flames. 

“Tell me you love me. I wanna hear it, baby.”

“…I love you, Andrew...”

You needed to touch him, needed to hold onto him because clinging to the sheets wasn’t enough anymore, not when he’d found the angle to make you fall apart on him. Your nails nipped at his forearm, his waist, anywhere you could reach to brace yourself as that hot wave started to shudder through you, each pulse in rhythm with his movements that only slowed to feel your pussy convulse on him so beautifully. It made him groan deep as he buried his face in your neck, feeling him twitch and try to remain still to feel you but he jerked forward when you pulsed on his dick again, chasing the fire you stoked in him.

The sudden thrash of his thickness nailing into you made you whimper sharply, coaxing the aftershocks of your orgasm as you throbbed wildly around his dick that felt even better than it did a second ago. It was subtle but you could feel the slip of his bare, warm skin through the tear in the condom he just accidentally made, but it made you push yourself against him. Wanting to feel more of him…raw and yours. 

Andrew grabbed your hips to yank away from you…or so you thought. You were so out of it that you didn’t notice until a minute later that he was pinning you to him. Making you feel something warm seeping into you, filling you, as he panted and whimpered for you. Feeling you, all of you, just like you felt him…raw and his.

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“See y’all later!”

“Drive safe! You sure you don’t want a lift to the parking garage?”

“No, no. It’s only a couple of blocks and I could use the fresh air.”

You hugged and kissed your homegirls goodbye as you tried not to stumble down the sidewalk from the little venue you’d left after a successful girls night. You were tipsy, you felt warm and happy, even the music was still buzzing in your blood and making you hum the last song you’d danced to with your friends.

A patch of uneven cement tried to scrape at the toe of your stiletto boot and trip you up but you caught yourself before wrapping your arms around your waist to brace the slight chill in the autumn night air. But it felt good on your hot skin, especially since you’d peeled off your denim jacket to tie around your hips and act as the bottom half of your dress. You were grateful for the quiet stretch of walk ahead of you because you’d dealt with men and a few women complimenting the length of your dress and trying to get in it all damn night.

Normally you wouldn’t mind but your head was nowhere near a flirty space tonight. Or most nights. You just wanted to be outside tonight with your friends, with people you love and who love you, and make yourself remember that you do have that in your life…no matter what or who made you believe otherwise sometimes.

Goddamn Pope. He was an asshole.

You grunted softly to yourself as you neared the end of the first block and took a careful step onto the street to cross it. You did not want to be thinking about him right now but goddammit. You were. You had been all night. Perhaps the “success” of tonight hinged on being in the company of your friends to distract yourself with their conversation, the music, and the shots. Now that you were alone…the quiet was actually too quiet. Inviting in too many thoughts that you didn’t want to have. About him.

This part of town was usually lowkey on the weekends, hence, why you and your friends chose it. The small venue you were at was one of two establishments still open after midnight, the other a coffee shop across the street to your left that you just passed. When you glanced over at it, you saw through the large, single pane window the barista slumped onto her elbows on the counter, scrolling her phone, and a couple of patrons sharing a booth on their laptops and two mugs between them. You were the only other body in sight. You didn’t even see any cars line the streets as you clicked down the sidewalk.

So, that made you wonder why the fuck there was a car following you right now.

It’d been tailing you for the last block, rolling slow with its headlights off and not doing a great job of keeping its distance. You didn’t have to look over your shoulder to see it because you heard its engine softly muttering as the driver tried to keep pace with you without driving directly beside you. 

You gripped your clutch that you had tucked beneath your armpit as you folded your arms, thinking of the right moment to retrieve your pocket pistol from it and shoot this idiot’s front, right tire to keep them from pursuing you any further. But then your mind went to if the driver would just hop out and decide to pursue you on foot…then you’d have to smoke them. You could still feel the last spiced rum shot simmering on your skin, and maybe that might throw off your aim, but whatever. At least they’d know you meant business. You wouldn’t miss a second shot.

You acted natural, however, as you finally approached the parking garage but saw that it was not as well-lit as you thought it was when you pulled in around 9 p.m., the only light a single LED that flickered at the entrance above the gate. You slipped into the stairwell to climb up a few floors to the top level where you’d parked, but paused when you were hidden behind a cement wall with a cutout. You’d be able to see the driver but they couldn’t see you, and you wanted to watch if they would pass by the garage…but nope. They’d turned into it and you saw an arm covered in a black sweatshirt sleeve extend from the driver’s side window to tap their debit card to the screen before the gate lifted for them to drive inside. Oh, for Christ’s sake.

You weren’t concerned anymore…you were pissed. You knew the make and model of that gold, 1970 Oldsmobile 442 W-30 Convertible with your eyes closed…goddamn Pope.

It pissed you off that a thrill went through your body realizing it was him, the man you were trying your hardest not to think about…but it’s like you summoned him with your thoughts, materialized him right into his car that you heard revving up the winding path to the roof where he assumed you were because your car was missing from the other levels.

You didn’t even bother to get inside your car when you reached it. Instead, you slammed your clutch onto your trunk and leaned against it with arms crossed on your chest. Waiting for him. Waiting to give him a piece of your mind because he had some nerve.

When you saw him pull in a minute later, his headlights were still off but the soft moonlight illuminated the contours of his face through his windshield as he slowly drove up to you. Looking stoic yet somehow perturbed, his lips tight as he took the space right next to your car and cut the engine. If he was perturbed, you were about to be livid, because you were the one being tailgated.

You listened to his car door open and shut, hearing his boots slightly scuff the ground with each step he took to appear in front of you. Hands in his black jeans pockets as he hung his head and let his gaze crawl up to yours to give you a look that tried to say sorry before he opened his mouth.

“Following me now? Don’t know how to pick up your phone and just call?” you spoke first, your tone low but pointed. Sharp enough to make him wince a bit before he shrugged it off.

“Keepin’ you safe,” he replied in that light rasp that was nearly as cool as the breeze that just swept by. Made you tremble but you sucked your teeth at his admission.

“If keeping me safe interests you…I imagine something else does, too. So what is it?”

“Nothing…I’m just watchin’ you. Heard your boss is downsizin’ and it got me worried ’bout you.”

“Bullshit.”

You spat the word at him and he looked down like it landed on his boots, shaking his head like he didn’t understand where your disgust came from. But he knew perfectly well. He was a snake. He’d say one thing and do another because he liked to keep you on a leash…close but not too close.

And, to be fair, you did the same to him. You had to. It was the nature of your profession but you thought that maybe there’d be honor among thieves. Silly you for thinking this particular thief who would hold you all night while he kissed you and tell you that he loves you from time to time would actually mean any of that. Silly you for thinking love would mean anything to a thief when there was money to be made. His first love, clearly.

Pope was watching you now, hands still in his pockets, but he took a step closer to you and you blinked when he uttered, “‘Bullshit?’ Didn’t I do you a favor last time we saw each other? Didn’t that keep your boss from offin’ you?”

“He would’ve killed us both if you hadn’t,” you reminded him. Pope had a point but you weren’t going to concede with gratitude. Sure, did he catch you sneaking into his home to retrieve the chip you’d planted in his cell phone the last time you spent the night with him and still gave it to you? Yes, but only because he knew if you didn’t deliver that chip to your boss, he’d know you were protecting Pope. The man he’d assigned you to seduce information from…not fall in love with. “How do you know he’s not following us right now, huh? On his way to kill us, anyway?” you added and tried not to let Pope’s eyes burn a hole into your heart, especially when he spoke next.

“I would never let anything happen to you.” 

“Why?” You were genuinely asking. Time and time again it seemed like the easiest plan to execute was each other. Say and do what you need to say and do to keep the other comfortable while you plot…in your case, you were tasked to undercut the Cody dynasty by having the keys to the fortune handed to you through the “most gullible son,” your boss called Pope. The other two, in his opinion, were not as simple to trick, one of them too smart for his own good and the other a burnout but capable of locking in when it counted.

Pope was supposed to be somewhere in the middle…but to you, he was the most skillful of them all. Matters of the heart only affected his decision making when it behooved him, as well. Because when you thought you were playing him, he was playing you, too. The brutal, right hand of his late mother who was the brains of the operation but upon her death, everyone who was anyone knew there was a huge crack in the family operation to exploit. 

No one suspected Pope to be smart enough to fortify that crack, make the Cody family untouchable again…sometimes you wondered if the only reason he worked with you on supplying your boss satisfactory information was because he knew where all the bodies and cash were buried and could afford to spare several stacks here and there to trick his opps into thinking they had the upper hand.

The only problem with that strategy was that now you were never sure if his “protection” over you was to truly keep you safe…or just keep you alive to keep using you. Keep up appearances so that you’d keep running back to your boss with just enough money or information to keep his ass out of harm’s way. Not yours.

Fucking snake.

Maybe the same could be said about you but…but sometimes…when you were in your bed late at night thinking of him…you wanted nothing more than to leave all this bullshit behind and just be with him. Sometimes you believed nothing was as real as your love for him... 

“Because I love you.”

Pope murmured to you but he was close enough that you heard him clearly. You felt your heart try to skip a beat when he took another step towards you and closed the space between you, feeling his hands settle on your hips and his lips skim your throat. Soft grip and soft kisses on your pulse that almost made you whimper, especially when he breathed on your skin, “And I know you love me, too,” before he hid another kiss on your neck…but you forced yourself to snap out of it as you shoved your hands to his chest. 

“So what? Who cares if I love you?” you grumbled into the crook of his shoulder and neck, balling your hands into fists on his hard pecs in his sweatshirt. You wanted to push him off you but, actually, no. You didn’t. You pounded once on his chest like a warning but your voice was a whisper even as you threatened, “I could still put a bullet in your head right now…I don’t need you to keep me safe. I don’t need you.”

Pope was still and silent for a moment but you felt his fingers dig into the fabric of your dress at the small of your back. He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his nose brushing yours, before he whispered back, “I know you don’t need me…but you want me. I want you, too.”

You didn’t care for the matter-of-fact tone he was using on you. His voice was calm but there was something lingering in the gentle bass of it, something like…truth? His or yours, you couldn’t tell and that was the problem.

“You don’t want me,” you hissed at him but he pecked your lips with a kiss as if that would soothe you. You hated that it kind of worked. Especially when he did it again, bringing up a hand from your back to cup your jaw and caress his thumb along your cheek. He tried to kiss you again but you jerked your head back and punched his chest again. He didn’t even flinch. “I see you. You string me along. You give me just enough to make me go fucking crazy over you and for what, huh? For what?!”

Oh, you hated that your voice cracked a bit then, but you couldn’t help it. The last time you were in his arms like this was a month ago and he had pulled the same stunt he was pulling now…holding you to him and kissing you until you felt fuzzy before he sent you on your way with that chip because “you need t’get out of here before your boss gets suspicious.”

And yes, he was right…you’d been sent with an objective and timeframe of one hour. Your boss figured Pope would be asleep at four in the morning but that wasn’t the case…you found him sitting up in bed like he’d been waiting for you after you’d broken in. And he proceeded to break you down in that bed while telling you he missed you with just enough of his hands and mouth on you without even removing your clothes because he was a goddamn menace to your wellbeing. 

You had never felt so on fire and yet so unfulfilled. Sent away yearning and empty “for your own good.” It was humiliating. You hated him for that.

“That’s not true,” he gave and tugged your chin to meet his gaze when you tried to turn your head. “Hey. Look at me. It’s not true. I love you,” he mouthed. You looked at him and you hated the way the moon shone in his dark eyes that were gentle on you. His other thumb traced your spine in your dress and your lips parted like you meant to make a sound but he inhaled it with a kiss that lasted too long. You knew it was too long because your heart was thumping and goosebumps were rising on your arms and thighs, especially when Pope’s grip on your back fell lower to gather a handful of your ass and pull you to his pelvis. You could just barely feel the tip of his belt buckle before you came to your senses again and used the strength you had left to pry him off of you. He stepped back and let his hands drop to his sides but he made fists as he flexed his fingers and tried to find his next words.

“I wanna give you everything…you know that….but…can I trust you?” Pope asked softly and he sounded sincere. Almost as sincere as you earlier when you asked him why he’s even here tonight. Your hands twitched for something to do and you fiddled with the hem of your jacket sleeve as he asked another quiet question, “Do you trust me?”

“You’re still alive so…” you replied but there was no venom to it. You wanted to harness it and inject him with it, hurt him with it, but the way he was looking at you when you caught his eyes again made you want to unravel. It was like his gaze was melting through your skin, right into you, and seeing your heart…seeing that you wanted exactly what he said he wanted to give you…everything. All of him.

But it was a fantasy. Even if you trusted him, your boss and associates did not. Hell, even your homegirls who had no real clue how you made your money would catch Pope at your place sometimes in the past and tell you they had caught a bad vibe off him and that you should leave him. There was no great escape and happily ever after. Not without a lot of heartbreak and blood. Yours and his. There was only the here and now and his eyes that held yours like he had a million things to say but he only voiced one. 

“Stay with me tonight.”

Your eyebrows furrowed like his words made no sense but he didn’t repeat himself. He just tipped his chin towards his car to signal he was sliding back into it, and if you wanted to follow him to his place, you should slide into yours, too. The alcohol that would have impaired you to drive dissipated from your system the moment you realized it was Pope following you…watching you…and then kissing you…

It sounded like a delicious trap, one that you’d avoided for the last month as work kept you busy and your frustration with him kept you angry enough to pretend you didn’t want to see him. But as you cranked the engine in your car, you didn’t drive home to get some sleep and clear your head. You took the route you knew all too well, the road that led to sleepless nights and trouble you couldn’t shake. The Cody Compound.

There was no reason for Pope to be this gentle with you. Not when you were so rough with him earlier in the parking garage…hitting him with your fists and your words in hopes that it would wound him in the ways you felt he wounded you. But his hands on you pulled you to him with a soft tug, tucking you against his body on his bed as he kissed you like he meant to pacify you. Prove to you that he meant it when he told you he cared about you.

Little presses of his lips to your ear, your temple, your nose, your chin, your shoulder. Squeezing his hand at your thigh while the other slipped around your jaw to angle your face to his so he could capture your lips again and faintly groan against them, “Can I take these off?”

His hand on your thigh turned into fingertips that found themselves under your dress and tracing the seam of your panties. Your jacket and boots were scattered across his wooden floors along with his shoes and belt but neither of you had gotten out of your clothes yet because Pope just wanted to hold you at first…hide his nose in your hair as he breathed you in and strummed his fingers along your belly. It made butterflies flutter in it because it’d been a while since you spent enough time together for him to just…cuddle you. Listening to you breathe and feeling you press your backside against him so not even an inch was between you.

“Can I take these off, too? Like an exchange?” you asked back in a playful whisper on his cheek before you kissed it, letting your fingers fall to the zipper of his jeans. He nodded and kissed you again as you both took turns stripping each other…first, your panties…next, his jeans…then, your bra…and finally, his shirt and boxers.

His skin was warm, soft, but hard in all the right places, like the muscle of his arms around you, one of them curling around you to keep you snug against him. You accepted the weight of his torso pushing you into his mattress with your thighs around his waist and your hands in his cropped hair, making him kiss you firmer and flick at your tongue like he wanted the spit off of it. You knew you wanted it off his as you whispered for him to drip a string of it from between his lips and he obeyed, watching you catch it on your tongue before you pulled him by the hair to kiss you again as you swallowed it. 

You felt the grunt in his chest against yours, a deep, satisfying noise as you wove your lips with his in a slow kiss while also winding your hips on his because every tilt from you made his dick stiffen another inch until his blunt tip poked the pudge of your belly. 

But Pope neglected himself, you noticed, as he could have easily grabbed his dick to push into you…god, he had you wet enough just from his mouth on yours and his hands all over you. Instead, he continued with his mouth and hands…his big, gruff palms groping your breasts with a delicate rub of your nipples between his thumbs and fingers…cupping the mound of one to replace his touch with his warm mouth covering the bud.

Tracing the shape of it with his tongue before nipping softly with his lips over his teeth. Making your chest and fall with little sighs because he was spending his time just there, licking and tasting you as he held you in his hands. His heavy body still held you down as your hips tilted to find pressure again and met his solid abs that you made slick as you rubbed yourself against them.

“Do I take care of you?” Pope asked under his breath when he unfastened his lips from you with a soft suckle, the cool air of his room kissing your wet nipple that he lolled his thumb over until you bit your lip.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly but you knew what he wanted to hear. Because it was a similar sentiment to what you’d said to him only an hour ago when he asked if you trusted him. If Pope didn’t take care of you…maybe you wouldn’t be alive right now. And that’s not because he would take your life with his own hands, that you were certain of, but that he knew people who wanted to…like your own boss who might be starting to see through your tendency to never to get anything worthwhile out of Pope for the last year and a half.

A year and a half you’d been sleeping with the enemy because the enemy made you feel something you craved, but taught yourself to deny because it wasn’t safe. It just…wasn’t safe to love someone who had to love you in secret.

“You know,” he urged you with his nose skimming the valley of your breasts before he kissed down your tummy. Slipping further down your body and onto his elbows as he huffed the scent of you with his nose now nudged to your mound. His breath washed over you when he let out a shaky exhale through his lips and glanced up at you because you were exhaling, too. A little moan from his pointer falling up your soaked slit to carefully part you. “Just tell me…tell me how I should take care of you,” Pope commanded sweetly as his fingertip trailed along each petal of your pussy before using the wet it gathered to circle lightly at your clit. Just the hood of it, no pressure, still watching you try to think if you were ready to be more vulnerable with him. “You want that, right?” he kissed your inner thigh with the whisper of a question, using the pad of his finger to tease up the hood of your clit as he swirled his touch there and got you to stammer a moan.

You moaned, “I…” but that’s all you could get out before Pope pressed his lips to you, kissing your clit with a bit of tongue as he started to sink his thick finger into you. You felt yourself contract around it as he slanted it slightly and pushed up, seeking that spot that he knew would scramble your thoughts even more as he unfolded his hot, wet tongue on your clit with a wide lick that made heat spread through your core and to your toes that curled into his sheets. Your hands found the mass of his biceps to lock onto because you could feel from how he pumped his finger into you at the same pace as his tongue that he wanted you to come before you said something he didn’t think was true.

Because even though you were going to repeat that you didn’t know…you did…just like he claimed. And as he made you flutter against his knuckles and mouth as he lapped up the creamy orgasm that dripped from you, you still fought telling him what he wanted to hear. Trying to convince yourself again that he didn’t deserve it. He’d let a month go by without a single word to you. He…he let his tongue dip back into you and even lower, sweeping at your asshole and back up to your clit because he wanted every drop of you before it soaked into his sheets, cinching his fingers around your tummy to pull you to his mouth when your moans drifted into whines and your breath ran out.

He let you catch your breath when he took a moment to catch his, licking his lips clean of you and wiping his left cheek and chin with his forearm as he sat on his knees above you. His other hand wrapped around the back of your thigh, squeezing softly as he purred your name into the shadows of his bedroom. “Are you gonna let me take care of you?”

“For how long? What’s the expiration date?” you croaked, your voice already hoarse from the moans you surrendered to him. He’d already taken most of the fight out of you but not all of it because you wanted to know the truth. You needed to know. Pope looked down at you with that face you recognized from before, something between stolid and upset, his handsome features smooth but his lips a line that turned down at your question. 

He squeezed your thigh again before he clasped down on it hard enough to move you how he wanted, making you bark his name for the slight sting on your skin as he tossed you onto your belly. “Andrew,” you snapped again, albeit muffled from his pillow, as he used his weight to pin you underneath him so you couldn’t even squirm. You felt the weight of his length, too, warm, thick, and rigid on your ass as it seemed to grow harder with a twitch and weep his pre-come onto your skin from the sound of you growling his name.

He said nothing as your fingers snatched the pillow from your mouth and flung it to the floor but you couldn’t move any more than that. Pope was massive, especially compared to you, and he was able to box you in with just one arm while the other reached for his nightstand, yanking open the drawer and retrieving something that glinted even in the dull light of his room, catching the slip of moonlight through his blinds. You knew what it was but you were surprised he was bothering to put one on because he could rarely fit them…unless he’d finally bought new ones. 

But you wondered just for who in the hell because it couldn’t have been for you. You hadn’t fucked Pope in over a month…he tried to push that angry thought out of your mind, though, as he laid on you while ripping open the foil with his teeth before easing off you just a bit to glide the rubber onto his tip. You felt him struggling because his knuckles kept bumping against your ass each time the condom recoiled from his fat dick and he hurried to roll it back down.

“Just leave it off. What the fuck are you doing?” you growled again, trying to see something…

When Pope lowered his head to growl back in your ear, “What’s it feel like I’m doin’?” as he held his dick and pushed the head down between your cheeks to find your slick, little opening, wedging the first inch of himself into you with less tenderness than before…you got your answer. He was upset…just like you. His breath on your shoulder came out harsh when he fed you another inch of his heavy dick, feeling him make your pussy make room for him as he carefully rocked in and out while still holding his length at the base.

You moaned into his sheets as you felt him push again, removing his hand when it brushed your bottom so he could clap a palm to it, instead, keeping you in place as you felt him take his time burying himself in you. Sitting deep and forcing you to feel how he weighed in your pussy, nudging against every wall in you, before he pushed without backing out. Pressing deeper just to hear the whimper that escaped you, feel you throb around him. His voice was lower, darker as he moaned to you, “Are you all mine?”

You didn’t even know how to answer that and your moans kept you from getting the words out as Pope thrust into you hard. Tugging his hips back and into you with an audible, sticking sthmack as your skin met, your wetness smeared on his groin he worked you open and made you wetter, creamier, with each stroke that was beginning to hurt so good. 

You wanted to be upset that he was upset with you but maybe it was fair…maybe he was allowed to take his frustrations out on you with his fingers crawling into your hair and then the back of your neck to hold you down, shove the side of your face into his bed as he palmed his sheets and slammed into you until you cried. Or maybe you didn’t know what the hell you were thinking anymore because Pope was fucking the sense out of you, harder taps of his dick that sought the end of your pussy until you fluttered around him again, feeling his lips smudge to your cheek as he demanded, “Fucking tell me you’re mine.”

“Mmhhh…I’m yours,” you groaned all airy and you knew you sounded pathetic but you couldn’t help the way it left you. You couldn’t help the way your eyes rolled and the way your fingernails clawed at his sheets as he pounded at your poor cervix harder than you were ready for, even though he tested you with a deep roll of his hips that he held to the hilt and listened to you mewl to him. Doing it again as he picked up the pace…and again as you yelped his name…and again until you felt a familiar pop somewhere inside of you. 

“Fuck,” Pope mumbled into your hair before he regretfully, and slowly, pulled out, leaving you feeling hollow. Your eyes slotted open to see his arm stretching from the bed to his drawer again, still open, and fishing another condom from it.

“Don’t,” you breathed, a weary suggestion from you that he ignored as he ripped off the ruined rubber to roll on the new one. You heard the soft slap of it hitting the floor and you sighed because you didn’t see the point, knowing he’d pop this one, too.

“You’re ovulating,” he breathed to you in response and you barely had the strength to scrunch your face to ask how the hell did he know that?

But the answer came to you before you opened your lips to do anything more than whine when Pope fit his dick into you again once he got the fresh condom on. He’d been following you tonight…and while you caught him, you knew it was because he wanted to be caught. You realized then that even though you hadn’t seen him in a month before tonight didn’t mean he hadn’t seen you.

“…Why do you care, Andrew?” you mumbled to the sheets but turned your head just enough to glance over your shoulder at him. Try to read his thoughts through his complicated expression as he bit his bottom lip between his teeth while looking at you splayed beneath him, feeling his hands circling your hips and tugging you up and onto your knees. 

You didn’t fight it because his grip felt good…so fucking good when he pressed his tip to your entrance again and made you shiver in his hands. Your question still lingered between you and you thought maybe Pope was trying to make you forget it when glided into you with no resistance, your pussy wet and supple for him from his pounding before, making your back arch as you let out a long moan.

But he spoke right then, your noise almost drowning him out as he rocked you onto him, letting you feel the thickness of him spread you again as he uttered tersely, “Told you already. I love you.”

“No…no, you don’t,” you uttered back, making fists in his sheets and hanging your head until your face slumped against them again when Pope pulled you to him and drove his hips into you at the same time. A lethal rhythm that felt somehow deeper than before as he knocked into you over and over until your pussy ached with that white-hot pleasure you felt building and tingling around his every stroke.

“Shhh,” was all he said to your protests because he knew as much as you did that it was bullshit. You were just scared…scared to feel this good…scared to let him handle you like this. Heavy ruts that bottomed you out and shook his headboard and your entire body that he held with a rough grasp on your waist that might leave bruises…but he soothed you with his other hand that slid around your belly and lower to graze your clit with his middle fingers. Feeling how slippery and puffy and soft he’d made you for him. Feeling yourself part your thighs a little more so he could cup his palm to your mound as he took his time playing you, luring a second, messy orgasm out of you…only using his words then to let out a throaty moan. “This is how you want me to love you…isn’t it? Yeah?”

You thought you told him to go fuck himself because he knew you wanted more than this…you wanted this and the man who gave it to you. You didn’t want to hide from everyone anymore. But you realized your words were garbled with your cries into his sheets as he kept fucking you through your orgasm, hard. Fucking into you until your ass bounced against his hard body when he thrust harder again. Pounding you into submission again in hopes that maybe you’ll listen to him, feel him, feel how much he loves you when this is all the love he can afford to give you right now.

You did want it and yet you were running away from it…climbing up the sheets to find reprieve…but Pope trapped you with his hands on your thighs and hips to yank you back to him. Driving into you harder and making his name echo in the room when you sobbed it. You felt in your soul…he made you start to wonder if you could even withstand his love every day if this was the sheer force of it. And when you both felt the condom break again under the pressure, Pope almost didn’t stop. Grunting another curse that thinned into a moan because you felt his body shudder against you. He had been so close to giving you every single drop of his love. 

He retreated from you and you sank onto your belly again, your knees and elbows giving out. You curled up onto your side and felt your slightly sweaty skin stick to his bedding as you took a deep, quivering breath. Pleasure still racked your body even though Pope was crawling to lay at your side with you, not even touching you yet. You felt the heat of his hand hovering over your shoulder before he rested it there, a thumb running along your skin to mark the spot he wanted to kiss. Your eyes closed from the sweet feel of him, the feel of him scooting closer to hold you from behind like he liked to do…except his hard, condom-sheathed dick nuzzled up against your backside.

“Are you okay?”

“You’re wasting those,” you ignored his question and whispered to him, feeling his breath whisper back a soft, brief laugh on your neck.

“Maybe…but maybe right now isn’t the best time for you to have my baby.” Pope snuck an arm around you and rested his chin on your shoulder. You wanted to hate how cozy it felt but you couldn’t gather anymore hate for him at this moment. Not when he was tracing his fingertips on your belly, down your thigh, and back up until his fingers laced around your throat. Thumbing your pulse as he looked into your eyes, the gentleness returning to his touch because you both had had enough taste of vitriol, or perhaps you fucked it out of each other at last.

Either way, you tried to form the words in your mouth to leave your tongue without the bitterness you’d grown so used to as you murmured, “Would there ever even be a ‘right time?’”

You almost took concern with Pope’s silence but you fixated on his gaze and let out a breath you didn’t notice you were holding in as he hummed. “Yes. I just…I need you to trust me. You have to believe me when I say this…I’m workin’ to get us the fuck out of Oceanside.”

“I…I do…but how come you’ve never shared this plan with me?” You weren’t accusing him of hiding it…you just wanted to know why you both had the same vision and never worked together to see it through. Pope’s palm softly covered and caressed your cheek, but he looked into your eyes sternly.

“I gotta keep you clean. The less you know ’til it’s time to know, the better.” He planted a tender kiss on your lips to quiet the thoughts he could see brewing in your head behind your eyes. Because if that meant what you thought it meant…there was a safe house somewhere…offshore accounts…new identities…

He kissed you again when you parted your lips to maybe ask when that time would be because, fuck, you wanted it. It’s all you wanted. You didn’t mean to fall this damn deeply in love with Andrew. You didn’t try to…it just happened. He was tough, he was gritty, he was cunning…but he was also thoughtful, sweet, and protective. Protective over you even when you lashed out at him, even when you felt disregarded by him, because deep down, you knew he felt the same about you. You were finally hearing him as he lifted your thigh in his hand to make room as he carefully nestled himself inside you because he was still hard for you, he still wanted you, as he said in a hushed moan, “I love you, baby.”

You let out a whine when he tucked into you, pressing his hips to your bottom with shallow drags you felt slip over your spot as his fingertips dug into the back of your thigh he kept raised. Keeping you open to take him, all of him, as he stuttered his thrusts to punctuate his words…“I think about you…every fuckin’ day…I belong to you,” Andrew whined to you, his nose trailing your jaw before he kissed there. “Do you belong to me?”

“Yeahhh.” You didn’t recognize your own voice the way it floated out of you and into the heated air between you. Growing hotter with each grind of his hips to push you further into madness, feeling hazy as he controlled the pace of your orgasm starting to lick at you like flames. 

“Tell me you love me. I wanna hear it, baby.”

“…I love you, Andrew...”

You needed to touch him, needed to hold onto him because clinging to the sheets wasn’t enough anymore, not when he’d found the angle to make you fall apart on him. Your nails nipped at his forearm, his waist, anywhere you could reach to brace yourself as that hot wave started to shudder through you, each pulse in rhythm with his movements that only slowed to feel your pussy convulse on him so beautifully. It made him groan deep as he buried his face in your neck, feeling him twitch and try to remain still to feel you but he jerked forward when you pulsed on his dick again, chasing the fire you stoked in him.

The sudden thrash of his thickness nailing into you made you whimper sharply, coaxing the aftershocks of your orgasm as you throbbed wildly around his dick that felt even better than it did a second ago. It was subtle but you could feel the slip of his bare, warm skin through the tear in the condom he just accidentally made, but it made you push yourself against him. Wanting to feel more of him…raw and yours. 

Andrew grabbed your hips to yank away from you…or so you thought. You were so out of it that you didn’t notice until a minute later that he was pinning you to him. Making you feel something warm seeping into you, filling you, as he panted and whimpered for you. Feeling you, all of you, just like you felt him…raw and his.

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Jack who wants you to feel comfortable in your body with him. 

You took your time coming out of your clothes, not uncomfortable but timid. He helped you pull down your underwear once you were laying on his bed, nodding when he asked if he could, and now he’s on his knees between your thighs. Studying you with those pretty eyes that make your entire body tingle.

You’re starting to feel anxious about how he’s looking at your breasts, your tummy, and your bush as he settles onto his elbows and stomach, his gruff hands cupping the backs of your thighs to part them and making you twitch. “You okay?” Jack is asking and you nod again. The last thing he wants is to flare up your anxieties. He wants to sooth you…skimming his nose along your inner thighs and breathing you in. 

Nuzzling his nose to your bush and pressing a kiss to it, then another, trailing his mouth to just beneath your tummy to kiss there, too. Looking up at you and feeling your body start to relax in his hands. Looking down at him as he goes to hide his nose in your bush and kiss it again before his eyes meet yours. Hearing him nearly groan the statement, “You’re s’beautiful.”

Jack who takes his time tasting you because it’s the first time you’ve let him. 

You’ve only held hands, cuddled, and kissed before, and if you were both a little drunk after a date…maybe dry humped on your couch. But you’d ultimately tell him you’re not ready for sex and he never pressured you. He knows it’d been a while for you and understands that you want and need to feel safe in that kind of vulnerability when you allow someone inside of you again.

All he wants from you is…you. He likes your smile, your quirks, your thoughts when you share them. Late night rides in his pick-up truck on the weekends after you’d grabbed dinner together or early morning phone calls when you’d set an alarm to be up around when he’s getting home from work so you’re awake when he calls you. He’s never asked you to do that but you like hearing his thoughts, too. About his night, about his strangest cases, about you…and he likes to hear your sleepy voice in his ear. He just likes to spend time with you any way you let him. 

And now that you’re letting him spend as much time as he wants to run his tongue up and down your pussy, nestling it between your slick folds that grow even slicker when he softly spits on your clit and laps it up...you can tell he’s enjoying every single second of this. Especially when you start to twitch on his tongue and fidget in his hands on your hips, giving him broken whines as he suckles and licks a hot, pulsing orgasm from you. 

He keeps licking after you come, fat circles on your tender clit, because he loves how you throb with each trace of his tongue, how your thighs tremble on his shoulders, and how you look as he gazes up at you. Your head tilting on the pillow and eyes squeezing shut as you pull on the sheets to avoid pulling at his hair…but a minute later, you’re tugging on it because he’s suckling you again, wetting the scruff of his chin and smearing kisses on your clit that reveal a peek of his tongue through his lips when he rolls it on you. 

The contrast in texture, prickly beard and soft tongue, and the squelching sound of him making a mess of your pussy with his saliva and your slick is so seductive. Makes you groan when he holds you to his mouth with his forearm now flat on your belly and his hand sliding up your waist to keep you still. But you’re begging him now to stop because you’re starting to feel that white-hot, delicious ache in your core like maybe you’ll come again but too hard and he pulls back an inch to ask sweetly, “Five more minutes?”

Jack who wants to make you feel good. That’s his only mission tonight. 

He’s hungry for you but he was mostly teasing with his question, and when you flash him a weak grin, he smirks back after he removes his mouth from you. He wants you to know you’re in control…whatever brings you pleasure, he will do and what does not, he will not. That’s why he’s peppering kisses on your face to make you grin again after he settles on top of you. Mumbles the question, “How you feeling?” as he kisses your neck and a collarbone. 

You tell him you’re feeling good…blissed out, really…but maybe ready for more. Especially when you can feel his dick resting on your belly and growing hard with a thump every few seconds. That makes you grab his face to kiss his mouth and inhale his quiet moan when you tilt up your hips until his dick slips lower and wedges between your folds. Rocking yourself against him and coating him in your juices, feeling him pulse and listening to him sigh when you lock eyes with him. 

He’s stuck on you, too, watching how your lips part, listening to how you breathe heavier when he presses his hips to you to add a bit more pressure. Then he’s kissing you again and palming the sheets while his other hand reaches underneath you, gripping your ass as he rolls his hips in rhythm with you. No rush to push in because he can feel how this is going to make you come.

Jack who’s about to come just from feeling you come as you grind yourself against his dick.

You’re so warm and silken and soaked that he has to hold still for a moment while you’re bucking against him. Before your eyes close, you catch his face crumbling as he stares down at you as you get off on him. His arms are extended and stiff as the muscles tense and his fingers dig into the sheets as he tries to concrete on anything that isn’t how pretty you look losing yourself…on how good you feel fluttering on him.

He’s still resisting the tug deep in his core to come all over your cute belly, but he can’t help but lean in to kiss you and taste your breathy grunts. You make him grunt back when you lightly run your nails down his back and cup his butt in your hands to pull him closer, kissing the corner of his mouth as you murmur to him, “I want you inside me.” Feeling confident in yourself now, telling him what you want, and knowing he’s eager to deliver. Your words make him shiver and he’s about 89% confident he won’t come as soon as you’re wrapped around him.

Jack who’s going to do everything in his power to make this last for his woman.

He’s dragging the thick tip of his dick up and down your pussy to wet it more and get his breathing under control before he nudges into you. Watching your face again to see how you respond as you feel yourself opening up for him when he gives you a little more. 

Even though you feel him spreading you, it’s not painful, just…challenging. A good challenge. It feels good, he’s making you feel full from just a couple of inches, and it makes you whine to him as you hook your thighs to his waist and bury your face in his chest where you can feel his heart pounding hard against your cheek. 

Your heartbeat is just as erratic because you’ve never felt like you were going to come so soon after an orgasm from just three inches fitting inside you. But he was also pushing up on your spot with each little thrust of his hips and your body was tensing, curling into him as your hands grasp at his lower back. 

Maybe you want to feel him sink in deeper, but right now you couldn’t think straight because he’s lifting and pinning your right thigh to the bed to better angle himself and feeling you shake and you’re about to lose your mind again. And when he purrs above you, “Does it feel good, baby?” and kisses your forehead, you break and sob and come so hard your back arches off the bed. He’s halfway inside you.

Jack milks your pleasure for all it’s worth because he knows you were anxious about all the things he likes about you. He’s pressing hips to yours but barely tapping the depths of you because he doesn’t want to pound you out, not yet. He wants to savor this, you…

He pins your other thigh now, too, palms at the creases of your knees as he finds the right pace to knead your spot and make you feel exposed to another orgasm…you feel it building and smoldering and making you mewl to him. It takes you a while but you let that feeling start to consume you, falling under that fire that he carefully calms with his body covering yours, kissing your lips, and massaging your breast in his hand while the other threads into your hair.

Feeling him gently turn your head to groan softly in your ear, “Is it all for me? Yeah?” when you’re still contracting around him and whimpering. Listening to you breathe back that yes, every moan, every shudder, it’s for him. And the way he works you, asks if you’re ready to change positions, if you want to come for him again…you know that everything he’s doing is all for you.

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