Love, Blood, and Sanctuary

by Brenda Murphy

  Nadia cupped Laurel’s chin in her hand. She tightened her grip and her fingers dug into the tender place under Laurel’s jaw. “Your talents are dormant, not nonexistent. Don’t waste them, and don’t doubt them.” She relaxed her fingers and rubbed her thumb over Laurel’s lower lip, making her shiver.

  Captured by the seductive web of Nadia’s voice, Laurel closed her eyes.

  “One day you’ll find a spirit who will awaken them in you.” Nadia’s touch and her voice soothed Laurel.

  With her mental prophylactic in place, she relaxed into Nadia’s gentle mind fuck. On the sidewalk in midafternoon, after giving her permission, there was nothing she could do to resist and, in the moment, with her shields set safely in place, she didn’t want to.

  Nadia mapped Laurel’s mind. Laurel hovered on the edges of her consciousness. Nadia pushed forward, picking her way through Laurel’s mind as she wove a web of connection between them. Laurel held fast, rebuffing the centurion’s efforts to push past her mental fortress, determined to keep her secrets safe from her great-uncle and his loyal centurion.

  Nadia inhaled sharply and drew her hand away from Laurel’s face. Her eyes were bright, and she trembled. “You’re hiding something, Laurel.”

  Laurel opened her mouth to protest.

  Nadia held her hand up. “No. It’s fine. I have what I need to connect with you.” Her eyes shone. Her pupils glittering black pools of promise. “I’m here for you, Laurel.” Her voice oozed tenderness. “My loyalty is to you, now. We are linked. I won’t harm you. If you need”—a wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth—“or want me, for anything, contact me anytime, day or night.” She stepped closer and clasped Laurel’s hand and pressed the keys into them, and then held their clasped hands to her heart. “I pray you don’t need me, but I hope you might find you want me.” Nadia gazed into Laurel’s eyes. “You’re gorgeous, as promising as spring, a flower whose blooms are tightly furled, but near to bursting.” Nadia squeezed her hand hard and the keys bit into Laurel’s palm. “With the right tending you will blossom spectacularly.”

  Nadia stepped back, releasing Laurel, and held her arm out toward the steps. “After you.”

  Laurel shook her head to clear it of Nadia’s passionate speech and the remnants of her probe. “Let me grab my backpack. No need to go up empty handed.”

  Nadia followed her car. “What can I carry?”

  Laurel placed a large sketch pad into her hands. “This.” She glanced at Nadia’s Louboutin red bottom pumps. “You don’t have to help, you know.”

  Nadia clasped the large pad of paper to her chest. “I know. I want to. I can run in these. Steps are not a problem.”

  Laurel shouldered her backpack. “Suit yourself.”

  Chapter Six

  The musty smell of old carpet and bug spray assaulted Laurel’s nostrils. “Great-Uncle Marcus has spared no expense I see.” She spun in a slow circle and fixed her gaze on the floor to ceiling bay window. “At least it has north light. What year was it built?”

  “Nineteen-oh-two.” Nadia quirked her mouth. “I think he’d sell it if he didn’t feel compelled to keep it.”

  Laurel raised an eyebrow. “Compelled?”

  Nadia tilted her head and held her hand palm out. “No. Don’t ask. I don’t know more than that. He refuses to discuss it.”

  Laurel stared at the dubious plaid-covered couch and the faded maroon stain spreading over the middle cushion. The claret color flowed over the front of the sofa and ended in an irregular blotch on the beige carpet.

  Laurel placed her backpack on the dusty coffee table. “Don’t suppose he’d be upset if I got rid of some of this—” She gestured to the worn furniture. “I like this table and the bookshelf, but my ass is not sitting on that sofa. Or that hideous chair.” She leaned down and peered at the stained couch. “It looks and smells like something died on it.”

  “The last tenant skipped in the middle of the night, hasn’t returned my calls. And none of our skip tracers can locate him. I have a company scheduled to clean the house Thursday. If there is anything you want to keep, mark it with tape.”

  Laurel shoved her hand in her back pocket. “I’ll have to buy a new bed. I’m not sleeping on the one Alma was banging Brittney on.”

  “Understandable. If you send me your specifications, I’ll have one delivered.”

  Nadia’s saccharine sweet smile of concern made Laurel clench her jaw. She turned away from Nadia. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to. Do you require anything else? I have a few other things I need to attend to for your great-uncle.” Nadia moved to stand in front of Laurel.

  “No.” Laurel focused on the red bottoms of Nadia’s shoes. “No. Is there designated parking for this place?”

  “We own the block. There’s a garage behind the building. The key with the orange tab will unlock the cover to the keypad to open the door. I’ll email you the code after we reset it. I’ll call next week to arrange a time for the company to install security cameras. Is there anything else you’d like done? Marcus has told me to do whatever you wish to the house.”

  Laurel huffed out a breath. “I’m not staying forever. I don’t need security cameras.” She shoved her hands into her pockets. “I’m broke. I don’t have anything anyone would want to steal.”

  Nadia raised her hand palm out. “It’s necessary. If you stay a month or years, it is something that should have been done long ago.” She held Laurel’s gaze. “And some do not seek material goods.”

  Laurel rested her chin on her chest and fought the urge to run out of the door. Her stomach twisted and the taste of bile rose in her mouth. Marcus would have his way. Fighting back against her overprotective great-uncle was like swimming against a tsunami. “Fine.”

  Nadia patted her arm before she walked to the stairs. She paused and looked back over her shoulder at Laurel. “He only wants the best for you. And the clan.”

  Guilt tinged with anger washed over Laurel. “I know. But we have a different opinion about what’s best.”

  Nadia’s piercing gaze pinned Laurel to the spot. “We’re not always able to make good decisions about what’s best for ourselves. Why not take advantage of his vision?”

  “Because I have my own.” Laurel straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “And it doesn’t include following the path he and the rest of the family laid out for me when I was born. I’m not like them.”

  Nadia raised an eyebrow. “You are more like them than you know—or want to admit. I remember your mother. At some point, you will have to assume your role in the family. Your great-uncle has been more than patient with you. More patient than you know. You can’t refuse forever.”

  “Or what?” Laurel rested a hand on her hip. “They’ll kill me? Or let the Orions pick me up?”

  “There are worse things than death, Laurel.” Nadia’s eyes flared red around the edges, the gravel in her voice a glimpse of the demon hidden inside the human body the centurion wore.

  “Like being forced to serve a family for millennia whether you want to or not?” Laurel crossed her arms over her chest.

  Nadia inhaled sharply. “We are called to serve. It is not a burden. It is our way. We are intertwined with your family in ways you can’t even begin to understand because you turn away from us. Close your mind off to what is and what could be.” She turned back and stepped close to Laurel, her face a breath away. “We are because you are, we exist because you exist. Never forget that. Your survival is our survival.” She cupped Laurel’s face, her voice shifting into the full honeyed tones of practiced seduction. “Do not consign my generation to oblivion.” She pressed closer and brushed a kiss over Laurel’s lips. “Please. Don’t fight it, Laurel. We could be so good together.”

  “No. No. Stop.” Laurel fought the centurion’s touch and focused her energy on resisting her words and her pleading tone. “I’m not what people think I am,” she choked out as she stepped back from Nadia.

 
“You are. The clan knows you are, as does your great-uncle. With me at your side what could you possibly fear? We could choose your mate, or mates together. Once it was done, we could rid ourselves of them.”

  Laurel’s stomach roiled as visions of Nadia observing her coupling and then murdering the unlucky super filled her mind. “I have no desire to be bred.” Laurel panted and closed her eyes briefly against Nadia’s unsubtle attempt to bed her to further the clan’s goals. She seized on the full horror of Nadia’s suggestion and drew strength from it. “Never. I don’t want you that way.”

  “Are you sure?” The centurion slid her hand down the front of Laurel’s T-shirt and over her nipples.

  “Stop that.” She shoved Nadia’s hand away. “And yes. Did my great-uncle put you up to this?”

  “You may not have the full power of a super, but your words stab me like a dagger.” Nadia’s brows drew down and she clasped her hands in front of her waist. “Marcus Callan does not command my desire. He directed me to keep you alive, Laurel. There are others in the clan who don’t have your great-uncle’s sentimental attitude toward you. Others who believe your personal wishes are of no consequence.”

  Laurel balled her hands into fists. Tiny flames of blue light crackled and spread out from her closed hands.

  Nadia raised an eyebrow and stared. “You won’t be able to hide your abilities forever.” She sniffed loudly. “I thought maybe after our moment on the sidewalk we could have had something. We could have an army of Callans as we once did. Legions upon legions who could hunt down and destroy the Orions. And force the humans to accept us.” Her voice dropped to a lethal tone. “You are the key, Laurel. Let’s take back our world together.”

  Laurel rubbed the back of her neck. “No. You’re just as delusional as Marcus. That little blue light you saw? That’s it. That’s all I have. Not even enough juice to start my car this morning. Even if I agreed to have a child with the most powerful super you could find there is no guarantee the child would be as you imagine. Or that I would pop them out like a brood sow.” She leveled a glare at Nadia. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to discuss this again.”

  “As you command.” Nadia inclined her head toward Laurel. “Is there anything else you require of me?”

  Laurel’s gaze settled on the furniture. “Help me move this couch and chair out of here?”

  “As you wish.” Nadia took off her suit coat and draped it over Laurel’s backpack.

  *

  Laurel scrolled to her favorite playlist, and the smoky sounds of Maria McKee’s “If Love is a Red Dress” filled the room. She fiddled with the receiver and moved the speakers around until she was satisfied with the sound. The acoustics of the room weren’t the best, but the town home was free and right now free was good. Tips at the coffee house had been irregular and her wages had barely paid for food and art supplies. The meager tips she had brought home after her first shift at Sanctuary had promised more of the same barely scraping by existence.

  After tossing a paint-splattered drop cloth over the floor, she placed her easel on it. The best thing the house offered, besides free rent and parking space, was a north facing window. Laurel had delighted in shoving the couch and chair over the balcony with Nadia’s assistance. Clear of the furniture, the former living room was transformed into a studio, or what would pass for one.

  *

  Catherine lay on the mattress and opened her mind to the scene unfolding in the living room. She had skirted the demon’s protective shield delicately, concealing her presence from the bodyguard. The woman she guarded, Laurel, was waifish, thin, her angular face drawn under thick dark brows. Her features were familiar. Catherine focused on her, observing her from a distance. Laurel had rebuffed the centurion’s advances, her rage filling the space as she argued with the centurion. The lust of the centurion was palpable. Catherine indulged herself with a psychic sip of her sexual energy.

  Catherine had taken advantage of Laurel’s distraction and entered her mind, working her way past intricate barriers the woman had in place to secure her thoughts and emotions from the centurion’s probe. Catherine rifled Laurel’s thoughts and emotions seeking clues to her identity. Not human, not demon. A super. And more. So much more. And yet she kept her powers hidden. Did the demon centurion, Nadia, know their raw magnitude? And why was Laurel denying her abilities?

  Laurel refused Nadia’s advances and anger replaced sexual hunger as the centurion raged quietly at Laurel. Laurel held her ground and after a minuscule display of power the centurion left.

  Catherine exited Laurel’s mind. She disguised her energy signature and stayed hidden, following Laurel as she unpacked the small boxes she had carried in from the car. Laurel. Curious. Why name a child after a beautiful but toxic plant?

  Working steadily, Laurel stacked several white gessoed canvases against the wall of the living room. Open crates of paints and rolls of brushes were placed next to the canvases. Laurel bent at the waist, took a box cutter from her pocket, and slashed open the top of a box. Tossing her blade aside, she shoved the lid open and unpacked a stack of drawing pads and sketchbooks.

  Over the years of watching individuals take possession of the house, Catherine had arrived at a theory of personality based on what room the renters set up first in the house. Those who valued food and creature comforts unpacked and set up the kitchen first. Desire or money drove people who set up the bedroom. They were Catherine’s favorite renters, most often new lovers or those who made their living providing sexual care to others.

  An infinitesimally few individuals set up their passions first. The writers who unpacked their office, stopping to scribble ideas on random bits of paper as they occurred to them. Once a woman had stopped to outline an entire novel on the packing cardboard with a marker. Catherine had hovered just out of her consciousness, fascinated by her process.

  Then there were obsessive readers unpacking books and organizing their bookshelves before placing one dish in the kitchen. Sometimes, they stopped and read, letting the rest of the unpacking go while they savored words. Laurel appeared to be an artist to her core, as she unpacked her art supplies and ignored both the bedroom and the kitchen.

  Waves of sorrow and frustration poured off Laurel. Deep and wide, they buffeted Catherine. Laurel had loved. And lost her heart. Scenes from her partner’s infidelity filled Laurel’s mind. Catherine watched them unfold, rocked by the intensity of Laurel’s emotions.

  Her power was unchecked, a wild surge of energy that titillated as it swirled and enveloped Catherine. The scent of her blood and energy signature filled the room, a siren call to Catherine’s need. She gathered herself and stretched her hand toward Laurel’s neck. No. Not this way. No. Catherine drew back. She is a precious commodity. How could she not know? Or maybe she does?

  The interaction with the demon had been one-sided, that much was plain to Catherine. Laurel had allowed the centurion to believe they were bonded, while holding a part of herself back. Laurel had accepted the demon’s protection although she was clearly much more powerful than the centurion. Her power was equal to Catherine’s, a gift from birth if the centurion was to be believed. With education and practice her abilities would surpass Catherine’s.

  A smidge of jealousy seeped in as Catherine considered what she had given up in order to attain her powers, what she had done, to be as she was. Catherine shoved away the regrets that nipped at the corners of her thought. No. No regrets. I will have my freedom. And my vengeance. She gazed at Laurel, perhaps her pleas had been heard and this was the Goddess’s gift to her. A super to free her. A partner to join her in her quest for revenge on those who had taken her lover, her life, and her eternal rest.

  Laurel shoved the lid off a plastic bin and drew out an inlaid puzzle box. Dark walnut wood contrasted with light oak, the mosaic patterns on the sides and lids as ancient as the design. Laurel smoothed her fingers over the lid. Tears slid from her eyes and she dashed her wrist over her face to wipe them away as her control s
hattered.

  The box. How on earth does she have the box? What does it mean to her? Catherine shoved away her own memories of the puzzle box and peered into Laurel’s mind. She touched her pain as Laurel’s thoughts unfolded like an intricate origami heart. Vivid images, a montage of Laurel’s memories, spun out. A second-hand store, a lover’s kiss, their hands joined as they shopped. Enamored with each other, giggling at the faint smell of sex that clung to them. The box had called to Laurel, drew her to its resting place under a layer of thick dust in a dim corner of the shop.

  A swift purchase and walk home followed by her companion taking Laurel quick and dirty in the elevator. Laurel’s delight in being taken so roughly sent a rill of desire through Catherine. Another image flooded Laurel’s mind, the box on the dresser in a dark bedroom, a backdrop for the scene of her lover’s betrayal. Laurel’s resignation as she watched her lover and another, fucking in their bed. Catherine left Laurel’s mind as her quiet tears flowed down her cheeks.

  Drawn by her sorrow, seduced by the psychic pain rolling off Laurel, Catherine slid closer, gathered herself, and kneeled on the floor next to Laurel. Unable to resist the tug of Laurel’s raw emotions, Catherine stroked her fingers down the back of her neck under the shaggy dark hair, seeking to comfort, to heal, to give her peace. A spark of energy flowed from Laurel through Catherine’s fingertips as she touched Laurel’s skin. She trembled, heat spread out, warming her. Even without a physical body the sensations filled her with longing. She firmed her connection with Laurel and sent sensual light along it, even as she sipped the heady taste of her sorrow.

  Desire flared. What would it be like to be able to lie with her, hot skin to hot skin, legs intertwined, to have Laurel’s lithe frame nestled next to Catherine’s curves? Frozen in time when women were revered for full figures, Catherine reveled in her thick body and heavy breasts. The women she saw on the street, trudging past the townhouse, seemed determined to starve off their curves instead of flaunting them.

  She closed her fingers over the back of Laurel’s neck, the desire to control her, to give Laurel what she kept hidden from all but a few, to be the Domme Laurel dreamed of, to fulfill her deepest fantasies surged through Catherine. Power welled up, filling her as she delved deep into Laurel’s desires, flowed into her thoughts, used her energy to blot out the tear-filled memories stirred by the box. Purple light swirled around them as Catherine exposed her desires and projected her thoughts into Laurel’s mind.