“No!” Vivian barked out, clutching Lancelot’s leg. “I’m not playing you. Your thoughts are bludgeoning me. Don’t…oh, shit!”
“I can hear your thoughts too, my lady,” Lancelot whispered, kissing the top of Vivian’s head. “Ain’t this a bitch?”
“Oh God…” Vivian cried out, trying to shield her thoughts from Lancelot.
“The barn door’s open, and the horses are in full flight, my love,” Lancelot stroked Vivian’s hair. “You aren’t playing me, Lady Vivian.”
“I can’t…don’t…” Vivian twisted away, only to be held in place as Lancelot tested this new discovery with slow, methodical thoroughness. Vivian’s anger at finding herself once more on Earth, her distrust of Merlin, and her attraction to Lancelot all came through her jumbled thoughts. “Please-”
Lancelot let up, pulling Vivian onto his lap with ease.
“Did you have all your questions answered?” Lancelot asked, tracing his fingertips along Vivian’s jaw-line, causing her to shudder.
“I never doubted you, Lancelot,” Vivian whispered, laying her head against Lancelot’s shoulder. “Those things I said to you when-”
“Forget them. I have. I don’t pretend to know Heaven, but I could feel your loss.”
“I feel you poking up into me.” Vivian moved slightly to emphasize her point. “I need a drink. Our mutual mind-rape was a little much.”
Lancelot allowed her to shift over next to him. Vivian handed Lancelot his drink, and began sipping from hers. They sat together quietly, listening to the final few songs on the Bocelli CD. Vivian refilled her glass once again, unable to resist a glance at the tented area in Lancelot’s pants. He had adjusted his hard-on for comfort when releasing Vivian. She ran her hand over the bulge, while leaning back.
“I guess you don’t hate me.”
“You’ve heard the old cliché about the little head thinking for the big head, haven’t you?” Lancelot clasped her wrist, and brought Vivian’s hand to his lips once again.
Laughing, Vivian pulled her hand away. “It doesn’t look so little. Maybe I should take a closer look.”
“You’re drunk,” Lancelot said accusingly, peering into Vivian’s eyes.
“And it feels wonderful,” Vivian replied, pushing on Lancelot’s forehead in an attempt to get him out of her face.
“Remember, we have to play baseball tomorrow.”
“Shit…that’s right. I’d already shucked that thought out of my head.” Vivian drained the last of her drink, and refilled the glass. “One more for the road.”
“Where are you headed?”
“I want you more than I’d like to admit, Knight-Boy.” Vivian leaned into Lancelot, her lips moving down along his cheek, and then whispering in his ear. “Don’t worry about anything else. Let’s see if we can put some distance between the legend and your thousand years waiting for it.”
Vivian eased away. She watched Lancelot’s reaction, and felt the flood of desire wash over her. His thoughts grew so intense that Vivian gasped for breath.
“Maybe you do need one for the road,” Lancelot agreed, pouring a little more into his glass from the beaker. “I haven’t felt like this in a thousand years. You may not survive it.”
Vivian grinned crookedly at him, sipping from her glass.
“Is that a challenge, Monte?”
“Maybe it’s a threat…and don’t call me Monte.”
“I’m not sure I like this mind-meld stuff,” Vivian remarked. “What do you think triggered it?”
“Maybe we were drawing too far apart,” Lancelot suggested. “Maybe it was there all along. I guess we won’t have to worry about secrets now, huh?”
“Small doubt about that,” Vivian put her glass down. “This could be kinky. Put on another CD, and let’s take it for a test spin.”
Lancelot put his glass down, and went to change CDs. Vivian stripped off her jeans and top, leaving only her black thong on. When Lancelot turned toward the couch, he jerked abruptly at the sight of Vivian reclining on the couch in only a thong. His passion for her swelled within him blatantly.
Vivian rubbed her hand across her brow absently. “Easy…Lancelot,” she warned. “You’ll pop a blood vessel in my head.”
As the first strains from the Andrea Bocelli CD spilled gently from the speaker system, Lancelot knelt next to the couch, his hands sliding up along Vivian’s legs with but a murmur of contact. When his hands reached her hips, he leaned into her middle, his lips and tongue continuing the caress to her breasts. Lancelot kissed Vivian, softly at first – more of a teasing touch with his lips than a kiss. Vivian’s lips parted as he sealed her mouth with his own. In moments, they were locked in an urgent embrace, body and soul. Given that they made no attempt to shield their thoughts, torrid desire rocketed through them. Vivian screamed against Lancelot’s mouth. She writhed under him, burying her head against his neck, her arms in a death grip around his shoulders. A tight-lipped mewling cry issued from her as their mind connection made it difficult for her to breathe.
“Oh, baby, that was…unreal,” Lancelot’s husky voice whispered.
“Don’t…don’t touch me anymore,” Vivian ordered, her voice breaking into small sobs.
“We’re only getting started, my lady,” Lancelot told her, forcing Vivian back. “You’re not asking me to forget about that promise to make me forget a thousand years, are you?”
“Oh…oh…no… Lancelot…please…” Vivian gripped couch material in both fists, her body arching upwards of its own accord. Standing up, Lancelot carried a shaken Vivian with him to her bedroom. She curled up under the covers as Lancelot laid her down on the bed. He quickly stripped off his clothes, and slid in behind her, his hand caressing her side.
“Leave me alone…you brute,” Vivian protested. “It…it’s too intense.”
Lancelot slid in next to her. He stroked the side of her face. “Where’s your sense of adventure, my love?”
Vivian pulled him close, their bodies interlocking. “Working on it.”
An hour later, their bodies slick with sweat, the two breathed in ragged short intakes of breath. The bedding lay all around them in disorder.
“Oh my God,” Vivian whispered, her hand caressing Lancelot’s side. “Did we make a dent in your thousand year memory morass?”
Lancelot chuckled. “Yeah, we did that, baby.”
“Can…can we just go and take a shower?” Vivian groaned after many moments. “Put a fork in me. I’m done. I don’t think I can help you anymore tonight with this mind meld practice session.”
“C’mon,” Lancelot said. He pulled free of her, causing her to cry out sharply.
“I didn’t mean right this second,” Vivian protested, feeling Lancelot’s hands pulling her effortlessly from the bed. “Hey…you’re still-”
“I haven’t felt this way since I held you by the lake so long ago,” Lancelot whispered in her ear as he held Vivian against him. “A shower sounds good to me.”
Lancelot picked Vivian up in his arms. He kissed her gently and then walked into the safe-room, closing the door behind him with his foot. In the safe-room’s huge shower, the two lovers soaped each other slowly while continuing to explore each other intimately. The mission to forget a thousand years of loneliness continued.
***
Lancelot woke in darkness. He opened his eyes, feeling something not right. A tingling at the back of his neck, which centuries of combat had honed to hi-tech internal radar, propelled him into rising up silently from where he lay next to Vivian. Crouching like a coiled spring, he took in deep breaths and exhaled slowly, while straining to hear anything abnormal within the house. Hearing nothing out of the ordinary, he crept quickly through the door, and down the hallway, staying near the wall. He eased rapidly downstairs without pausing. In the next thirty seconds, Lancelot searched from room to room, finding nothing; but the uneasiness stayed with him – a memory hauntingly familiar, and yet beyond his grasp.
As Lancelot stood i
n the living room, he saw the house security panel red light go to green. The front door opened. Two wraiths rushed through the entrance, and the door closed silently. All in black, the creatures immediately looked at Lancelot, who had begun laughing. He did not lose sight of his new guests.
“I would know that laugh anywhere,” a hissing dry whisper of a voice stated in astonishment. “It mimics a baboon with rocks in its throat.”
“Serge Balkovitch,” Lancelot said, chuckling.
“You know this human?” Serge’s companion growled.
“Yes, for a very long time. Where did you go after Vienna?”
“To England, after Sobieski’s death,” Lancelot answered.
“Sorry I had to leave camp. I would have been thrilled to ride back in triumph, but alliances were falling apart, and my companions feared we would be turned on.”
“Not while I lived,” Lancelot said simply, remembering the many otherworldly allies which had allowed a vastly outnumbered Polish army to defeat the Ottoman Turks.
“I see you dressed for the reunion,” Serge remarked, smiling. His fangs glinted in what little light shone through from the streetlamps outside.
Lancelot glanced down at his nakedness, nodded, and opened his arms jokingly.
“What, no hug?”
“Enough!” Serge’s companion flew at Lancelot, his foot in a sidekick of such force that Lancelot should have ended up in a broken heap on the floor.
Instead, at the last possible instant, Lancelot slipped to the side, caught the creature’s neck in his left hand, and slammed it to the floor. The creature, its ethereal beauty spoiled by the extended fangs and now by the contorted choking features, thrashed around helplessly on the floor. Vivian had awakened and hurried down the stairs, holding a bedroom lamp like a baseball bat in her hand. She reached the landing in time to see the naked Lancelot pinning a black, shrouded figure to the floor. Lancelot looked up at Serge.
“Friend of yours?”
“All my friends are dead, except for you, apparently,” Serge shrugged, waving at Vivian.
“Dust or blood?” Lancelot asked, kneeling on the creature’s chest while increasing the tension on its neck, causing the floorboards under it to creak in protest.
“Dust,” Serge answered, folding his arms over his chest as he watched. “He’s a bloody arrogant prick who’s been around since the 1700s.”
Lancelot grabbed the creature’s head with his free hand, and tore upward with the hand pinning its neck. A split second later, clothes and grayish brown dust lay where only a moment ago the creature had twisted helplessly on the floor. Lancelot stood up, clapping the dust remnant from his hands.
“Vampires,” Vivian sighed, lowering the lamp. “I thought Merlin said the fallen and all their offspring were gone.”
“Not all of us,” Serge replied, surprised at the woman’s matter-of-fact attitude toward his kind. “There are many of us left in the old country. This Merlin you refer to is the old mage I have heard of, from before my turning?”
“One and the same,” Vivian answered, moving up the stairs slowly. “Dust this one too, Lancelot. They are abominations who aren’t to be trusted.”
“Not true,” Serge protested. “Tell her, Lancelot.”
“Serge Balkovitch,” Lancelot said instead, “this is the Lady Vivian from the tale I told you long ago. Vivian, this is an old comrade of mine, and I trust him implicitly.”
“The Lady of the Lake?” Serge questioned, awe plain in his voice. “I thought she was a mythical character you invented around the campfire. All you told me then of a nephillim regaining heaven in return for screwing you over was really true?”
“What!” Vivian gasped, peering through the darkness at a laughing Lancelot. “Well…okay…yeah… I guess our initial relationship could be shortened crudely like that. I’m going back to bed, and let you two catch up.”
“Uh…Lady Vivian.” Serge held up a finger, gesturing her to wait. Vivian could barely see in the darkness. “There’s one more out there. We probably have five minutes before he comes in.”
“I’ll hurry and put on some clothes,” Lancelot said, running up the stairs, and scooping a squealing Vivian into his arms on the way.
“Hold him off until I get back down,” Lancelot called out from the top landing.
“Would that I could, my friend.”
Lancelot paused for a moment, and then continued on. Vivian grunted her displeasure at being handled like a sack of garbage, to no avail, as Lancelot continued with her into the safe-room. After setting her down on the bed with a quick kiss, he went over to a small safe built into the wall. He dialed in the combination, and seconds later, he opened the safe. Extracting a wood-handled knife with a blade nearly nine inches long, Lancelot headed back out. Vivian blocked his way.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a silver knife that I’ve had since I soldiered with Serge. It’s razor sharp, and I want you to close up behind me.”
“Let me help.”
“The thing would kill you before I could stop it, or hold you in hopes of gaining the edge on me. Either way, I’m screwed. Please, read my thoughts if you don’t believe me, Viv. I don’t have time for this.”
“Take care,” Vivian said, and pushed Lancelot before going back to the bed. “Wake me if you get back.”
Smiling, Lancelot nodded, closed the safe-room door, and hurried to the bedroom. He threw on his jeans, tennis shoes and a tee shirt, putting the knife in his belt at the back. Serge stood tensely at the side of the entrance, his eyes closed, when Lancelot turned on a light and jogged down the stairs to join him. Serge looked up at Lancelot.
“You’ve bulked up a bit since last we were together,” Serge noted, squinting a little because of the light.
“You haven’t,” Lancelot replied, putting a hand on Balkovitch’s shoulder. The vampire was slightly over six feet tall and lean to the point of emaciation. Lancelot sniffed at his friend, eliciting a chuckle from the vampire. “Did they ship you in your coffin or something?”
“Of course, and they gave me no time to clean up. I need a place to stay, if Devon doesn’t eviscerate us both.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Remember that Turk they sent out from their horde at the gates of Vienna, strutting and screaming to drink the blood of our champion?”
“He was a big one,” Lancelot replied, remembering the giant cavorting in front of the Ottoman Turk army. “So, what’s your point?”
“Well, imagine if he had been transported outside your house as a vampire.”
“No shit?”
“If I hadn’t seen you slice that Turk’s head off with my own eyes, brother, I’d swear it was the same wild-eyed monster outside. Don’t…” Serge straightened. “He’s coming.”
Chapter Twelve: Thinning The Herd
“Dust or blood?” Lancelot asked, and shrugged at the vampire’s exasperated look. “I just had this carpet put in.”
“He’s old.”
“How come he didn’t come in instead of you and Ash over there?” Lancelot asked curiously.
“Devon was not to show himself unless absolutely necessary.”
The front door exploded inward, taking the doorjamb with it, as both Serge and Lancelot retreated to the stairwell. Devon ducked through the seven-foot entranceway like a huge cat, his arms splayed to his sides in readiness. Dressed in loose-fitting black sweatpants and sweatshirt, the bearded giant had his long slick black hair tied tightly in a ponytail. He cursed under his breath, seeing Serge and Lancelot watching him from across the room.
“What is the meaning of this?” Devon raged in a low base voice, staring at Serge accusingly. “Why’s the meat-sack still alive, and where…shit! Is that Santo on the floor?”
“Calm down, Devon,” Serge urged, hoping to avoid battling the mammoth vampire. “This is Lancelot. I fought at his side in the Polish King’s army, against the Turks.”
“I know who he is, you fool,” Devon retort
ed, eyeing Lancelot warily. “What, you think we imported you and the others to kill a couple of human nobodies? Lancelot, here, can only be killed by beings like us.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Lancelot drawled, smiling as he unconsciously catalogued and studied every movement Devon made.
“It won’t do you any good. You think you’re the real deal, Sir Lancelot?” Devon asked him, with a sarcastic bowing gesture. “Did you dust Santo?”
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