The reaper always managed to throw her for a loop.
Naturally she’d indulged in a few fantasies starring Darkmore. More than a few, if she was being honest. None of those imagined encounters took place in a generic hotel room in the middle of rural Mississippi. Perhaps she should have gotten them a room at Union Station when she’d had the chance. He’d been a big hit at her best friend Sue’s wedding, not to mention a rather stimulating date and the perfect package to flaunt in front of her lying, cheating ex-boyfriend and his new piece of tail. Of course, Darkmore had been the one to put the brakes on sex when they’d returned from the wedding reception, otherwise they could have had some fun back at her place.
She’d had some unfinished business at the time. Zeke had come back to her, and the reaper had stepped aside rather than fight the guardian spirit. He’d allowed Vivian space to choose. He had a thing about free will.
She forced herself to stop reminiscing, lest memories of her former life, the one she’d lost—possibly forever—spoil the moment.
“To answer your question, Vivian, I did not indulge in sexual congress with corporeal spirit dwellers during any of my mortal lives. It would have defeated the purpose.”
“The purpose?”
“You said it yourself. I was there for research. To acquire a human perspective required me to be fully human. The only stipulation I insisted upon during those journeys was that I assume my rightful place in the reaper hierarchy upon my return. Often enough I received a promotion in exchange, but no spirits interfered with my mortal experiences.”
“Makes sense, I suppose,” she conceded. “So you still want to gather new experiences?”
“What else could possibly be of interest for me? Now your turn. Why do you despise Uphir?”
“I don’t despise her. But I’ll admit that I don’t like the thought of you and her together.”
“Ah, jealousy. Don’t make that face, Vivian. It does not become you.” He stood and stretched, giving her a lovely view of his physique. She enjoyed the rear view as much as she had the front.
He turned back and offered her a small smile. “I did not mean it as an insult. Your reaction is natural and very human. Given a few centuries, you’d probably lose most of it. Your temper, however, could take millennia to cool.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“What else would you like to know before we commence with my, ah, new experiences?”
“I’m not sure. I’m still surprised you never…communed with any guardians or reapers while human. What about your first life? Didn’t the reaper who claimed you show any interest?”
“I died rather young the first time around, so no.”
His expression didn’t change, but something about Darkmore’s tone left her desolate. What could possibly induce a reaper to collect a child? She couldn’t ask him, not then. It seemed too personal, and she wasn’t sure she wanted or needed to know the answer. Going down the rabbit hole had never made her feel better about anything where the spirit world was concerned. Instead, she sat up and patted the spot on the bed next to her.
He sat, maintaining a deliberate distance between them, and waited. She wasn’t sure what to say, so she settled on a slight deviation from her initial line of questioning. “So tell me, Lazarus, how did you lose it?”
“Lose it?”
“Yeah, you know, your virginity. I’m assuming that if you died young, you didn’t get around to popping your cherry until you became a reaper. Or was it during your next life?”
“Ah, I understand,” he replied. “It was actually during my apprenticeship period, perhaps seventy-five years after my death, give or take.”
“Why so long?” Vivian asked. Given her own endless fascination with sex, she found it difficult to believe that anyone would be willing to wait so long.
“I had other priorities,” he said. “As pleasurable as I’ve found the activity in subsequent years, my visits to the mortal realm, particularly in corporeal form, were occupied with more…fundamental pleasures. Now, your turn. Tell me about your first time.”
He’d piqued her interest and then shifted topics. Typical. “Well, I was a late bloomer myself.”
His eyes widened and his brows shot up.
“Don’t look so surprised!” Vivian chided, giving him a good-natured punch on the arm. “I was in my twenties, college actually, and I’ve more than made up for it since.”
“I see. Tell me about the lucky gentleman responsible for your deflowering, my dear.”
“He was a bit older, more experienced,” she offered, and he smiled in appreciation. Of course he’d find her notions of “older” and “more experienced” quaint by comparison. It was odd, sharing stories as she might with a normal, human lover. Odd, but pleasant, and she relaxed for the first time in months.
“Naturally I was as curious as I was nervous, but he took great care to make my first experience special, and the many I shared with him after. You?”
“Hmm,” he said, thinking. Maybe it was hard to remember after so long, or maybe he thought she’d be disturbed by the details. “It happened rather by accident.”
“Were you male or female?” The reaper once told her he’d lived many human lives, some as man and some as woman. He preferred male, he claimed, as he’d been born that way originally, but having both experiences had made him more well-rounded, with a better understanding of the full human experience that made him an effective reaper.
“I was male, and a rather charming female entertainer from the royal Babylonian court caught me alone in the palace one evening and enjoyed corrupting me—I believe she enjoyed it more once I’d gotten the hang of things, but all in all she was rather a patient instructor.”
“Oh! A harem woman, huh? Sounds like something straight out of Arabian nights.”
“We were Persian, not Arab, but yes, Scheherazade might have found room for us in one of her thousand and one tales.”
“So,” Vivian murmured as she scooted closer to him. “She was patient, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Is that how you became so patient?”
“Perhaps.” He’d moved closer while they talked. Enfolding her in his arms. “Would you care for a demonstration?”
“I think I could stand that. But…”
“Yes?”
“Maybe I need a safe word.”
Darkmore laughed. He laughed so hard, in fact, that he released Vivian from his iron grip and fell back on the bed. She’d become enamored of the reaper’s laughter on those rare occasions she’d heard it. It warmed her heart and soul to a degree that matched the heat of her body.
Once he’d recovered, he said, “We really need to work on your trust issues.” With a look of pure devilry, he added, “I have just the thing for it.”
She arched a brow at him but remained seated. She enjoyed watching his nude form move about the room while he searched. The sight made her giggle.
She stopped giggling when he used one of her scarves as a blindfold. A mixture of fear and arousal filled her. Arousal won out as the timbre of his voice caressed her ears.
“I’ll leave your hands unfettered, I think,” he whispered, letting his own fingers trail lightly over her flesh. “I can always persuade you to still them later.”
His lips and tongue followed his fingers, giving her a little thrill each time as she tried to anticipate when and where his touch would fall next.
Vivian endured his slow, meticulous exploration until desire and frustration compelled her to reach for him with trembling fingers. True to his word, he stilled her hands with his. Her lungs ached from panting and trembling morphed into quaking. When he’d pushed her body to its limit, he claimed her mouth as he pulled her up and cradled her body to his.
“Please,” she pleaded. “Now.”
“As you wish,” he whispered back. He lifted her with strong arms and positioned her astride him. She braced herself on his shoulders as he entered her.
Their union complete,
he removed her blindfold and met her eyes.
“Vivian,” he whispered.
“Again,” she replied.
He lifted her once more and slowly, slowly brought her back down upon him. He maintained the same slow, deliberate pace, pushing the limits of his mortal body. She matched his rhythm and held his gaze the entire time.
The reaper’s eyes fascinated her, alive and filled with all he’d seen, all he knew, all he was and had been. The heat of passion did nothing to mask the cold depths of his nature. He was still the reaper, but he was also human. Beautiful, fragile, fierce, and vulnerable by turns, that was part of his essence, too. He gifted her with his entirety, his honesty, and his need.
She tensed and cried out. So very close. So was he. His eyes widened, his breathing accelerated as he gripped her. “Now, Vivian,” he said. “Let go!”
She exploded in a burst of blinding light as she came. Golden rays flowed from her body as Darkmore watched in awe. He met her lips, taking in her light as he found his own completion. She poured all of herself into that light and he accepted all that she was, and then they closed their eyes in shared rapture.
Vivian awoke some time during the night, still entangled with the reaper. She’d apparently fallen asleep on top of him, and she took a moment to savor the warmth of his body beneath hers. She rolled off him and gently stroked the skin of his chest and arms, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath her fingertips. Though she certainly appreciated the form he’d chosen, smiling wide as she remembered their union, the first of many she hoped, she remained curious about his many lives.
“That tickles,” he murmured, grasping her wrist and rolling over to pin her beneath him.
“Sorry,” she said, chuckling softly. “You didn’t give me the chance to do much exploring earlier. Not that I’m complaining.”
He smiled, then rolled to his side and pulled her close. “What’s on your mind, Vivian?”
“Lots of things,” she said truthfully. After a moment’s hesitation, she added, “But for starters, will you promise me something?”
“It depends.”
Of course it would. The reaper lived by his own code of honor, and his word was part of that. He wouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.
“When we set you to rights and you are able to choose your form again…I would like to see you. I mean, I’d like to see what you looked like before. In your first life.”
He remained silent, and Vivian felt his sigh. She worried that she’d offended him somehow. Perhaps he felt her request crossed some boundary, or maybe he no longer cared to share emotional intimacy with her now that he’d experienced her flesh and tasted her spirit. Of course, he’d offered to take her with him not so very long ago, to serve by his side, presumably as his eternal companion. Then again, he hadn’t specified the duration.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, rolling to the side of the bed and sitting up. She cursed herself for asking too much too soon. He’d been right in his earlier assessment. She wasn’t demure or shy in her desires or drive. Perhaps he was the old-fashioned sort. The thought made her feel uncomfortable in her state of undress and decided she’d grab her nightgown.
She shivered, rose, and prepared herself for a long, cold night.
“Come back to bed.” The reaper’s voice startled her.
She hesitated, but then reclined again lest she offend him further. She closed her eyes and focused on keeping her stupid tears at bay and her breathing even. God, she’d become such an emotional mess. Why can’t I just keep my mouth shut?
“You can stop warring with yourself. I assure you, my darker appetites are sated. For the moment.”
She refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer. He’d consumed her spirit light, her essence, which included a healthy dose of the fear, anger, and sorrow she carried for her exile, for all she’d lost and all she might still lose, and for what she’d done to him.
When he spoke again, his voice held a trace of amusement. “My other appetites, however, are another matter entirely.” He reached for her hand and pulled it below the sheet to show her.
Familiar warmth spread through her body and she grasped him harder, earning a deep groan for her trouble. She moved closer, seeking his lips as she happily prepared herself for a decidedly warmer night ahead. He obliged, whispering in her ear, “Yes, Vivian. I promise.”
Before her brain filled completely with the fog of lust, she remembered the sense of being watched that she’d experienced earlier in the evening, when she’d run away from him, and her desire. “Are we still safe here?”
“What makes you think we are not?”
“I thought I saw something following me on the way back here. Something cold. Have you sensed any other reapers in the area?”
She felt his soft laughter rumble through his chest. “You worry too much.”
“Well someone has to—”
He stilled her mouth with a deep kiss and followed with, “Relax. You needn’t fear anything in the immediate vicinity for now. Why not enjoy the respite while it lasts?”
“But—”
“Leave it for now. If something comes tomorrow, or if tomorrow doesn’t come, then what we have right now is everything,” he whispered. “Best savor it.”
For once, she listened.
Chapter Eight
Silence was golden, but Lazarus Darkmore apparently preferred conversation on road trips. “You are a tapestry of fascinating contradictions, Vivian Bedford.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She glanced away from the road long enough to glare at Darkmore.
They’d been on the road for a couple of hours, leaving the respite and comfort of the last few days far behind. Back on the Natchez Trace, their progress was slower than it would have been on the Interstate, but steady. She could hold onto the illusion of security and seclusion by sticking to the scenic, winding roads sheltered by trees, meadows, and farmland. The autumn splendor soothed some of her discomfort, but apparently not enough to go unnoticed by the reaper.
And naturally he’d poke and prod her until he discovered the source of that discomfort, whether she wanted to share or not.
“You expressed your displeasure at the tedious pace of our journey a few days ago. As I recall, you used a plethora of charming phrases with which to convey your frustration.”
“Yeah. So?”
“The day after that, you expressed your desire to remain at our charming hotel indefinitely.”
“Hey, you weren’t complaining.” Her tone was laced with indignation, but she flashed him a wicked grin, the smile of a very satisfied woman.
“No, I found our detour to be quite pleasant.”
She arched her brow and said, “Pleasant? That the best you can do?”
Darkmore chuckled. “I believe I made my thoughts on the subject abundantly clear.” As he spoke, he moved his fingers over Vivian’s thigh, lightly stroking and tracing patterns as he moved up. “Besides, I prefer to show rather than tell.”
“Keep that up and I’ll have to stop the car for a more detailed demonstration,” she said, taking his hand in hers. The gesture comforted her more than it should have. “Or we might end up in a tangled mass of metal at the side of the road. Now then, you were saying?”
“Ah, yes. After expressing your desire to lock me away in our hotel for an eternity not two days ago, this morning you proceeded to rouse me at a most ungodly hour and insisted that we needed ‘get our asses in gear.’ A rather charming turn of phrase, by the way.”
She’d never admit it out loud, but he had a point. There was no need to rush. Still, as tempting as it might have been to stay another day and night, she’d grown restless and wary. They should get to Jackson as quickly as possible, and part of her was anxious to do so. Since she had nowhere else to go and no way to avoid the coming fight, she’d resolved to do whatever she could to bring whatever conflict was coming to an end as quickly as possible.
So she—so they—could return to
the way things had been before. So she could go back home.
Still, her determination warred with the conflicting desire to avoid the danger and darkness to come. She’d had more than enough to last a thousand lifetimes, but given what she was, what Ezra had made her with Darkmore’s help, she could never escape—live as a soul broker or die and still serve, but without the ties that anchored her to normalcy and life. She could, however, practice avoidance and spend some more time basking in the calm before the storm. After browsing through some brochures she’d found in the hotel lobby, she’d found the perfect pretext for avoidance. They were going to do a little sightseeing on the way. Nature always had a calming, healing effect on her, and her soul could stand a little more soothing.
Maybe the reaper could do with a little soothing as well.
“I changed my mind. It’s a woman’s prerogative.” She spoke with what she hoped was casual indifference, but the reaper could probably see right through it.
“Indeed.”
“I thought it might be nice to visit the Cypress Swamp while we’re still on the Trace. I’ve never seen a swamp before.” That was true enough.
He didn’t say anything. That bugged her more than his incessant teasing, and he probably knew it. Either that, or he found her idea of a mini-vacation quaint. Or maybe he thought she was nervous in the wake of their new…intimacy? Relationship?
Since he refused to fill the silence, she kept talking. “Look, I know you’ve probably seen a thousand swamps, and deserts, and mountains and—well, pick a landscape. I haven’t.” She didn’t risk a glance his way.
“My dear, you have such a knack for taking an innocuous statement and turning into a source of conflict.”
She’d fallen into his trap again. Or was it her trap? Damn the reaper. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
The Quick and the Dead Page 8