Their Hybrid

by Skye MacKinnon

  When she hands me my cup – placed on a saucer so thin I’m worried simply touching it might break it – I notice her rings. Each finger is adorned with at least two rings, all of them gold.

  “Those are pretty,” I say to break the silence.

  “Heirlooms,” she replies with a shrug as if she’s not wearing a small fortune on her fingers. “I don’t like leaving my jewellery unattended.”

  For some strange reason, that makes me sad. Is she so scared of thieves that she feels like she needs to wear dozens of rings at the same time? It seems like a lonely thing to do.

  “How did you meet my nephews?” she asks, leaning back in her chair, her cup balanced perfectly between her thumb and her index finger. She’s even got her pinkie straight and extended, just like I’ve seen posh women do it at Mr Bradley’s house.

  “I was a gift to them from one of their business associates.” I don’t expand on that, I don’t want to dwell on the fact that I was passed on from one person to another like a commodity.

  She nods and takes a sip of tea. “Was it love at first sight?”

  “Not for me.” I think back to the moment I first saw them. I was confused, freshly converted and not used to my new body yet. My mechanical eye was playing havoc with my brain and there was a deep ache in my bones that just wouldn’t go away. I didn’t listen to most of what was said and was grateful when they showed me the attic where I was going to sleep. It even had a latch so I could lock myself in at night. Back then, I thought it was an oversight on the men’s behalf, but now I’m sure it was intentional, a sign of their kindness. They never saw me as a machine like so many others. For them, I was a person right from the start.

  “And for them?” she asks, ripping me from my memories.

  I shrug. “You’ll have to ask them.”

  She raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “You’ve never talked about it?”

  “No.”

  I don’t tell her that the men have tried, but I’ve changed the topic every time. I’m afraid of what they might say. I don’t want to hear that I was always just a servant to them. I don’t want to imagine how they felt about me at the beginning. I prefer to focus on how our relationship is now. Three men, one woman, nothing else matters.

  “My husband hated me when we first met,” she says suddenly, surprising me. “He didn’t want to marry me, but his parents had forced him. He was in love with a girl from the village, far too lowly for his position, but he didn’t care about that. He was always a bit of a rebel.” She smiles and for the first time, I see the kind and friendly aunt my men told me about. “He was absent for most of the first few years of our marriage. I think he slept with most of the women in the village just to spite his parents. When he was home, he didn’t talk to me. At night, we slept in separate rooms. He never even touched me...”

  Her voice trails off and her eyes have taken on a strange shimmer.

  “That must have been hard,” I say gently, confused why she’s telling me all this. It seems very private.

  “It was. It made me ill. I think I was suffering from a broken heart. I’d read all those stories of love and princes and heroes worshipping their ladies, so to have the exact opposite in my life broke me. I fell into a sort of dream state, unable and unwilling to interact with the world. That was the moment my husband decided to change.”

  She smiles and takes another sip of tea, reminding me that my own drink is getting cold.

  “He cared for me, started talking to me, turned into the husband I’d always dreamed of. He stopped seeing other women and when I got better, he joined me in my bed. We had four children, one after the other, all of them perfect and beautiful.”

  Once again, she falls silent, staring into her cup.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I ask quietly.

  She laughs softly. “I don’t even know myself. I’ve not told anyone this in a long time.”

  “I’ve never told anyone about the pain of conversion. Maybe we’re even now. We’ve both told each other secrets.”

  “That we have. Maybe I wanted to apologise for how I behaved earlier. It’s not your fault you’re not human.”

  Even though it’s true, it still stings. I don’t like being reminded that I’m different.

  “It’s not your fault you’re not a hybrid,” I reply drily and she chuckles.

  “Good point. How about some cake?”

  I nod and she rings a little bronze bell, waiting for one of the servants to come. Instead, the door opens and my husbands enter.

  “Are we interrupting something?” James asks with a smile. “Girl talk?”

  “I will have you know that I’m a lady,” his aunt says and points at the sofas on the other side of the room, inviting them to sit. “And your wife isn’t exactly a girl either.”

  I expect another barb at me not being human, but instead, she says, “She’s a lady, too.”

  Dan chuckles. “That she is. Lady Walker does have a nice ring to it.”

  “I prefer Dex,” I mutter, but they’re not listening.

  “Lady Dex might be prettier than Lady Walker,” James argues.

  “How about Lady Dex Walker?” Luke suggests with a wide grin. “Or Lady Luke Walker?”

  I groan. “Stop it. I’m not a lady and I never will be.”

  Luckily, we’re interrupted by one of the servants responding the Aunt Laura’s bell. While the maid runs off to get us some cake, I keep having to fight the impulse to join her in running errands. I’m not used to being the one to sit and be waited on. Of course, the men no longer treat me as their servant, but I don’t know anything else, I’ve always been inferior to others. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to not being at the bottom of the food chain, but somewhere in between.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The men were right. It really did smell like snow during our coach journey yesterday. Now, the ground is covered in at least an inch of pure white snow, untouched by anyone, least of all smog and dirt.

  “How can it be so white?” I ask, more to myself than to the men. They’re still in bed in various stages of sleepiness. They pushed together two double beds to make space of us all. At home, we sometimes all sleep in one bed, and sometimes I share a bed with only one of them. While they’re all happy to share, they also like to have me to themselves from time to time. Even though we’ve only been married for a few weeks now, we’ve already established something of a routine.

  “I’m going outside,” I announce and slip out of the room before anyone can protest.

  “Put on a coat!” Andrew shouts but I’m already running down the creaky stairs and out of the front door. I only notice that I forgot to put on my shoes when I step into the snow. My feet are as human as they get and while I don’t feel the cold as much as real humans, it’s still a bit of a shock to my senses. I wiggle my toes and begin to walk through the snow, leaving a barely visible trail of footsteps behind. The sun is barely reaching above the crest of the hill towering above the house, but the snow is making everything seem much brighter than it really is.

  My feet are getting cold, so I sit down in the snow instead, running my hands over the tiny ice crystals that have formed on the surface. Of course, only my left hand feels the cold, the right one is metal, already cold and lifeless.

  My white nightgown is wet, the snow seeping into the fabric as water, but I stay where I am, simply enjoying the sensation of being in the clean, fresh air. A bit of cold isn’t going to stop me from sitting out here. Who knows when I’m next going to experience snow like this? No, I’m going to stay outside all day, savouring every second.

  I lie back and stretch out my arms and legs, moving them through the snow, making small snow hills on either side of me. From above, it must look like I’ve drawn myself wings into the snow.

  A few isolated snowflakes are still spilling from the dark clouds above, landing gently on my face. One of them touches my lips, immediately turning into a drop of water. I stick out my tongue and close
my eyes, waiting for the next snowflake to land on there. When it does, it tickles in the most delightful way.

  “Having fun?”

  It’s Andrew. I don’t open my eyes but I smile when a blanket is gently put on top of me. It doesn’t stop the cold seeping into my body from beneath, but it’s a beautiful gesture that makes me want to kiss him. For that though, I’d have to sit up, but I’m busy waiting for snowflakes to land on my tongue.

  “You’re adorable,” he chuckles and sits down by my side. “Can I be your snowflake?”

  I open my eyes and look up just in time to see him bend down until his lips meet my tongue. He tastes and feels even better than the snow.

  I let him wrap his arms around me and lift me until I’m in his embrace, our mouths entwined in a dance of lips and tongues and sparks racing all the way through my body. I snuggle against his warm chest, running my hands over his back. He’s wearing a thick coat but I wish he wasn’t. I want to feel more of him. Yes, I was with my men last night, but I felt a bit self-conscious, being in someone else’s house and bed, so we left it at a few kisses and touches. Now though, I want more.

  Never stopping our kiss, I unbutton his coat and slide my hands underneath it.

  “Here? Outside?” he whispers against my lips and I smile.

  “Yes. In the snow.”

  WHEN WE RETURN TO THE house, the sun has risen fully and is making the snow sparkle like diamonds. Andrew has wrapped me in the blanket and has put the coat on top of it, making me look three times the size I am. He didn’t listen to my protests, and to be honest, I’m glad. I’m cold and maybe it’s a good idea to go inside.

  Breakfast awaits us in the dining room. Dan and Luke are already sitting there, Aunt Laura at the end of the long table, once again looking like royalty.

  There’s fresh bread and delicate pastries, homemade jam and butter that looks like it might actually not be rancid. This is going to be a feast and it’s only breakfast.

  “Why do you look like you slept outside?” Aunt Laura asks, raising an eyebrow.

  Andrew grins. “We looked at the snow.”

  “For two hours?”

  He shrugs. “There was a lot of snow to look at.”

  Aunt Laura turns to me. “You should get changed, dear, or you’ll get a cold.”

  “I don’t get ill,” I say automatically, but my teeth are chattering, mocking my words.

  “Change. Now.” Dan commands and I can’t help but do as he says. When he talks in that bossy voice, I don’t really have a choice. I’d do whatever he wanted if he speaks in that way. It’s got some kind of power over me, and I love it.

  I run back to our bedroom and swiftly change into a dress. I run a brush through my tousled hair, but give up pretty quickly, deciding I’ll try and get my hair under control after breakfast. Our little snow adventure has been exhausting and I’m starving.

  I open the door and almost run into a large man. The cook from yesterday. He’s staring at me with disgust.

  “You’re a hybrid,” he growls without preamble.

  “Well spotted.” I don’t even try to hide the sarcasm.

  “And you’re married to one of the Lady’s nephews.”

  “Right again.”

  He takes a step forward and I immediately walk back into the bedroom.

  “That’s disgusting.” Without warning, he spits, warm saliva hitting my cheek. I flinch, further retreating away from him.

  He follows, seemingly enjoying my fear.

  “Things like you shouldn’t even exist.” His voice is full of revulsion that makes me shiver. This man is a threat and I really need to get away from him. “Maybe I should rid the world of you. The men won’t miss you, I’m sure you’re just their plaything. Do you have metal between your legs? I wonder if that feels good.”

  “I’m their wife,” I bite out, resisting the urge to cower from him. “They love me.”

  He laughs. “They might love your metal pussy, but rest assured, they don’t love the rest of you. No human could ever love a hybrid. You’re nothing but a machine, an abomination that’s only good to serve.”

  “I’m not a machine,” I hiss and try to run. Despite his bulk, he’s faster than I thought and grabs me just when I reach the door.

  “Not so fast. I want to find out why they keep you first. Then, I’m going to see where you have your off switch.”

  He pushes me against the wall, his hands gripping my upper arms so hard that I’m sure I’m going to get bruises. I struggle against him and try to knee him in the balls, but he’s got one leg pressed against mine, making it impossible for me to move. He’s far too large and strong. I wish they’d equipped me with some kind of defence mechanism, but all I have are a few metal parts, an arm that can be used as a hidden cache and an eye that I can’t see with. Thank you, creators, really helpful.

  “Help!” I scream, deciding it’s time to get others involved. “He-!”

  The cook lets go of one of my arms to put his hand on my mouth. Luckily, it’s the right arm that’s now free, the metal one. I gather my strength and hit him on the neck as hard as I can. He screams and funnily enough, his scream is louder than my own just moments earlier. There are voices and noises down below, the sound of chairs being pushed back, then footsteps on the creaky stairs. They’ve heard us.

  The man seems to realise the same thing and lets go of me.

  “If you don’t leave this house, I’ll disassemble you,” he hisses and steps back. “We don’t want your kind here.”

  The door bangs open and my husbands storm into the room, followed by Aunt Laura.

  “What’s going on?” Dan shouts, stepping between the cook and me. “What did you do?”

  The fury in his voice makes me shiver slightly. None of my men are violent people, but right now, all three of them look like they’re about to launch themselves at the cook.

  “Nothing,” he mutters. “We just had a little chat.”

  Dan turns to me, inspecting me from top to bottom.

  “Are you alright?” he asks sharply. I rub my arms where the cook grabbed me. I’m going to have bruises tonight.

  I’m not sure what to say. No, I’m not alright, but I also don’t want to start some big drama. I don’t think the cook is going to do anything to me now that I know of the threat. I’m going to stick with my men and stay out of the servants’ way.

  But then, why should I change my behaviour because of this bully? I should be able to walk around on my own without fear that he might attack me again.

  “He threatened me,” I tell them, surprised by the slight tremor in my voice. “He wants to kill me.”

  Aunt Laura gasps. “Mr Brown? Is that true?”

  The cook turns to her. “She’s an abomination,” he growls. “She’s a threat to you and this house, my Lady. I only mean to keep us safe.”

  Her eyes turn to ice as she glares at him. “How dare you! Dex is my guest and the wife of my nephews. She is welcome here. You, however, are not. Pack your bags, you’re fired.”

  He frowns, confused. “But my Lady, I’m-“

  “Leave. Now,” she says coldly. “I’d rather cook lunch myself than have you stay in this house.”

  He seems to want to say something but then turns, not without giving me a stare that speaks of pain and torture. And death, most likely. I’m not scared of him, though. I’ve dealt with bullies who despise hybrids all my life. This isn’t the first time I’ve been assaulted, although it might be the first time my men saw it.

  “Are you alright?” Dan repeats as soon as the cook and Aunt Laura have left the room.

  I step into his arms and let myself be held.

  “I am now,” I whisper as the other two join our hug, surrounding me with their warmth.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The first time I had sex with my husbands, I was ashamed of my scars. Before then, they’d never seen me naked before. Never seen the scars crisscrossing my body. Even though I can’t remember a time without thos
e thick pink lines all over my skin, I still feel shame for having them.

  My men never even blinked an eye. Well, Dan’s expression turned into fire and ice, fury for the people who did this to me, but he never told me that they were ugly. They all accept them, more than I can myself take them for what they are. Part of me.

  “Take off your clothes,” Andrew whispers huskily while James closes the door, keeping any prying eyes outside. After the encounter with the cook, I’m glad the three of them are here with me. I want to be held and cherished and told that I’m everything to them. I want to forget what that man said about hybrids. I want to feel human as they take me, as they give me the pleasure I never thought possible.

  I undress very slowly while the three of them watch me. I know I’m teasing them, but I enjoy their heated gazes and the growing bulges against their trousers. Dan helps me with unlacing my corset, but then steps back to watch the show. When I’m only in my underwear, I hesitate for a moment, aware of the scars that are no longer hidden beneath several layers of fabric.

  “Continue,” Andrew encourages me and I look up, locking eyes with him. There’s so much love in those eyes, so much emotion, that I feel safe enough to pull my camisole over my head and let it slip to the floor. Now the only thing left are my drawers. They’re shorter than I’m used to, going till just above my knee. It’s the latest fashion and a treat from James. He likes to buy me clothes.

  “If you don’t hurry up, I’m going to rip them off your body,” Dan groans. He’s opened his trousers and is stroking himself as he watches me with greedy eyes.

  “Do it,” I challenge him and in seconds, he’s kneeling in front of me, pulling down my drawers, helping me step out of them. He stands up and looks at me for a moment, then puts his hands on my hips and pulls me closer.

  "You're beautiful, Dex," he whispers hoarsely and leans down a little, taking my left nipple in his mouth. He uses his hands to gently squeeze the other one, running circles around my puckered areola. I moan and arch my back, confident that he won’t let me fall. My skin is hot and I am desperate for him to touch me in other places. He's teasing me, but I need more. I grip his head with both hands, pulling him off my breast and pushing him downwards.