by Zeecé Lugo
“Some other time,” replied Max.
“Please, Max, come back and fix this problem. You do not want Toma to take leadership. Even as steward, he would be little less than a cruel, sadistic dictator. He’s not like his father.”
Max’s gaze fell to the ground, and for a moment, guilt clouded his thoughts. “I will consider your words. Tell my uncle that I will plan a return home, but only a temporary one. I have not been home in many years. It may well be a good idea to pay a short visit.”
Luca’s demeanor brightened up. “You should, Max. You owe it to your uncle. You owe it to your people.”
“To my uncle, yes. To the people I owe nothing. Stupid cattle refusing to enter the next century, holding on to ancient, archaic ways, willing to put their and their children’s destinies in the hands of the next worthless monarch. If Toma took over and bled them dry, they’d deserve it.”
“You’re wrong. Tradition and our ability to stay in the shadows is what keeps us alive. How long would we continue to exist if humanity knew of our existence? How long before Christians, Muslims, Jews, and every other self-righteous group became united in a common fear and hatred of us demons? How long before they joined forces to exterminate the last vampires? How long before they used their technology to bring their terrorism to our door? To embrace technology and the modern world will mean becoming visible to them. In that, my friend, Toma is right.”
******
Max fed deeply, viciously, anger fueling his actions. He did not fool himself that because his prey was a vile drug dealer, Max was any less savage, any less ignoble. Tonight, in his frustration and anger, he’d allowed his emotions to fuel a rare ferocity he seldom indulged before.
It was almost sunrise as he walked through the door and made his way to the small bathroom tucked behind the stairs. He bathed and quietly made his way to the furnace where he burned his shirt and the tell-tale evidence of his actions. Upstairs, he slipped on his pajama bottoms and climbed in bed trying not to disturb Nina and Angel.
“You’re late. Sun’s almost up. I was worried,” Angel whispered, turning on her side to face him.
“You should not have worried. I’m the most deadly monster out there.” He fought the urge to reach out and touch her.
“Who was he? The man you met outside.”
Max turned on his side to face her. “A messenger sent by my uncle. A good guy.” In the twilight, he could make out the line of her silhouette, the shadows of her hair tumbling over her pale breast, and he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. He could smell the scent of her blood, not a sharp, hunger-calling tang, but a soft, sweet note like jasmine on a summer night.
“Tell me about your uncle.”
“He rules my people, having done so since my father’s death. He’s a good man, concerned with the well-being and survival of the vampire nation.”
“That seems like a good thing, then.”
“Yes, it is. The problem is that he rules as steward only. I’m the true king, heir to a crown that’s passed from father to first-born son. My uncle has been steward because I have refused to come home and rule. His own son, Toma, burns to be king.”
“Why would you not want to be king?”
“It’s complicated.” Max did not feel like talking. At the foot of the bed, Nina turned over, bringing an instant end to the conversation. After a few moments, he pulled himself up on his elbow and looked down on the woman he ached to take for his own. “Everything is getting complicated, and my problems are now spilling over to you. We must resolve your situation once and for all.”
“I need to leave, I know.” Angel’s hand came up to caress his face, and he could not help but lean into the caress. Feeling the warmth of her hand, he took it in his and kissed the inside of her wrist. She inhaled deeply, and he bent to take her lips and breath in one fell swoop.
Angel knew their time together was coming to an end, and she embraced him desperately, pulling him with eagerness that gave proof of her desire. They kissed with mad abandon, fear of loss and separation fueling the fire of the kisses. When Nina once again moved, they stilled, holding each other, hearts beating as one.
CHAPTER 21
Jonathan Lee Travers was the owner of a small, discreet, and highly successful law firm that catered to an elite clientele. His firm's specialty was solving problems that required discretion and, in most cases, special methods. His clients figured among the socially and politically powerful.
Some hailed from the layer of old money found in most large cities. Others came from the nouveau riche, that group that is all self-importance with little subtlety or class. He himself came from humble, beggared beginnings, but you'd never know it. He was a self-made man, and class oozed from his pores.
Jonathan cradled his glass of Macallan in his hands as he considered his friend. They were at the lawyer’s high-rise luxury condo. The wall to wall expanse of glass offered a stunning night view of the city skyline. Maxim, sitting across from him, was barely recognizable. The young lawyer had been shocked when out of this stranger's handsomely striking, clean-cut features had come his old friend's voice.
“I have a job for you. You have been my legal advisor, lawyer, and closest friend for many years. I know that you have deep connections all over the city, especially in the murky layers. I need documents, forged of course, for a woman and her two young children. I need driver’s license, birth certificates, passports, social security numbers. These documents must be of the highest quality and able to bear scrutiny. Expense is no object.”
“Are you planning to bring friends into the country illegally? I’m confused. I know you crave isolation. You limit personal interactions to an extreme degree. For all practical purposes, you’re a true hermit. Hence, the need for my services.”
“No, I’m trying to protect and hide legal residents who are hunted by vicious enemies. A young woman and her children. They have found her once before and almost murdered her. There is no one else to help her. She’s important to me.”
“I see. Is she responsible for the change? Is this new image one brought about by the need to please a special woman? Don't misunderstand me. I think it's a great look for you and way overdue. The homeless look did not do anything for you.”
Maxim shifted about on his seat as if trying to find his comfort. He looked about him sheepishly, embarrassed. “Yes, well, she’s the cleaning type. She started with my house and was not happy until she got to me. It was like being hit by a tsunami. I never saw it coming.” Max had trouble meeting his friend's gaze.
Jonathan shook his head and laughter twinkled in his light-brown eyes. “I thought I'd never see the day. Maxim in love. It suits you.”
“No, no, I assure you, you’re wrong. I feel a certain affection for the young woman and her children, a need to protect. She reminds me of my own mother, years ago. Besides, it suits my sense of nobility. Damsel in distress and all that, you know.”
“I understand,” said Jonathan still smiling, knowing full well the truth. “It makes a difference knowing the reason and purpose for your request. Obviously, it will have to be new names, ages, totally disconnected from the old identities. Are the children of school age?”
“The little girl is six years old; she can start school where ever they go.”
“Yes,” agreed the lawyer. “Any older and the administrators would request a school history. Anyway, I will need all the relevant information. It will take a few weeks to have it done right.”
“I also need to find them a home where they can settle down, be safe and happy. Someplace where a young woman might make a good life for herself and her children. I will finance the entire thing. A nice little house in a nice neighborhood with good schools and a low crime rate. Find it for me and buy the house.”
“I know exactly what you want. You may find it hard to believe, but I’ve done the same for others before. I will take care of it.”
“Thank you, Jonathan. I will pay your fees as I always do.�
�
“Of course, Max. There is no need to speak of that. I’m glad to be of service.”
“How is Armand? I have not seen him in some time.”
“Keeping my home in order. You know, retrieving the thongs females leave under my bed, finding my misplaced keys every morning, telling unwanted callers that I'm not available, and so on. He's getting older, but he’s still strong and healthy. Tonight he's with friends at the theater. He'll be miffed that he missed you.”
“Give him my regards, will you?”
“I will do just that.”
******
When Max returned to the house, Angel was asleep on the couch, the TV on. She had obviously waited for him and fallen asleep doing so. He turned off the TV and came to stand over her, silently gazing at the face he’d come to know so well. He went down on his knees and softly kissed her awake. Her arms came around his neck, and he allowed himself the pleasure of her liquid mouth.
Instantly, his body came alive, asking for what he should not have. He pulled away from her and stepped away, turning his back to her to hide the proof of his desire. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Of course, Max. Anything you need.”
“I need you to sit down and write down everything you know about your old boss. Name, description, addresses, associates, distinguishing features, friends, businesses, anything you can think of.”
Angel came truly awake, alarm showing in her eyes. “Why? What are you going to do? I don’t want you anywhere near him and his people. He’s both merciless and powerful. If he becomes aware of you, that you killed his men and then sheltered me, he won’t rest until he destroys you.”
“Angel, as long as your old boss lives, you’ll never be safe. He may be powerful within his circles, but I only want him. He’ll never see me coming, and when he does, he won’t be able to stop me. He and his closest lieutenants must be wiped out if you’re to live in safety.”
“How will you get to him? He makes his home in many places.”
“I’ll find a way. Believe me, I will.”
Angel frowned and looked down at the floor, her heavy fall of dark hair wild and tousled around her, worry weighing down heavily on her shoulders. Max came to sit next to her and pulled her close to him.
“Soon, I will send you away. Tonight, I talked to the one human I trust in this world. He knows what I am, has known me since he was a young man, penniless and hungry. I financed his education and his social climb to the top. He’s loyal and devoted to me, to say the least.
“He handles all the legal, business, and personal matters that someone with my limitations can’t handle. His name is Jonathan, and his people have been tasked with carrying out your relocation. New identities, birth certificates, credit cards, bank account, and safe transport to your new home will be arranged.”
“Can’t you come with us? Please?” Tears came to her eyes, sobs threatening to choke her words. “Please, I beg you. Come with us. I don’t want to be parted from you. Nina loves you like a father, and baby Marco has no other.”
Max’s heart threatened to burst in pain. “I can’t. God knows I want to, but I can’t. You would be trading one peril for another. My enemies may prove even more deadly to you than yours. I need to know that you’re safe and away, so that I can then deal with my people without any vulnerabilities or liabilities.”
Angel nodded her understanding. It was true. She and the children were a liability to him. They had been a liability to Marco, and she well knew where that had led. “As you wish. Today I will sit and write down everything I know. Hopefully, it will help.” She wiped her tears with her hands and stood up. “You must be tired. Let’s go to bed.”
Max took her hand and led her up the stairs, but when they stood at his bedroom door, he stopped. “No, not tonight,” he murmured.
Angel looked at him in confusion. “Not tonight?”
“No. Tonight I want us to sleep alone, just the two of us.” His eyes looked deep into hers, desire clear in his gaze. Angel’s face warmed, but her eyes gazed at him with a longing she would not deny. When he pulled her to him, she went willingly, and when he swept her up in his arms, her own clasped around his neck and held him tightly. He carried her to the next bedroom and through the door as a groom carries his new bride over the threshold.
CHAPTER 22
Angel had known sex in all its forms and variations. She'd been bought, sold, raped, shared, and loved. She had never seen its luster, never felt its pull. From the first time it was wielded against her, she had learned to disconnect. She had taught herself not to exist in the sexual moment.
How else to bear the stench of it? It had not been the first violent rendering of her virginity that so impulsed her. She'd not had the opportunity for repulsion then, only fear and pain, and fear of pain occupying her thoughts and emotion. Later, lying naked, used, cold, bruised in the small, bare cot, there was relief, exhaustion, and more fear.
The weeks and months passed. Angel accepted her lot, stopped fighting a battle that was not within her to win. The beatings, the rapes, the pain stopped. The first time she entered her new bedroom and felt the touch of silk sheets, she cried for joy. She was allowed to sleep for hours and hours.
She remembered the day she first discovered her talent. It was her first job as a whore. She stood dressed in a lovely, very short white dress that hugged her young body like a second skin. Her four-inch heels and the pony tail set high on the crown of her head, made her seem much taller, like a young model.
Her client was an old man. He walked away from her to put his folded clothes on the back of a chair, his buttocks empty and hanging like the sagging skin under old women's eyes. His back was slightly stooped, and ugly back moles dotted his back.
When he turned around, she could see the long, flaccid, pale penis sprouting from a heavy thatch of grey hair. The nest of hair was so thick and obscene, that the male organ was only visible by reason of its generous length. The grey of his pubic hair matched the grey of his chest hair and the grey of the thinning hair on his head. Angel felt the first stirrings of insupportable revulsion.
The old man sat on the bed to begin undressing the lovely fourteen-year-old whore he'd paid a fortune to have. His hands, covered in age spots and dry, crusty sores, trembled as they slid under her short dress, up her thighs, squeezing her young flesh as he made hungry, guttural sounds in his throat.
He reached roughly for her pubic mound, and the girl tensed and tried to pull her thighs together, but he would have none of that. He pulled her thong down, forced her thighs apart, and probed her expertly with quick, unrelenting, gnarled fingers.
“Oh my, so tight, so young. Just what I need to get this old dick hard and happy,” he chuckled. “At my age, Viagra is out of the question.”
It had been a night without physical pain, but one of unimaginable mental horror. His mouth made wet, sucking sounds as his cold, reptilian tongue flickered feverishly over her clitoris. His limp, long penis slid over her thigh, flopping heavily over her belly as he climbed over her body to insist she take it into her mouth. The nest of dull, grey hair was up against her face, smelling of decay and old age. She fought the urge to gag and choke.
His flaccid penis hardened to a degree in her mouth. She wanted desperately to spit it out. He cried out in joy and moved quickly to feed it, with difficulty due to its semi hardness, into her vagina. The old man stretched out on top of her, and began a tortured rhythm punctuated by his short, labored puffs of breath.
She lay in that bed with her legs apart and knees raised to make it easier for him, trying desperately not to cry or puke or die. He was a cold snake slithering over her body. His brittle, papery skin was like cold sandpaper over her warm, young one. His manhood bended, folded as it was forced to enter her tight vagina. His breath smelled of dead leaves and cobwebs.
When he lowered his mouth to hers and forced her to take the tongue that had minutes before lathered in her folds, Angel felt herself leave he
r body. Her mind floated away from the degradation, the filth, the shame, and found her place of peace. It had been the same, ever since. She smiled for the clients, young, old, ugly, pretty, deformed, male, female, kind or cruel. She took off her clothes, and then she flew away.
But not this time. Not with Max. This time she remained tethered to his world, held there by something powerful, sublime, something she'd never known before. Never with Marco either. He'd loved her and died for her, but he'd loved the whore, and he'd made love to the whore in the same way he made love to all the whores before her.
Maxim laid her in bed reverently, his eyes gazing into her eyes. There was in him no rush to taste, to suck, to squeeze, to mount, to consume. He touched her face tenderly, traced every line lovingly, kissed every inch of it, and bent to share her breath before kissing her lips. He had eternity in his hands and was willing to spend it in one kiss.
His hands traveled over her body in a slow, curious quest to learn every hollow, every curve, each and all the mysteries of her flesh and bone. Where his hands went, his lips followed.
Angel gave herself up to the bliss of his loving, her own hands seeking and touching the smooth, warm flesh that smelled of honey and dusky whiskey. She kneaded the supple, well-defined muscles at his shoulders, the corded strength of his neck, the firm slope of his buttocks. She opened her thighs and felt the virile, thumping hardness of his length upon her mound and belly.
When his tongue discovered her hidden little knob of pleasure, it took long, languorous sweeps that caused a sensation so intense, she arched off the bed in tortured delight. Later, when it was her turn to pay her homage, she took him in her mouth and suckled him as if she was a hungry babe and he the milk-rich teat. She caressed, rubbed, sucked, milked, his soft murmurings and moans of ecstasy fueling her own need to give pleasure.
Still, nothing she had imagined could compare to the joining of their bodies. The vampire held her hands firmly in his own, above her head. His heated gaze sought hers as he moved into position between her legs. She felt the head of his cock slide like silk over her folds, seeking her entrance.