Destiny: A Fantasy Collection

by Rachelle Mills

  “You should be a history professor,” she commented. Looking behind her, she saw he was resting his hand against his jaw and staring off to the side at a bookshelf.

  Meeting her gaze, he gave her a bemused smile. “Lousy academic market aside, have you met college kids lately?” He whistled low. “That would be a horrible job.”

  Emma laughed. “Fair point.”

  Focusing back on the document, she fussed with it for a few moments. She swallowed when she heard his chair roll closer to her. Renewed awareness spread through her and made it even harder to concentrate. She tugged at the collar of her blouse uselessly.

  “Any luck?”

  Staring hard at the computer screen, she said, “Continuous section breaks are stupid is all.”

  The thought of stepping back and “accidentally” falling into his lap seemed more and more like a great idea. Hurry up and get out of here, she chastised herself. As hot as office fantasies were, it was a terrible idea to throw yourself at your boss. Romance novels and movies made it sexy, but reality was a different beast.

  At best, things would get awkward, and in a three-person law firm, it would constantly be staring them in the face. At worst, Henry might outright fire her if whatever affair they fell into crashed and burned. Hell, she’d seen that very thing happen at Keith and Heller. Job openings still weren’t exactly popping up in Tucson, and she needed to do what she could to hold onto this one so she could use it to spring on to a better, more legitimate career lily pad later.

  Yet the more time she spent with him, the more she craved him—even with the shock of finding out he was a vampire. After swimming with piranhas and douchebag lawyers and law students for so long, it was surprising to find out that he was…nice and didn’t put on any airs. For some pathetic reason, him being a decent person coupled with a bit of flirting sent her libido into overdrive. Did it really have to be her boss, though?

  With a few more clicks of the mouse, she finished fixing the issue and spun around. He was tapping a pen against his desk and staring at that bookshelf again. She couldn’t decide if she was relieved or irritated that he hadn’t been staring at her ass. Relieved, relieved is the answer, you sex-crazed moron.

  He looked back over at her with an expectant smile. God, she was going to do terrible, terrible things to her vibrator tonight.

  “All good,” she announced, her voice a little too bright. Stepping around him, she hurried toward the door to place more distance between them.

  She glanced at the clock on the wall and added, “I’ve got a motion-to-suppress hearing I need to get to. I’ll let you know how that shakes out when I get back.” Never mind the fact that it wasn’t happening for another hour.

  Not letting Henry respond, she darted out of his office and stalked back toward her own. As she passed Rick’s desk, he gave her a droll look. If he knew about her feelings, she didn’t want to know.

  He wiggled his fingers toward his temple. “I’m sensing you need to see a new magic trick.”

  She smiled, thankful he wasn’t going to rag on her. “Absolutely.”

  ***

  Emma sought out ice cubes, limes, and tequila with the frantic touch of a desperate woman.

  “Where the hell is the triple sec?” she muttered to herself.

  The walk to her sister’s had been hot, but that wasn’t the main reason she’d entered the house a melted puddle. Realizing she was alone, she’d decided a margarita was in order. Fantasies of her very naked, very vampiric boss had planted strong, stubborn roots in her mind.

  After her suppression hearing and a pretrial conference, Emma had blustered her way through another two client meetings before spending the remainder of the afternoon brainstorming ideas for fair punishment for her supernatural clients. While she was fully aware that she was her clients’ defense, so far all of them had readily admitted to committing the crimes they’d been charged with; she figured it was a fair policy question that merited some thought and research.

  Yet once she’d finished for the day and had said goodbye to Henry, her imagination and her vagina had colluded against her. They’d wanted her to stick around, stretch out across Henry’s desk, and smile until he kissed her senseless. Instead, her brain had mercifully badgered her into going to Daphne’s instead. Walking was supposed to help her work off some of her thwarted energy, but instead the heat had only made her think of sex more.

  Pausing in her drink preparations, she pulled out her phone. Since Daphne wasn’t home, she needed another perspective, so she texted Camille. It was late in Hungary, but maybe her friend would still be up. Emma felt guilty because she still couldn’t bring herself to tell her best friend about the Underworld, which had resulted in a cockamamie story about feeling like a fish out of water because her boss and all her clients were from Latvia.

  Camille now thought Emma was a low-key xenophobe and regularly sent her texts reminding her to “be respectful of their culture and treat them with the kindness and empathy you would want to receive.” Knowing her friend could be judgmental sometimes, she’d avoided telling her about her feelings for Henry. But now it was getting worse and she needed to vent.

  She sent a text that said, “I have a crush on my Latvian boss” and promptly set the phone down on the counter, almost afraid of the response, if there would even be one.

  Emma continued making her drink with detached, mechanical movements. Slammed down a glass on the kitchen counter. Moistened the rim with a lime slice before salting it with kosher salt. Tossed in some ice. Poured in two measured tequila shots. Added triple sec and lime juice. Grabbed a spoon, ready to stir—

  Her phone buzzed. Sucking in a breath, she grabbed it to see the reply—

  Camille: I don’t see why him being Latvian is relevant, but that’s a bad idea. Don’t swim in the waters of power imbalance, lady

  Her heart sank.

  Emma: But they’re sexy waters…

  Camille: How old is this dude?

  Her thumbs hovered over her phone as she tried to figure out how to respond. “…56?” Close enough.

  Camille: Dude, gross. Don’t go there. You can’t ever come back from that

  All things she already knew, yet she still wanted to stamp her foot like a petulant toddler.

  Camille: Is this why you haven’t texted me in a while?

  Emma: Maybe. Yes

  Camille: Well don’t do that. I thought you hated me. I miss you. You can always tell me the things

  Emma’s mouth fell open, and she fired back a reply.

  Emma: Can I, though?

  Camille: I mean if you sleep with this guy I’ll judge you, but

  Emma: Thanks.

  Camille: Ooh, she’s mad. She used a period.

  Emma: Bet your ass I did.

  Camille: Seriously, though. I’ll still support you because you’re my bestie. I’m sure you don’t approve of all my life choices

  Emma brought her gaze up to the bland white paint on the kitchen ceiling. That was a fair point. Even if the scholarship was an amazing opportunity, Camille going off to Eastern Europe while her mom was going through chemo didn’t exactly sit well with Emma. She knew Camille’s mom expected her daughter to chase down her dreams and had enthusiastically encouraged her to go. Emma was all for pursuing big things…yet Camille was exactly right. A part of her judged her for it, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still best friends.

  Emma: Oh stop it with your smart rightness

  Camille: Yay! Freed from the shackles of angry punctuation!

  Emma: So you think I should just wait for the lust to fade?

  Camille: …Is he interested in you?

  Emma: Your guess is as good as mine

  Camille: Treat yourself to a new vibrator to help?

  Emma: Way ahead of you

  Camille: I’m out of ideas. I’m going to pass out but stop being a stranger, ok?

  She smiled.

  Emma: Done

  While she was happy to have reconnected wit
h Camille, she still felt listless. After stirring her neglected margarita, she took a sip and closed her eyes. She jumped a little when the front door opened and closed but relaxed when Daphne appeared in the kitchen a moment later. They stared at each other a long moment. Camille wasn’t the only one she’d been neglecting lately.

  Emma hadn’t exactly been ignoring Daphne, but they hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks. Part of her was still reeling from her sister’s revelation and stupid, if well-meaning, omission of the truth about the Underworld.

  Daphne broke the ice. “I haven’t heard from you, so I assumed no news is good news. Did you have a good day?” There were unspoken questions in her eyes: How are you adjusting to having your reality altered just a smidge? Do you still hate me?

  Emma took a gulp of her margarita. She didn’t know where to begin, but she was tired of being confused all the time, so she chose to be direct. “Can vampires consciously or unconsciously make you want them? And if not, what’s the average life of an office crush? Two months? Do you have a healing spell for that?”

  Daphne’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth then shut it and started preparing her own margarita instead. Emma groaned.

  “I’m sorry, I should’ve started with something simpler. Work is tough but good. I believe there are issues that could develop from letting supernatural criminals roam free, but I’m researching a solution. Most of my clients hate me at first sight, but after I help them, they begrudgingly tolerate me. I am glad I took the job. I am, however, alarmed that I’ve started imagining my very undead boss naked. I think that about catches you up.”

  She didn’t want to sound whiny, but there was a whole mess of things to deal with. Emma sipped her margarita and watched her sister free pour tequila and triple sec into a glass.

  She knew she’d thrown a lot at her, so she could be patient.

  Daphne finished making her drink and waved Emma into the living room, where they both curled up on the couch and coddled their glasses.

  “I wish I had the power to heal psychological trauma, but I don’t. The best I can do is a temporary calming spell. It’s probably for the best, anyway, because I think it’s important that you process this on your own terms,” Daphne said. “It takes everyone a little while to accept the Underworld. I know I had a hard time adjusting when I became a part of it.”

  Emma couldn’t imagine the fear and confusion that must have gone through Daphne’s brain when she’d realized she had wings and powers. Guilt slithered through her gut; she wished she could’ve been there to support her sister’s transition. She still didn’t quite know how to process that her sister would live forever while she and their parents…wouldn’t. Daphne was a classic stoic when it came to her emotions, though, so Emma preferred to let her sister come to her. Needling someone into opening up didn’t usually work out well.

  She stared at Daphne’s shoulders for a moment before saying, “You can pop them out or unfurl them or whatever you call it, if you want.”

  “Please, you don’t need yet another reminder of what’s going on staring you in the face.”

  Emma placed her hand on her sister’s arm. “Really. I want you to feel comfortable in your own house. You’re the one helping me. Besides, I haven’t seen yours sober yet. One of my clients has neon pink ones with these wild black accent markings.”

  Daphne nodded and set her margarita down.

  She removed a slightly wrinkled button-down shirt to reveal a tank top underneath. Emma heard a whoosh, and her sister sighed. Two cobalt blue shimmering wings appeared. A network of sky-blue veins and a delicate skeletal structure looked like a complex terrain map.

  Emma smiled. “They’re beautiful.”

  Daphne fanned herself with her left wing as if she were a blushing, demure Southern belle. “Why thank you. I’m glad you like them. Certainly better than pink.”

  Emma scoffed. “You also have not shoplifting anymore in your favor.”

  Daphne grabbed her drink and sipped. “It’s true! I’m quite the miracle in that regard. But seriously, please try to relax. I know it must be hard, but you’ve known about this a month. Give your brain a chance to adjust. As for Henry…” She whistled low. “I cannot fault you there.”

  Emma stretched her feet out on the couch. “Yeah, but he’s my boss and a vampire.”

  “Does he have tentacles?”

  She curled her lip. “I hope not. But no, not that I know of.”

  Daphne rolled her yes. “Okay, then it’s not that weird. Besides, humans have fetishized demons and vampires for ages. Varney the Vampire? Carmilla? Have you seen Max Ernst’s collages of those etchings? A demon kissing a woman was the least weird thing going on in Une Semaine de Bonté.”

  Personally, Brad Pitt’s long, flowing locks in Interview with the Vampire had been a bit much for her, but even Emma had to admit she’d been transfixed by the vampire in Fright Night.

  “Okay, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s my boss. It’s distracting, and it’s not like there’s a whole office of other employees to act as buffers.”

  “Maybe it’s your brain’s way of accepting the existence of the Underworld—fixating on someone attractive to make everything more logical or acceptable.” Daphne slurped at her margarita.

  That was some serious armchair psychology but not totally implausible.

  “Also, from what I saw of him, he’s pretty nonstandard compared to other vampires I’ve met. He works in an office. He doesn’t seem like the type to partake in blood orgies or collect mortal donors. Hell, the guy seems to prefer working with mortals.”

  “Paper,” Emma corrected by default. “Also, I don’t get what you mean by ‘nonstandard.’ You hang out at tattoo parlors and with biker gangs.”

  Daphne laughed. “So do a lot of Tucson immortals. That’s what I’m saying. No wonder you want to bone him. Ms. I’ve-Always-Got-a-Plan stumbled across one of the most normal supernats around. If you’re dealing with potential felons who treat you like crap all day, he’s got to be irresistible in comparison.”

  For some reason Emma felt compelled to defend him somehow. “He can’t be that bland.”

  Daphne pursed her lips. “You told me the man has an adorable cat named Ingrid. That name required thought. It’s not something generic like Mittens or Patches. I don’t know him well, but that dude has ‘Cinnamon Roll Boyfriend’ written all over him.”

  Even though she’d been thinking along the same lines earlier, Emma wanted to protest. But she also wanted to avoid more taunting, so she kept her mouth shut. The man looked anything but nice when he wore that smirk of his. He looked…confident, ready to take what he wanted. But even with the tequila dancing merrily through her bloodstream, Emma knew Daphne had valid points about her brain looking for an easy way to accept this madness. Now that she’d been logicked, maybe she could quit drinking in every inch of his body every time she saw him. Daphne squeezed Emma’s foot to get her attention.

  “Get your brain settled. If you still need to get him out of your system in a few weeks, I can introduce you to some people I know. Or you can finally download a dating app and find yourself a safe, suitable mortal.”

  Emma gave her a baleful look. A safe and suitable mortal sounded boring.

  “I think that’s about all the advice I’ve got, so let’s get some dinner,” Daphne said and pulled her sister to her feet.

  “Can we order falafel? I like falafel. The taste, the number of syllables…”

  “Sure. I’ll see what I can do.” Daphne giggled and ushered Emma toward the kitchen.

  “Daph, he’s not that boring, right?”

  “The cat, Emma. The fluffy, adorable cat.”

  ***

  Henry tied Emma’s arms to either side of his bed frame with a couple of his neckties. The knots were tight and secure; she wouldn’t be going anywhere. Not even when she was most desperate to touch him. He pressed himself against her soft skin. He kissed a smooth shoulder and gently squeezed a warm breast.
Feather-light, he brushed his thumb back and forth across one sensitive nipple then the other.

  Emma moaned, and he caught her sweet lips in a kiss. He tried to start out slow but soon found himself sucking on her lower lip until her mouth opened. He licked her tongue with teasing, languorous strokes. Henry groaned, so hard for her. Her body arching against his felt incredible.

  Henry heard her futilely tugging at her restraints. He broke the kiss to quietly laugh at her. This was a genius idea. Why had he ever given up on sex? There were too many fun things to explore.

  He lowered his mouth to her breast and used a hand to slowly play with the other. Sucking on her nipple, Henry watched her eyes squeeze shut. Emma arched her hips off the mattress. The top sheet was already twisted and shucked to the bottom of the bed. Henry released her breast and trailed his fingers down her stomach then lower. He’d started to spread her legs when her open-mouthed moans took on a staccato-like quality.

  Henry looked at her face and frowned. She still seemed to be enjoying herself, but that did not sound normal.

  “Huh huh huh. Huh huh huh.”

  Henry normally didn’t judge other people’s sex noises, but these were a little strange. Then she closed her eyes, still emitting that weird noise—huh huh huh. Huh huh huh. He pulled away from her.

  “Emma, are you okay?”

  The room got fuzzy and started to lighten. He felt tired. Why would he feel tired? The weird panting changed to a different noise altogether. Pounding. BAM BAM BAM.

  Henry’s eyes snapped open. The door. It was the goddamn door. He shook his head to clear the last vestiges of the dream. It had started out swimmingly, but he was glad that Emma didn’t make those creepy staccato moans during sex in real life…at least, as far as he knew.