by Ines Johnson
“A good flogging,” says Gaius, “sure. A bit of choking and breath play, fine. But staking you?”
“That was one time.”
Gaius raises a brow.
“Fine,” I admit. “Twice."
Domitia had partially staked me a couple of times during arguments. But she had never twisted the stake or sent it all the way through to actually kill me. She was a passionate woman given to fits of jealousy. Even though I'd never given her cause to doubt my devotion.
She could sleep with an army. She could bed my friends. But she did not take well to me looking at another woman. Not that I ever did. I am devoted to this day.
The image of Carignan comes into my mind. Her eyes that sparkle like a glass of fine wine. Her smile that has no bite. Her worry that she caused me pain.
"She was your first and only," Gaius is saying. “She shouldn’t be your last. You should know what a normal relationship feels like."
"Says the man who's had a different woman in his bed every night for five centuries."
"Blasphemy,” Gaius spits. “I don't sleep in a bed."
I try not to crack a smile. But he knows me too well. He chuckles first and I follow suit.
It is a miracle that we are friends, brothers. I tried to kill him a few times after Domitia took him to bed. We were equally matched and always came away bloody and bruised. A few times he had me at his mercy, but he never delivered the kill strike with a stake to my heart. When I finally got the better of him, I found I couldn’t pierce his chest. The bastard grew on me, and I came to see that he didn’t love Domitia.
The relationship between a sire and their sireds is a tricky beast. Most sires are murdered by their children. Perhaps that’s why Domitia only ever turned young men. We were all putty in her hands.
But still, "Abusive?" I say. "I wasn't some simpering flower, Gaius. I loved her.”
His hooded gaze quirks, missing nothing.
“Love her." I quickly correct my tense.
"You had it right the first time, brother. It's all in the past. She's gone. You should let her go."
That is exactly the problem. That's what I did. We had a fight, the worst we’d had in decades. I was prepared to walk away. But not forever.
I’d let her go that night. By daybreak, she was nothing but ash. All because of another jealous fit.
"She stepped out into the sun," says Gaius. "We'll never know why."
No, that wasn't true either. I did know why. I knew, but I didn't reach her in time.
"All I'm saying is she fucked you in the head,” says Gaius. “You might as well actually get fucked. Come out with me tonight."
My dick stirs at the thought of fucking. But not some nameless sub at Club Toxic. I don’t want to go out. I want to stay home and look at the sky. Maybe prowl around the vineyards within the vicinity waiting for something to fall from the sky.
"Not tonight," I say. "I have work to do, a phone call to make."
“I tried.” Gaius throws up his hands. But he embraces me in a one-armed hug.
I return the gesture. He is the reason I made it out of the darkness of the Middle Ages.
I wait until I hear the engine of his car roar to life before I lift the phone. Only to put it back down a second later as Viri walks by.
The male is in faded jeans and ruffled tunic. There was a B-negative blood bag in one hand. A whiskey bottle in the other.
He nods at me. It is the only acknowledgment he’ll give me for the rest of the night. He is a true lost cause. Maybe I want to be found.
I dial. I don’t waste time on pleasantries when the other end is picked up. "Was the package delivered safely the other day?”
"We took her home.”
Well, that was that. I had no reason to check on her. There was always the awkwardness of having to be invited inside a human’s home.
“But she did ask us for a favor.”
“What favor?”
"She said she wanted to plank walk. So we helped her arrange something.“
Fuck. So she wasn’t done toying with her own life. Well, if Carignan was going to be careless with it he’d just have to take charge of it himself.
Chapter 14
Cari
I learned there is an actual plank walk. Not the one Hadrian was talking about. That one happened in New York with a Frenchman known as Philippe Petit. I think Hollywood made a movie about it.
The actual plank walk is in China. It’s known as the world's most dangerous hiking trail; Mount Huashan. The Road in the Sky.
I saw pictures of it during my Googling after my comedic escort home. I couldn’t get to sleep after my skydiving adventure earlier in the day. I was far too keyed up. I’m not used to having that much energy and I had no idea what to do with all that vitality.
Well, that’s not true. I knew what I wanted to do with it. But the man I wanted to do something with it about hadn’t contacted me. His contact info wasn’t listed in the phone book, or anywhere on the internet. And the three stooges wouldn’t give it to me, no matter how much I offered them. But they did say they could do something about the plank walk.
So, while I waited, I fired up my laptop. Instead of searching out porn sites and looking for scenes containing dark-haired men with green eyes tying up girls, I searched for the term Hadrian had mentioned to me.
The Mount Huashan Road in the Sky is a series of ancient paths chiseled into the mountainside. The planks are suspended on cliffs with crisscrossing wooden planks only inches wide with narrow footholds and steep stairs made of stone. All that is there for security are rusty chains bolted into the mountainside as handholds.
Or at least that's how it used to be. From the pictures I saw from my search, there are cable cars and harnesses at the site now. It’s been transformed for the safety of tourists who wanted life-altering excursions, but not a life-ending experience. I struck it from my bucket list.
Seat belts are a suggestion in my life.
"You sure about this?" Tate’s fingers tap a nervous rhythm on the brick wall. Most of his nails are jagged lines, gnawed down to the nub. He chews at his cuticles now.
I look out before me and my heart kicks up a beat. It’s not a mountain that I’m about to traverse. But the two structures below me are high in the sky.
There is construction underway at the old Patagonia Savings and Trust building and the Robles High Rise. These two towering structures are only 1300 feet in the air. Not exactly the Twin Towers that Philippe Petit walked between the roofs of. But those buildings aren't an option any longer.
There is a wide plank that is now stretched between the two roofs. The two buildings are also closer together than the New York towers were. The plank stretches less than a quarter-mile. Not impossible, but still dangerous enough to get the blood pumping in my veins.
The stooges worked fast to get the plank laid. I'd paid them a ransom's worth to do it. There is a harness there that they insisted on. I wear it. But only because I like the feel of the bindings crisscrossing my body.
"You can go back down if you want," I say to Tate.
"No, no," he says, spitting out the bit of flesh he’s torn from his thumb’s nail bed. "I told you, danger gives me a boner."
I turn to him, looking at him as though I’m seeing him for the first time. He looks like he's aged since this morning. He’s just a few years older than me, twenty-five I think he told me. But he looks at least ten years older than that. His hair is thinning. There are wrinkles all around his eyes and mouth. He looks like he is in a mid-life crisis trying to recapture his youth.
He tugs a vial from his pocket. Inside is the white powder that is stealing his youth. "Want a hit?"
"Nah," I say, turning down the coke. "I'm good."
I never want anything interrupting the natural high. If I am impaired, I might miss the sensations. I want to wake up my feelings, not deaden them.
I tune out Tate’s snort and focus on what I’m about to do. There is a hum of anticipat
ion in my body. Probably what Tate feels every time he goes to his dealer to score.
I inhale and smell the fresh, clean scent of night air. The breeze kicks up and my stomach flutters, my gut knows it’s about to get fed. The moon shines on my face, a spotlight as I take my place on the wooden stage that is a twelve-inch wide plank secured between two rooftops.
When I pull the straps of my harness tight, I get a tingle all over my skin. When I lock myself into the apparatus, my heart starts to pound. When I step onto the plank, I go breathless.
The wind lifts the tiny hairs on the nape of my neck. The air up here is thinner. Not as cold and thin as standing in the open door of a plane ready to jump. But similar enough. My nerves wake up.
It isn't as warm as my head against his chest. It isn't as sizzling as his fingertips on my lips. The hold of the harness isn't as tight as being in his arms. The light of the moon doesn't ignite me like his breath on my forehead did.
Why am I up here and not on Hadrian's doorstep?
Because he knows who I am. He knows where I live. He could've come to me anytime today. He could’ve called to check and see if I was okay. He didn’t even drive me home himself. He clearly isn't interested. But, oh man, am I.
Just thinking about Hadrian makes me feel alive, hot, wet.
I take another step on the plank. Right foot. Then left foot. My steps are slow but sure.
There’s something out there in the darkness. Something on the other side that is calling to me. It’s making promises of heat, pledges of delight, vows of bliss.
Hadrian?
No. It can’t be him. It’s my mind playing tricks on me. But, hell, deal me in on this game.
My feet move on their own accord. Behind me, I hear cheering. I ignore Tate. He’s likely too high to even understand what’s going on. I want to get away from him and closer to that dark temptation. I feel certain Hadrian is on the other side.
I am not thinking of my dad any longer. It’s Hadrian I want to turn to. Hadrian’s words I want to hear. Hadrian’s touch I want to feel.
There is a flash from above. Something whizzes by my left ear. It is too large to be a bug or a bird.
When I turn to look, I lose my footing. I don’t have one of those balancing sticks like Philippe the Frenchman. But I am attached to a safety harness. With the help of the straps, I gain my balance back.
I turn and look over my shoulder. I haven’t gone that far. Should I turn back?
No. I am determined to go across. Or even stay put. Any way that I can to keep the sensations coursing through my blood.
My ears perk as someone calls my name. It isn't my dad's voice I hear. The words are intelligible.
There is another flash. This time on my right side. A gust of wind hits me in the chest. Both my feet come off the plank. I am suspended in the air by the safety harness.
The harness yanks, jerking me in its safety straps. There is a moment of silence. Tate’s shouts fill the air, but I ignore him. There is nothing he can do.
It’s the parachute all over again. Only this time, I do not want to fall. I am dangling by a thread.
Looking down I can see the street. The asphalt is as black as night, not the green gradation of a vineyard. The path is clear. There is no tall man standing below to catch me.
I sway in the air. My body moves like a pendulum swinging between life and death.
I reach up trying to grab the straps. Then my ears fill with the most horrific sound. The sound of the strap ripping.
I am falling.
Tate’s screams died moments ago. He is no longer on the rooftop. He’s likely fled the scene. Man, do I know how to pick my friends.
The wind is all I hear as I fall fast. The blood rushes inside me from my brain to my heart. From my heart to my toes.
I have no chute to save me. Nothing in reserve. For the second time in forty-eight hours, I am falling to certain death.
And then there are arms around me. I am being pulled out of thin air. I blink my eyes open and he is there.
Chapter 15
Hadrian
I run all the way here. For the first time in my second life, I am out of breath. The scarce amount of blood running through my veins boils. It goes straight to my head.
I smell her before I see her. Her scent is that of an overripe berry in the wind. She is all around me, swirling over my head, wafting into my nostrils. I look up and my stomach drops.
When I see her walking in the sky, I want to roar. When she slips on the thin beam, I do.
As fast as I am, I will never make it to her in time. She dangles on nothing but a bit of twine. If it were my handiwork and I had suspended her, I know that the binds would hold.
Praise the Fates, the harness she’s in does hold.
Those stooges will have a slower death for providing the safety mechanism that buys her time. But I am still going to rake them over hot coals for suggesting the idea to her. Though I suppose I’m the one who suggested it.
The fact of the matter is that they facilitated it.
The reality of the situation is that she did it.
So she is the one who I will focus my punishments on.
Yes, that is my plan. As soon as I get my hands on her, I’ll turn her ass red. I’ll make her pussy weep. I’ll make her lips quiver as she begs for my mercy. And I will show her none.
She wants danger? She wants to feel. Oh, she’s about to feel something, all right.
As I plan which of my instruments to dust off from my old collection, the harness that holds her safety snaps. She is falling again. Falling fast. Too fast this time.
She doesn’t fall straight. The wind pushes her dangerously close to the brick of the building. If she impacts it, her flesh will rip, her bones will break.
There is no parachute floating over her to break her fall. If she lands in my arms at that increased speed something in her fragile body will fracture. I cannot have that. Not before I have the chance to break her body, her mind, her will into submission.
I blur, faster than any vampire has ever moved. Dust mites become visible. The cricket's sharp notes elongate. Hydrogen molecules collide to form air.
I scale the building, digging my nails into the brick and grabbing footholds until I am to her. Just in time is an understatement. I grab her body to me and throw us, my back first, into a window.
Shards shatter and clatter down onto the cold, hard floor. The sharp points pierce my skin and instantly heal. The only blood I smell is my own… for now.
I have her. She is cradled on my chest as I lie on a bed of glass. I hold her for long moments. Just listening to the sound of her ragged breath.
When her breathing slows to match mine, I rise. She is still cradled in my arms. There is no way I’m putting her down. I move to a corner of the office space away from the glass.
Her eyes open slowly. She looks at me, her eyes filling with wonder, disbelief, and then tears.
"Do you have a death wish?" I bellow.
Her lips part. “What?” She gulps, trying to take in more air. “No. I-"
"You nearly died. If I had been one second later you would've met the sun."
Her head shakes, eyes opening and closing as though she’s trying to focus in the dark room. “The sun? What are you talking about?"
“Of all the idiotic, ill-conceived, monumentally stupid things to do.”
Her face contorts. Pain and hurt are etchings in the grooves around her eyes. "Let me go."
"No."
I know I hurt her feelings with the name calling. Better I hurt her feelings than the street break her back. She struggles to move, but she cannot. Once again, she is bound in a harness and served up on a platter to a practiced sadist.
"You've shown me you can't be in charge of your own life.” I latch my hands around the harness straps and tug her chest to me. Her lips are only an inch away from mine.
"Where in the hell do you get off?” she shouts.
There is fire in her cinna
mon-colored eyes. The heat of them wakes up something deep inside. I can smell the blood pumping through her. She is angry and her essence will be spicy.
"I saved your life,” I say. My bottom lip brushes her mouth as I speak. “Not once but twice. It's mine now."
"What?"
Carignan’s gaze is wide and aroused. Her blood is nearing the right temperature for me to gulp her down. I plan to take a healthy gulp of her. Soon.
"I'm coming to collect,” I say.
I let go of the strap. Her body tumbles back. I catch her head before it can hit the ground. Then I am over her.
“What are you ahhh-” She gasps. Sucking in air through her wide-open mouth. A keening sound comes from somewhere deep in her chest as I pull the strap of the harness, the one that couches her right thigh.
With my nail, I rip through the tough fabric of the strap. Keeping the pressure, I move the edge of the strap along her inner thigh until it runs right up against her right labia. The fabric of her jumper is no hindrance. I could make out the outline of her pussy with my eyes closed. All I’d need is my nose to know the parameters of her desire.
"You say you don't want to die?" I ask.
"No,” she whimpers. “I don't. I just want to feel."
"To feel what?” Inching the edge of the strap in the space between the crease of her inner thigh and her pussy, I press inward.
Carignan takes a deep breath before she is able to speak. “Like this. The way I feel when I'm with you."
The room is dark. A sliver of moonlight casts a small ray of illumination. But I see her perfectly. When her wine-colored eyes latch onto mine, I know she can see me too.
Taking the other half of the cut strap, I knot the two pieces back together. Her right leg is now splayed wide. The edge of the strap I’ve wedged between her thigh and pussy digs into that space. Not touching where I know she needs it to, it’s a constant tease of a release only I can give her.
She whimpers again and reaches her hand to me. I catch her wrists in one of my hands. Breaking off another bit of loose rope, I twine her hands together and stretch her arms over her head. I tie that end of the rope to the desk’s leg.