The Highwayman

by Michele Hauf

  “I love you, Max.”

  The simple words startled him. Aby stood before the window, her hands straight at her sides. Her mouth didn’t quite smile, but hope glittered in her green eyes, promising the freedom he quested for.

  He didn’t know what to say to that. He knew what he should say. That she was a fool. That love didn’t come so easily. That he was the wrong man to love.

  Because women who loved him died.

  But those reproofs didn’t land on his tongue. She was his. His sparkly thing. Instead, he splayed out a hand and silently entreated—for what, he wasn’t sure.

  “I knew it this morning when I woke and you were gone,” she explained. “You’re like no man I’ve ever known. At least that I can recall. You’re frustratingly closed and difficult to squeeze the smallest bit of emotion out of. But you’re Max. Bold. Secretive. Strong. Lonely. Handsome. And sometimes too cautious when it comes to me. I wouldn’t love you any other way.”

  It was hard to listen to someone sing his praises. But at the same time, Aby’s words penetrated the armor Max had fashioned long ago. She knew him because she wore her own sort of protective armor.

  “You’re handsome and sexy. An amazing lover. So giving, even when you can never take.”

  Her voice permeated his flesh, glowing through his extremities and wrapping about his soul.

  “And when you look at me like you are now—kind of lost, but wanting direction—I want to show you the way. But I don’t know the way any better than you do. Together we’re a complete map. Does that sound strange?”

  He still couldn’t speak. Visions of Rebecca flashed across his mind. She’d understood him. She’d accepted him. She’d made him a better man. She had changed his perception of the world and pulled him up from a darkness he hadn’t realized filled his every pore.

  And then he’d watched her die.

  He’d watched Aby come close to being hurt today. His pause, that moment when he should have rescued her, could not be excused. Though she’d successfully gotten out of trouble, would he have been able to save her had she not?

  The touch of her fingers to his chin bowed his head, and Max pushed her away. He turned his face and sniffed back the tears.

  “Max, what is it?”

  Why he cried, he didn’t know. He hadn’t cried after Rebecca’s death. He hadn’t cried after Emiline’s death. He never shed a tear for any who had fallen at his whip.

  He put out his arm, to keep Aby back. “Don’t love me,” he said.

  “But I do. I can’t unlove you now, Max. I don’t want to.”

  “No, you’ll die. Like Rebecca. Like Emiline. Anyone I love always dies. They’ll kill you, Aby, the demons. I don’t want to watch that.” He sank to his knees and bowed his head into his hands. “Not again.”

  Chapter 19

  A by knelt over Max and cradled his head on her shoulder. His long legs stretched out before him, he sat on the floor with his arms around her. He sobbed softly.

  This strong man had opened up to her. She didn’t want to push him away by asking too many questions. That he trusted her to show this intimate side of him was immense.

  Now she understood why it was so difficult for Max to get close to another being. He’d watched two wives die. And though he hadn’t given particulars, she could guess their deaths had been delivered by demons.

  He’d suffered. She could feel it in his body as it shuddered against hers.

  There was so much pain inside this man. And when had he a moment, in all his centuries, to trust and release it into the world? Denied every bit of pleasure, he could only forge ahead with hope while he walked his never-ending immortality.

  Though she gave him comfort, Aby wouldn’t fool herself into believing that a simple embrace would ever come close to healing Max’s broken heart. It was a pain she had never experienced. A pain Max would carry every day of his life.

  Severo had his own history, his own pain. Trials had made him a strong man, yet sensitive to certain emotions and memories. She knew why he despised the vampires—they’d murdered his family—and understood his angst.

  Herself, she had no history. At least none that she remembered. Yes, she could die again. And Max might witness it. She didn’t want that to happen, the same as she never wanted to lose memory of Maximilien Fitzroy.

  She eyed the tattoo. It was wrong. Max was no longer her enemy.

  “I love you.” She hugged him tighter, burying her face against his shoulder and hair. “I will love you no matter what.”

  “I don’t want to watch you die, Aby.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You can’t know the future, or even what the day will bring.”

  “Don’t think like that, Max. I’m here right now. Do you want to talk about it?” She knelt and brushed aside the hair from his eyes. Stroking his lips, she traced away a teardrop. “I like to listen.”

  “There’s not much to say. I’ve told you about my wives. One was a mistake. The other, Rebecca, I loved deeply.”

  He managed a faltering grin.

  “Love is better than sex,” he said. “That’s something I’ve learned. It’s maybe why I’ve been able to come to terms with the whole not-climaxing thing. Memories of Rebecca remind me there are more precious things in this world than momentary satisfaction. She taught me to look beyond the shadow and to want more for myself.”

  His tone darkening, he clenched a fist upon Aby’s thigh. “She and Emiline were both killed by demons. Because of me. I attract them—they seek me out. If there’s someone in my life I care about, then they become collateral damage.”

  “I’m experienced with demons, you know that, Max. I know when to get the hell out of the way and hide my furry little tail under the bed. Or your car.”

  He smirked. “But as I’ve said—”

  “I’m not strong enough to fight them,” she finished for him. But he was wrong. She could take out a slippery-handed mortal man. “My going out on my own is what upset you.”

  He nodded. “I don’t want to be like the werewolf. I don’t want to control you, to treat you as a pet who must be kept on a leash.”

  She’d never heard her relationship with Severo put quite that way before, but it rang true. Devastatingly so.

  “I can’t be there for you all the time, and I know you’re capable. I was there when the man attacked you in the alley, Aby. In the shadows. I was the shadow. But you handled the situation well. I didn’t want to interfere. I like to see you growing into yourself, gaining independence. You don’t need the leash.”

  “I was scared, but not nervous. I beat that asshole. But now that I know you were there, it makes me feel much better. You would have protected me.”

  “I would have.”

  “It’s not like a real leash,” she said, unsure herself. “I need the companionship, Max. I have this great dream of being independent, but I’m fooling myself. Familiars do best when they have someone close to protect and care for them. I’m not like those wild cats that roam the plains. I’ve been domesticated.”

  That realization, always at the back of her mind, now blossomed, and she couldn’t deny it. She’d never be truly independent, able to survive without the help of others. Could she accept it?

  “Aby, I love you. And if you want it, I will protect and care for you.”

  She did want his protection. Was there a way they could be together without either of them feeling as if she were the one to be kept on a leash and constantly cared for?

  He bent to kiss her before she could reply, his mouth tasting hers, owning her lips, her breath, her life. The tender connection ached in her heart. A kiss had never been so wanted, yet so bittersweet.

  He gripped her shoulders fiercely. “You have to know it would kill me if anything happened to you.”

  “Things happen to everyone, Max. If I die, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. It would be the beginning of life number five.”

  “You wouldn’t remember me.” He kissed
one eyelid then the other. Warm hands bracketed her face.

  “No. And I couldn’t bear that. But you’d keep me, wouldn’t you?”

  “You’re not a pet, Aby. No leashes. But if something ever did happen to you, I’d love you still, even if you didn’t know me.”

  “Hold me.”

  They tumbled together to the floor.

  He loved her. He would be there for her. It was a different kind of love than she had known. This one went beyond borders of skin, body and breath. This love felt like something she could stand in, no matter where she walked, and she would always know it was there.

  Max pushed up the hem of her skirt and kissed her thigh, there, on the inside. Shimmers of desire tracked her veins.

  “I’ve gone beyond my safety zone,” he said. “I was determined to remain at a distance from you. Not fall in love again.”

  “Are you sorry for it?”

  “No.” He blew softly over her nether curls. “I just don’t want you to be sorry.”

  “Never.”

  “Aby, you’re so perfect. And I…well, I’m complicated.”

  She tipped up his chin so she could look him in the eye. “Let’s take it day by day, yes?”

  He nodded, kissed her palm. Then he nudged aside her fingers and pressed a kiss above her mons.

  The trace of Max’s tongue tickled all the way to her toes, and Aby arched her back. “I love how you touch me. Mmm…”

  “I love when you purr.” Spreading his wide hand over her mons, he blew softly upon her reddish-brown curls. “You want me to stroke lower?”

  “Yes, please.”

  His tongue slicked across the apex of her sex. The hot, brief touch mastered her. She arched her back more, striving to take as much as he would give. Aby dug her fingers into the rug. Her purring increased.

  He stroked her with a measured pace, kissing her and flicking out his tongue to service her doubly.

  “Oh, yes, that’s perfect.”

  “A little faster?”

  She could but mumble an affirmative noise. The man did know how to bring her to orgasm with a deftness that impressed. It was as if he’d known her body for years, and found a rhythm—her rhythm—so easily.

  If only she could do the same for him.

  She would. They’d summon the deprivation demon and exorcise it from Max. Then she would give him the same pleasure he’d gifted her.

  When she came it was soft and trembling, as if a butterfly hovering over the tops of bright flowers. Aby clutched him and fluttered, endlessly, sweetly into oblivion.

  Max put his cheek to her belly and hugged her. “Is it good for you? I mean, better than…”

  He was wondering about Jeremy. But that had been business sex. Unfeeling, unemotional. “Twenty times better, Max. I love you.”

  Max had laid out an arsenal on the living-room floor. It was a cache of treasure that satisfied his need to take things, even though he would not keep them.

  He traveled with his whip, but decided backup necessary. He’d found the weapons in a safe at the back of Ginnie’s closet. He was the one who’d taught the vampiress the value of a few defensive stakes, silver bullets for the werewolves and salt rounds for the demons.

  Aby sat curled on the couch, observing over his shoulder. Having her close put the world right. He felt their connection even when they were not naked, their skin rubbing slickly against the other.

  God, she came exquisitely. Purring and moaning and fitting her body against his as if not making that connection was the worst thing in the world.

  She’d brushed away the cobwebs and opened the gates to his heart. And while he was yet regretful for letting her in, the more he thought on it, the more he wanted it.

  Feeling made him a better person. If not supremely frustrated.

  Would he ever be able to put himself inside her and achieve climax? Could he be happy with one woman and not have an orgasm? He’d been happy with Rebecca for five years. Just knowing her pleasure had been enough.

  He’d never dream walked Rebecca. He hadn’t dared. Could he have had an orgasm if he’d walked in his wife’s dreams?

  Didn’t matter now. Aby had offered to let him dream walk her again, but he would not. He was confident they’d convince Rainier to give up the demon.

  “What’s that one for?” She pointed to a weapon.

  He tilted the iron object. Holding it by thumb and forefinger on two of its three spikes, he displayed it to Aby. “Caltrop. They were used back in my time by nefarious sorts to injure horses and bring carriages to a halt. Toss them on the ground and it lands, spike up. Horse gets one of these in its hoof, and it brings them down.”

  “How cruel. You used them when you robbed people?”

  “Which would make me a nefarious sort.” He winked at her over his shoulder. “But not overmuch. I like horses as much as the next guy. These are modern renditions. No horses required. Toss one of these into a wall or at a demon and it spews out holy water. Hear that?” He shook the weapon and liquid jiggled inside.

  “But how do you carry them? They’re prickly.”

  “I just take a few along in my pockets. The pistol, with some salt rounds will serve, too. And with my trusty whip, I’m ready for action.”

  “Who made that whip for you? It’s intricate, with the razors woven into the leather.”

  “A wizard who lives in Montana. Amandus Muldron designs all my weapons. I’ve known him for sixty years. He puts the binding wards into the leather. He’s pushing ninety now, and training an apprentice.” Max smirked. “Amandus doesn’t like the boy’s new ideas. He’s not all that into technology. Neither am I.”

  “I couldn’t imagine you whipping out an iPhone to talk to your agent or lawyer.”

  “I do have a cell somewhere in the trunk, but Ginnie’s and Amandus’s are the only numbers on it.”

  “I’ll have to change that when we return to the States. I’d hate for you to forgot how to contact me.”

  “I won’t ever, Aby.”

  He leaned back, resting his head on the edge of the couch. She stroked his hair. It made him feel respected and loved. Two things he hadn’t had for too many decades to count.

  “I’m going out alone again tonight. Promise me you’ll stay inside?”

  “Promise. I bought enough fruit and some cream to keep me happy. Though I could go for salmon. Or sushi. Mmm…”

  “I’ll bring you out for sushi after we’ve found Rainier, okay?”

  “You staying out until morning again?”

  “However long it takes. Don’t worry about me.”

  She kissed his cheek. “I have to worry. If I thought you were all right, then you wouldn’t be in my thoughts.”

  “Well, then, think only good thoughts.”

  “Like what you’ll do with me when you get back in the morning?”

  “That’ll work.”

  The transistor radio above the refrigerator crackled, and Aby danced to the beat of a French group, though she couldn’t understand a word. She shimmied through the living room.

  There wasn’t much else to do while Max was gone. She’d attempted to figure out the washing machine to do the sheets as Ginnie had requested, but it was beyond her. Max would have to interpret the dials when he returned.

  Thinking Ginnie might have a laptop so she could do a little online research, she had opened her bedroom drawers and closet to look for one. Much as she enjoyed snooping, she hadn’t poked way into the depths of the closet.

  The vampire had no computer, which surprised her, if she were Max’s financial advisor. Maybe she’d taken it with her.

  Another surprise was that Aby had found nothing untoward during her snoop. No strange vampiric items. Though as she danced around the room, she couldn’t decide what she would consider vampiric. A dark cape? Vials of blood? An Elvira dress? By all accounts Ginnie was as normal as the next mortal, except she drank blood.

  Relieved she hadn’t found blood drops at the back of the closet wher
e the vampire might have stowed a victim, Aby spun around when the doorbell jangled.

  She wondered fleetingly why Max didn’t just walk in, but headed to the door anyway.

  The doorknob twisted just as she touched it. Aby spread her arms to welcome Max, but instead saw a familiar face—an unwelcome familiar face.

  It was the man she had beaten in the alley. He lunged inside, fitting his hands about her neck. Her vision blurred, her legs buckled. A foul-smelling handkerchief came over her mouth and nose, and darkness overtook her senses.

  Chapter 20

  A definite demonic trail led east of the city. Max had encountered a fire demon in the fourteenth arrondissement. It hadn’t been the friendly sort, rather inflammatory actually. Instead of taking a talon to the face, Max had snapped the demon’s head from its body with a crack of the whip.

  Just beyond the old Salpêtrière building—a world-famous teaching hospital—he ran into another demon. The greedy demon was trapped within a chain-link fence rolled on the ground. She’d apparently thought the fence was platinum and had wanted it all for herself. He’d set her free, but held her firmly, the whip wrapped about her throat, sigils glowing. He choked it to death even as it pleaded ignorance of her arrival in this realm, leaving behind a pile of demon dust.

  The Métro wasn’t the best means for tracking demons, though Max thought sure to find many below the city. But this trail led beyond the road that circled the city, so he needed to rent a car.

  Within twenty minutes Max had a Renault gassed and cruising the road. He’d traveled this way on horseback many times with Rainier during their heyday. This road led to the Château Vaux le Vicomte, once traveled frequently by the king’s financier in the seventeenth century. Lavish parties were still held at the grand estate even centuries later.

  Perfect hunting grounds for a thief.

  Max gripped the steering wheel. The Highwayman had returned home. Men, secure the coffers! Women, hold on to your jewels!

  He scoffed. Not so much anymore.

  There was but one woman Max could think about. What was it Rainier had once said about his choice in women?