by Dark Angel
“Good fuckin’ girl,” I say, slapping her beautiful ass.
I slap her hard, again and again. And soon, I can tell that she wants me to find a rhythm, so I do.
I thrust into her, and she’s soon begging for more. It’s exactly what I needed to hear to finish her off.
“Tristan, please fuck me harder.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, fuck, just do it. I’m gonna come.”
I plunge into her as deeply as I can, and I finger her clit all at the same time.
I feel the build-up of both our energies as the hot waves of pleasure begin to rise in each of us. I can’t hold back another fucking second.
“Come with me, baby, my little slut. Let Daddy feel you come so hard.”
“Yes, sir. I want to so badly.”
“Just let it go, my Capulet princess.”
She does. And I do, too.
We explode together.
I swear, I see stars. The world ceases to exist and all I can feel is being inside of my treasure. I slam into her over and over again until there’s nothing left.
My essence is streaming out of her, sliding down, and mingling with her own juices. Who would’ve thought a Capulet and Montague could make such magic?
I fall on the bed next to her and scoop her up in my arms. I hold her tightly for the entire night, my body wrapped around hers.
She’ll never escape me or run ever again.
I force her to be in the moment, no matter how intense it may be.
I’m strong enough to keep her there, in the intensity of it all, and I’m strong enough to catch her as she falls deeper in love with me every day.
31
Tristan
It’s been a few days since Isobel came back to me. She’s mine again, emotionally and physically. She’s my fucking princess, that’s what I decided.
The problem is, the cops have gained on us. They know that I killed Theo. They most likely had some help from the Governor and from Isobel’s father.
Now, they swarm our Montague fortress every single day, looking for me. It’s getting harder to deny the fact that this war is in full swing.
I watch Isobel intently every day. She’s made her self well at home here in my penthouse—and that should make me happy, but I’m becoming increasingly worried about her safety.
There are guards everywhere and people buzzing in and out, trying to form a plan as to what we can do. But I can’t help but just watch her.
Today, she’s wearing a simple black dress.
It’s a slip dress. She always wears those. It shows off her curves perfectly.
Plus, she’s taken to wearing these thigh-high boots that drive me absolutely insane. I fucked her once when she was wearing them and nothing else.
It was the hottest experience I’ve ever had.
I’ve made her promise to keep the dagger I gave her with her at all times. She always keeps it hidden in those sexy boots for protection, as she should.
I hate that things have to be this way, but what else am I supposed to do?
I need my baby to have the ability to protect herself.
Lately, Isobel’s words about running away are seeming more like the solution I need. I’m not sure we can stay in the city any longer, not with the cops and all of the Governor’s villains looking for us. Plus, the Capulets will never stop until they see me dead.
I drink espresso at my desk in my office that’s really a library lined with books and stare out the window, wondering about what we’re gonna do.
Someone knocks on the door, interrupting my thought process.
“Come in,” I say.
Merc walks in, and he doesn’t look happy. I know he’s been all over this situation from the beginning. He’s my eyes and ears on the ground because he can go out of the building; he’s not wanted for murder like I am.
“Hey man, what’s up?” I say.
“Tristan, the news isn’t good. The cops are swarming the building. The Governor is behind it. He’s backing them and paying everybody more money to bring you down. Word on the street is that he’s not gonna back down until he has you in a casket. He’s pissed that you stole his bride.”
I did more than steal her. I claimed her, and now, she’s mine.
I sigh with annoyance. The Governor’s really starting to piss me off.
“Yeah well, it’s what we can expect, right?”
Merc pauses, trying to find the right words before speaking.
“It’s more than that, Tristan. The heat is coming down on us bad. The Capulets and the Governor have joined forces, and they’re gonna bring you in at some point. We have to prepare for that. They could raid the building even as early as today. I think you’ve got to get out of here. And I think you should take Isobel with you.”
I look at him. I’ve been half expecting this, but I was hoping we had more time.
Merc continues. “Tristan, the thing is, Benny and I have been working on a plan. And we think we might have the perfect solution. There’s this priest, Father Laurence, and he’s approached us with a solution. I think you should at least meet with him before you leave town. He’s down at the cathedral, waiting for you and Isobel.”
“A priest?” I say.
“I don’t know how trustworthy he is, Tristan. But he’s contacted us and said that he thinks he has a solution for you guys. At this point, I know that you need to get out of the building—today. So we might as well go there first and see what he has to say before leaving the city. He’s gotta be harmless. He’s a fucking priest after all. We’ll sweep the area first.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll tell Isobel to get ready.”
Her bag is already packed, and so is mine. I’ve known that we would have to escape the building at some point. We do have houses all over the world.
Escape should be easy. It’s just a matter of getting out of the city. And it’s a matter of shutting this thing down.
I don’t need the Capulets looking for Isobel. I need her to be free of their clutches forever. And so I pull on my suit jacket and get up, getting ready to make our move.
Isobel’s waiting for me.
“Is it time, Tristan?”
I pull her into my arms. “It is. Hopefully, this’ll all be over soon.”
Escaping the building will be easy. We built a secret tunnel underneath this skyscraper a long time ago for instances such as these.
No one knows about it. We don’t even tell our bodyguards, just in case they’re spying on us. It’s a well-guarded Montague secret.
Merc and Benny come with us as I lead Isobel down through the tunnel. We come out at a far alleyway a couple blocks down, away from the cops and their prying eyes.
We get into the waiting limousine to go to the cathedral.
“What are we doing here, Tristan?” Isobel says.
“Apparently, this priest has a plan or something. I figured it was worth stopping by to see what he has to say. We have to make sure that your family doesn’t follow us, Isobel.”
I take her hand and lead her inside.
The place is huge and darkly-lit. There are candles at the altar and darkly-stained wooden pews. Sitting in the first row is the priest.
He turns around to greet us.
Merc and Benny check the place to make sure it’s safe.
I recognize this priest—Father Lawrence. He’s been my family’s priest for generations. Isobel appears to know him too.
“Father Lawrence?” she says to him.
He comes to greet us, “Hello, Isobel, Tristan. Thanks for coming. Now, let me take you to my back room where we can discuss things further.”
He leads us to a room behind the altar.
Once we’re inside, he whispers to us in hushed tones, “I know your predicament. And I know your love. And I think I have a solution for both of you.”
“Go on,” I say.
“Tristan, Isobel, you know that I’m familiar with both of your families. Isobel,
I baptized you, after all. And I just want this dreadful war to end. I think the Capulet and the Montagues need to come together and put this thing to rest for good. That’s why I’ve been thinking about your situation. And I thought of a way to help you out.”
“Let me guess—you want money for this little plan,” I say to him.
“No, not at all. My intentions are pure, Tristan. I just want to help you.”
“How?” Isobel says.
“Well,” he goes on. “It’s a complicated plan. But if you hear me out, I think you might agree that it’s the best way.”
Isobel and I both look at each other, not knowing what to expect.
What could this old priest possibly have to contribute to our lives?
He presents a vial of green liquid that’s in a little glass bottle with a tiny cork on it.
“This is my solution. Isobel will drink it. It will induce a sleep-like death. Everyone will think that she’s committed suicide. We’ll have the show of a funeral. As far as the Capulets and the Montagues know, Isobel will be dead, overburdened by the despair of this war.”
I tighten my hold on Isobel’s hand. Thinking of her being dead for even a second makes my stomach twist in uncomfortable knots.
But still, we let the priest go on.
“And then, she’ll awaken. And Tristan will be right here with me, and I can marry you two in secret, saving you from the Governor and keeping Isobel free from being forced to testify against Tristan in court, should the need arises. If you’re married, you can’t testify against each other.”
I look at Isobel, and she looks at me. I know we’re both thinking the same thing.
This is a crazy plan. But, at the same time, it might work. If everyone thinks that Isobel’s dead, if they see her unmoving body for themselves, the Capulets might back off from ever trying to find her again.
It could mean her freedom.
“I know it’s a long shot, Tristan, but it’s the only way she’ll be safe, and the only way that you two can be together safely.”
She holds out her hand, and the priest gives her the vial.
She looks at me and shows it to me.
I don’t know what to do. I want to escape the city with Isobel and forget this whole thing.
But I know in my heart that wherever we escape to, they’ll find us.
The Capulets will never rest until their princess is back in their hands.
“Tristan?” she says, looking up at me. “What do you think? It just might work. Maybe faking my death is the way out of this thing.”
“Yeah maybe, but I think we need to talk about it more, Isobel.”
Just as I say these words, the unexpected happens. There’s a commotion outside, and then someone busts down the door. It’s the police—I’ve been found.
We’re surrounded.
Someone must’ve snitched.
I hold Isobel’s hand tightly, but the cops drag me away.
The second I’m not holding her any longer, I realize how much of a mistake this was. We never should’ve stopped by the cathedral. I should’ve just gotten out of the city with her, like I wanted to.
There are tears in her eyes as they take me away. There are too many cops for me to shoot my way out of this one.
Isobel starts to cry, and I feel horrible that I’ve let her down.
I vow to get out of this somehow, someway.
32
Isobel
I stare up at the cathedral’s vaulted ceiling.
The light from outside shines through the stained-glass windows, casting rainbows that flicker around the beams. It’s absolutely beautiful, standing in sharp contrast to the travesty that my life has become.
I crouch in my pew, a creature in hiding.
Over and over in my mind, I picture the doors to the church being thrown open.
I see my father and his men come to get me at last. In my head, they carry me, kicking and screaming from the safety of the cathedral. They deliver me straight to the Governor’s doorstep, a pretty little gift, only missing the bow.
I shudder at the thought, remembering the Governor’s coarse hands on my body, recalling the way they spun me around the dance floor. I’d rather die than go to that man.
Everything has gone so colossally wrong.
Tristan is gone. The one thing in this world that I had was him.
Now, I have nothing. No one.
Theo is dead, my parents are monsters, and the love of my life is shackled somewhere in a cage. He’s out of my reach, and once again, I’m powerless.
The thought of Tristan makes my heart race.
Being arrested is bad enough, but I can’t imagine that my father will stop there. Things in our world don’t end in convictions. They end in blood.
I see Theo, lying dead in that field.
Only now, it’s not Theo, it’s Tristan.
Tristan with a hole in his head. Tristan whose blood stains my legs. I see the nightmarish thoughts so clearly, me bathed in the blood of my love in the most unholy of baptisms.
My blood runs like ice through my veins. My dreams wither in my chest, seeming silly now that they’ve died. My hopes were nothing more than childish wishes.
No one in this world gets to be happy, least of all Tristan and I.
The realization dawns on me with the ring of utter truth. This was never going to work.
We were fools to think otherwise. Tristan is in chains, a man not long for this world. Soon, I’ll be a prisoner as well, my fate worse than death.
I stand slowly, the reality of my situation driving me to my feet. There’s nothing left to do. There’s nowhere to run, no happy ending.
I would be better off dead than in the hands of my father.
So that’s what I’ll be.
My spine is straight as I walk to the empty administration office, my head held high.
The short period I spent with Tristan was the only true happiness I ever knew. I feel grateful for it, even now. Through all of the pain suffered, all the lives lost, I don’t regret a moment.
I got to know love, real love. It was worth every tear.
I’m not crying now, not as I walk to the desk. Not as I pick up the pen. I scribble quickly, eager to be on with my plan now that I’ve made up my mind.
I am no one’s prisoner. Not anymore.
I will never be again.
I love you, Tristan.
- Isobel
I stop short in writing my last name. I’ve lived my life as a Capulet, and look where that got me. I think I’d like to die as someone else. Someone not bound by the horror that my name carries with it.
For the rest of my life, what little now remains, I’ll just be Isobel.
I set the letter gently onto the desk, running my fingers across my signature. It feels right.
My hand finds its way into my boot, grabbing the dagger there with a delicate, almost respectful touch. I feel good, knowing that Tristan’s dagger will end this.
One final gift from him.
My freedom.
I don’t tremble as I hold the weapon out before me; instead, I grasp the handle firmly with both hands. I think of the pain with a sort of numb removal, I think of my death with an utter lack of fear.
My lips pull back into a smile. Wherever I’m going, I know Tristan won’t be far behind.
It’s this thought that I cling to as I prepare to draw the blade into my chest, it’s his face I see. I extend my arms as far as possible, eyes shut tight in determination.
This is it.
I pull back.
“Isobel!”
I nearly scream in surprise, head whipping around wildly to see who’s called my name.
Father Lawrence stands in the doorway, hands thrust out in a calming gesture.
“Isobel, don’t,” he says, eyes pleading.
“Why not?” I challenge. “What possible reason do I have to go on living?”
“You don’t have to do this, Isobel. There’s another way
. That’s what I came to tell you. I have a plan.”
I search his eyes for a moment, hoping beyond hope that it’s true.
“For Tristan?” I ask, scared of the answer.
He smiles, “Yes, and you.”
My heartbeat picks up speed, hesitant yet hopeful.
“What is it?”
He stares pointedly at the dagger, still held tightly in my outstretched hands.
I lower it slowly, still unsure.
“I need you to do what I said before, fake your suicide, Isobel.”
“How will that help Tristan?”
“With you dead, or appearing to be, he’ll have a chance. Don’t you see? With the Capulet princess dead, Tristan becomes unimportant. Your family only cares to hurt him now because he stands in the way of their plan. With you gone, there’s no plan to ruin. If we get your family off of him, I think we can get him free.”
My head spins, confusion racing through me. To be so near to ending it all, only to be brought back to the point of hoping…I feel faint with the effort of taking it all in.
“Will it work?” I ask, desperately needing it to.
“I believe it will,” he says.
I nod, feeling the possibility of another end flutter to life in my mind.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
He smiles at me. “Good, Isobel, just give me one moment.”
He disappears back through the door, and I turn my attention to the dagger, now loosely gripped in one hand. How close I came to ruining everything.
I slide the knife back into my boot, still feeling comforted by its presence. It’s a little piece of Tristan, something to hold on until I can hold him again.
Father Lawrence reappears in the next moment, familiar green bottle held in his hand. It looks like the stuff of fairy tales, the kind of thing a princess might purchase from a witch. The price, of course, being her soul.
I push those thoughts to the back of my mind. Father Lawrence is no witch, and I’m no princess. Not really, anyway.
“Come with me,” he says, beckoning me forward with his empty hand.