Ibenus (Valducan series)

by Seth Skorkowsky

  She chuckled. "Agreed."

  "Any word yet on Paris?"

  She shook her head. "Nothing. It'd be on the news if police came, but we sort of left the door in shambles so it's only time before someone finds the bodies."

  "They should have found something by now." He glanced out the hall window as they passed. The lights in the trees outside cast scraggly shadows of branches across the green lawn. "You want to go for a walk?"

  "Sure." She eyed the polished breastplate. "You want to maybe change out of that first, Lancelot?"

  "Probably a good idea." They made their way across the mansion, seeing no one, only hearing Luc's laughter roared from the ceremony chamber as the passed the hall. "I'll just be a bit," Allan said, opening his bedroom door.

  "I can help you with that," she offered.

  He shook his head. "I have it, thanks." Allan stepped inside, but Victoria moved into the doorway before he could close it.

  "Seriously, let me help you. I am your squire after all."

  His lips tightened, embarrassed or uncertain. "Are you sure?"

  "Beats standing out in the hall." She stepped inside.

  The room was modest, a near duplicate of her own but with walls painted the color of dry oatmeal and burgundy curtains shot through with gold. A few trinkets and photographs hung from the walls, primarily of Allan and some of the other Valducans smiling before various monuments. One appeared to be at a wedding, presumably his best friend's. A polished wood sword stand rested atop the dresser beside a leafy potted plant. It was tidy, and clean, everything in its correct place. Even the bed was made, its sheets tight and perfect, like his mother might drop by any minute. Victoria thought of her own room and the pile of dirty laundry growing in the corner.

  Allan was removing the cape from the rings, like miniature doorknockers, set in his shoulders.

  "Here," she said, taking it from him. She looked around, unsure what to do with it, then draped it over the back of his chair. Ten seconds in and she was already making a mess.

  "Really, this isn't necessary," he chuckled, removing his sword belt.

  Meeting his eyes, she put her hand on his and smiled. "Isn't this a squire's duty?"

  His already flushed cheeks reddened. "You're not that type of squire…well, I suppose you are, but…but students don't do that any more, removing armor and tending horses and—"

  "Allan."

  "Yes?"

  "Hush. Let me do this. It's likely the only time I'll ever offer." She took the belt with Ibenus, noting his obvious discomfort at her holding it, and set it gently on the dresser before the stand. Really, the way he obsessed about that sword was weird. Surely he didn't actually think it was alive. That done, she unwrapped the blue silk sash from his waist and laid it over the cape.

  Now confronted with the armor, she pursed her lips, trying to figure out how to begin. She started on his left shoulder buckle.

  "There are tabs."

  She lifted the end of the leather strap to find a pair of smooth knobs securing the side nearest the buckle, reminiscent to a handbag she used to carry. "That makes it easier." She popped the leather free, then easily undid the ones along his side. It came open like an oyster shell, hinging off the still-buckled right half.

  Allan released a relived sigh as she slid it off. It weighed less than she'd expected. Though it probably wasn't the battle-ready armor from days of old, the twin plates mutedly clanged as she carefully set it in the desk chair.

  "Thank you," he said, unfastening a button on his straight-collared jacket. "I have it from here."

  Victoria pointed at the bed. "Sit down."

  "Huh?" Panic tinged his voice.

  "Boots."

  "No, I've got it."

  She gave him a look. "No, I've worn boots like those. Trust me, I'm doing you a favor."

  He hesitated, seeming to search for a protest.

  "Sit." She pressed her finger against his chest, gently pushing him down onto the edge of the bed.

  "What's wrong?" Victoria asked as she slid her hand behind the heel of one boot and pulled.

  "Nothing." He extended his leg out as she fought the stiff leather. "It's just a bit unexpected, you offering to help."

  The stubborn boot came free. "Not that. I mean in general. You've been so edgy the last few days. Been worried I offended you."

  "What?" he laughed. "No, not at all. Just been keyed up with this thing in Paris, that's all."

  "Before that." The second boot came free with considerably less effort. She set it beside the other one and stood. "You've gotten all weird whenever I'm close. Like kid gloves."

  His smile slackened. "Oh. I was…well, last week, after we sparred and I took your hand, you seemed offended. I didn't want you to think I was trying anything."

  Victoria scrunched her nose. "You didn't take my hand. I took yours."

  "You?"

  "I'm pretty sure I would have noticed if you took mine."

  "Oh. I thought I did that."

  "Is that all it was? You didn't want to make me uncomfortable?"

  He nodded.

  She bent and took his hand in hers. "There. Does this make you nervous?"

  Allan shook his head. Their faces were close now. A smoky aroma clung to his hair, sweet but with a bitter edge. "No." He rolled his palm over, squeezing her hand in return.

  Tingles rolled up the back of her neck and prickled along her scalp. "Good."

  He leaned closer, his warm breath playing across her lips. "Good."

  They kissed.

  A sudden rush of heat welled within her chest, flowing along her spine and surging to where he still held her hand. His fingers moved up to her cheek, sending electric ripples across her skin. Allan's other hand slid free of her grasp and glided up her arm, squeezing her shoulder and pulling her closer.

  Pressing her hands against his firm chest, Victoria gently pushed him back. She tugged his lip in hers, holding for a few moments longer until she could force herself to finish the kiss.

  Hunger glimmered in Allan's eyes. He reached for her again but she caught his hands and forced them to his sides.

  "What?" he asked.

  She grinned and touched the topmost silver button on his jacket. "I'm not finished with my squirely duties."

  Allan laughed breathily and straightened, allowing her full access to remove the garment, which she did slowly. She savored his mounting impatience as she took her time. After the third button came free, revealing the white shirt beneath he reached out to pull her close again but she swatted the hand back, reminding him of her duties.

  The jacket now open, she slid it off him, letting her hands caress down his arms. Victoria kissed his temple and down his jaw, then pulled away before the dizzying tingles made her forget her game. She stood and carefully laid the jacket on the bedside table.

  Returning, she knelt between his legs and began on the shirt, kissing his chest as each undone button revealed more of him. Thin, hair-like scars traced along his collarbone. Twin purple scars ran along the side of ribs. She kissed each of the old wounds, then continued her task. The shirt open, she slid it free, folding it over and setting it atop the jacket.

  The bed creaked as Victoria put a firm hand on his chest, pressing him onto his back. She looked at him with a devilish grin as she unfastened his belt then leaned in, kissing his shoulders and down the valley between his chest muscles. Blindly, her fingers fumbled with his trouser buttons. No zipper.

  With an impatient growl, Allan twisted his leg, pulled her down onto the bed, and rolled, straddling her. "My turn," he said, pinning her hands by her sides

  "But I'm the squire," she insisted, playfully struggling against him. "This is my job."

  He pinned her arms back and pressed his weight down. His lips brushed against hers, tracing them with kisses. "And I said it goes both ways, remember?"

  Victoria rolled her head to the side giving him access as Allan ki
ssed along her neck. She let out a soft moan as his breath and lips caressed her skin with light nips. He moved down to her shoulders and chest, his advance halted by the collar of her cotton shirt. He followed the V-neck down, lips gliding across every bit of flesh the shirt allowed. His hand slid down her arms, along her sides. Lifting himself up, Allan pulled her shirt up and off, allowing her a moment's freedom before he tossed it somewhere behind him and pressed her back down on the bed, his lips seeking the newly exposed skin.

  One by one he slid the lavender brassiere straps from her shoulder, kissing where they had been. The tingles rolled through her with each touch, somehow feeling deeper within her than mere sensation. But it wasn't just the ripples of energy that made her close her eyes as his hands and lips maneuvered lower, caressing her breasts while moving down between them. There was an electric, misty quality to it all, something new and only imagined in dreams. It felt as though her being was somehow floating an inch outside her flesh, extended beyond it, allowing her to feel more of him than where they simply touched.

  Allan's lips were moving lower now, beneath her breasts. She bit her lip lightly as she felt the tip of his tongue play along the slope below her sternum and down along her stomach. He kissed along the edge of her jeans, the heat of his breath wafting deeper beneath them. Unfastening the button, he kissed lower. The zipper gave, sliding down as he pulled her jeans open. Victoria looked down to see his playful half-grin, then he pulled her jeans and underwear down over her hips. She shifted, allowing him to pull them lower, slowly peeling them down her thighs. Allan kissed her knees as the fabric slid away and his hands caressed her calves.

  "Damn," he growled as he reached her sneakers, blocking the pants' decent.

  Desperate to return to business, Victoria moved to help him, he pressed her back with a gentle hand.

  "No. Let me do this."

  She lay back and closed her eyes. His rough hand slid slowly down the length of her body, pausing to play across the hardened nipple still hidden beneath her brazier. Allan made short work of the offending shoes, quickly removing them and setting them aside before he could continue his knightly task. The jeans hit the floor with a muted plop.

  He gazed up at her, his eyes exploring her body, naked save the unstrapped bra. He nuzzled her knee, taking his time as he worked his way back up her legs, parting her thighs with kisses. Victoria let out a quivering sigh as Allan's breath caressed her sex. He moved in slower, the outside edge of his lips brushing against her as he explored the seam of her leg, still not touching her swollen lips, then kissing down the other side, breathing her in, teasing her.

  She gasped as his tongue moved in, playing across her. Mouth open, she closed her eyes and savored the sensations, both physical and the rolling energy passing between them, working its way through every vein. She felt as though they were expanding, filling the room, a merging of energy and spirit. There was something more, something strange, yet beautiful. Victoria's eyes parted and there, the nucleus of that new and unfelt energy, was Ibenus, resting on the dresser. A corona of refracting ceiling lights gleamed off the polished bronze.

  The thought of what that feeling was didn't have time to solidify as the waves and shocks of pleasure washed over her drawing in and then exploding out. One hand grasped at the sheets as her other found the back of Allan's head. She clutched him there, desperate to hold him, feel some anchor before she might jolt away from him. A long trembling whimper escaped her lips, and she bit down before the entire house might hear.

  Panting, she pulled herself away from him. She clutched his hand and groaned, "Kiss me."

  He crawled up on top of her, their naked skin gliding across each other's with those rippling tingles. Pulling him close they kissed deeply, the passion mounting. She clumsily tried to maneuver off those cursed button trousers of his until she managed to slide them off. Chuckling at her eagerness, Allan pressed the full length of his body against hers, and she wrapped her legs around him.

  They rocked together in unison. The energy mounted in waves and she met his brown eyes. "I love you." The word just slipped out but they were no less true. She been in love before, made love before, but nothing as this, pure and glowing.

  He paused, seeming to weigh those words for an eternity that only lasted a heartbeat. "I love you, too."

  "I love you," she repeated, then led him inside her, body and soul.

  #

  Victoria awoke with a start. She laid against him, her back pressed to Allan's chest and his arms around her. He shifted, awake as well. She turned her head, searching for the clock in the foreign room, wondering what time it was and what had woken them.

  "Allan," Sam called from beyond the door, followed by pounding.

  Shit! Victoria scrambled in a tangle of sheets to get behind Allan as the pounding came again.

  "What?" Allan called back, sitting up.

  There was no way she could hide in the bed if Sam opened the door. Maybe she could crawl behind it. Then she remembered the jeans and underwear strewn chaotically on the floor near the door.

  "We have a problem." The handle rattled and began to open. Victoria rolled down onto the floor in a silent, ungraceful move she hadn't performed since the early days of college.

  "Hey," Allan blurted, rolling on his side to create a human wall. "I'm naked, here. What is it?"

  Victoria peered through the gap beneath the bed, waiting for the door to open. Don't come in. Don't come in. Don't come in.

  "We're fucked," Sam said through the still-cracked door. "Master Turgen called an emergency meeting. We've been ID'd."

  Episode 160: Paris Kill Squad

  "Welcome back, cryptozoologists," TommyD says as the Monster Seekers logo dissolves. A subtle crease at the edge of the frame reveals the clean white wall behind him to be a large suspended sheet. While the background has changed, the signature fedora and black sunglasses still mask his face. "I've been on a fishing trip and I'm happy to say that I've caught us a big one.

  "Shortly after my last episode, where I discussed the Bird Man of Amiens, I was contacted by a gentleman in Paris, France who videoed a close encounter of his own."

  The image cuts to the familiar shaky cell phone footage as the smoking man slaps his friend's arm and the camera spins in time to catch the baby-faced screamer emerge from the shadows.

  "My contact, who understandably wishes to remain anonymous, asked my opinion of it and I urged him to post it. It wasn't long before the footage went viral and our mysterious monster killers found it. It only took them three days to deduce where the video was shot. By that time, I was already there."

  A daytime photograph of the same narrow street slides into view. "After the hidden cameras in Amiens were stolen, I decided on a different approach to either film these monsters or film those individuals that kill them."

  The image changes to a shot of the alley, looking down from the side, this time at night. "At 0200 hours, a white van circled the block and two individuals systematically destroyed every streetlight within two blocks."

  Several more pictures scroll past, each holding for a full second before changing, all taken from the same vantage point and zoomed in on the van. One shows a blond man with close-cropped hair and slender glasses aiming down the barrel of a pellet gun. Another shows him turning his head toward an unseen driver. The next shows a bald black man peering down the air rifle's sight. Then it freezes and zooms closer on the last. The black man is smiling broadly, his elated expression so photogenic that it wouldn't look out of place in a magazine ad selling arms to would-be vandals.

  "The following morning at 0300 hours the same van drove past." Pictures play as TommyD speaks, telling the story in hi-res images. "The vehicle stopped and four masked individuals exited, each armed with pistols and medieval weapons. They broke down the door and entered an abandoned apartment as the vehicle drove away. Eighteen minutes later the van returned and these two men removed articles from inside it before going
back into the building. You can see by this close-up that the second one fits the size and race of the man pictured shooting out the lights. Neighbors reported shots fired and twelve minutes later all four perps ran back to the vehicle and fled the scene."

  The image changes to video of two white police cars, blue lights strobing off the building fronts, the glare reflecting in windows. "Officers arrived half an hour later. Sources say that while no bodies were discovered, blood and shell casings were found at the scene. Whatever unfolded inside the apartment remains a mystery.

  "But mysteries exist to be solved, my friends. We've identified this man," the close-up of the smiling black shooter fills one half of the screen, "as Luc Renault." A second picture slides into the other half of the screen. A large man, younger, but with the same broad toothy grin, poses for the camera. Muscles bulge from beneath a bright crimson jersey with a black collar. "Renault played left prop for the Rugby Club Toulonnais until 2009 when he left at the height of his career. The retirement was sudden and without warning."

  The images zoom in until only the smiling faces fill the screen. "Take a good look, cryptozoologists. This man is a piece in the puzzle. When we find him, we'll find our answers. Mister Renault, when you see this, and I have no doubt you will, this is your chance to do the right thing and share with the world what you know. This is TommyD, signing out."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gerhard closed his eyes, fleeing to the exquisite darkness behind his lids. It felt as though a steel ring pressed along the inner walls of his skull, ratcheting wider with every heartbeat, threatening to crack its way out. After the ceremony, he'd enjoyed several toasts with his new family. Never one to indulge in excess, he'd played it safe, sipping while they drank the expensive champagne and a Napoleon cognac that Master Turgen had opened for the occasion. He'd handled himself well. Then Master Schmidt had challenged him to a drinking contest over a bottle of schnapps.

  Bastard.

  The old man now sat at the front of the briefing room, freshly shaved and thin hair combed, sipping his coffee with no apparent signs of any hangover at all.