Inside, Marcus made a song and dance of showing him around the almost empty house, and he even had the audacity to gloat about how he had killed Camilla and taken her hordes. He truly didn’t care about anyone but himself, she thought, but then had to consider her own part in all of this. He did care about her. That much she couldn’t deny. He had killed for her and would undoubtedly do so again if she forced his hand, which she would try never to do again. But at least it gave her an inside track to one day hoping she had the skill to play him at his own games. Marcus was fearless and cruel. He had risen to great heights, and all because no one had been able to stop him. He’d had no weakness to exploit—until now. All she had to do was figure out how the hell she might go about manipulating the monster who adored her so. Hardly an easy feat.
Wynter left the two of them to their tour, and was in the banquet hall with a pen and paper in hand when they eventually caught up with her again. Still dressed in her fine clothes, she’d simply been jotting down ideas for the décor, but genuinely didn’t even know where to begin. She was just glad to have had some time to herself to try. As always, her demons roared louder when Marcus was far away, but at least she was beginning to learn how to ignore them. Slowly but surely that guilt and shame was waning, and Wynter thought maybe, just maybe, she might be on track to finding herself once again.
Marcus greeted her with a kiss when he reached her and he peered down into her face for a second, the intensity of his gaze making her blush. She was about to ask him what was up, when he stepped away and offered her a wink.
“My sweet, Wentworth has been asking me all sorts of questions about you. He’s desperate to know more about your kind and I wondered if you might be gracious enough to show him some of your skills…”
Wynter smiled sweetly and gave a small laugh, but she flashed her husband a look of disgust and saw his mouth twitch with the smile he was trying to hide. Marcus knew she wouldn’t appreciate the insinuation that she was some kind of circus act he could command, and it appeared he was more than willing to try and make her squirm. Did he think she wouldn’t argue in front of his friend? Well, he had another thing coming if he did!
She turned her face away and moved towards their guest, but didn’t drop her forced smile, and Wentworth seemed to think she might be about to show him some of her tricks.
“Please forgive my husband’s ignorance,” she then told him in a cool and calm manner, and the vampire’s eyes widened in surprise. He clearly hadn’t expected her to decline Marcus’s request, and Wynter took great pleasure in refusing them both. “I am not a performing monkey and he knows it. And shame on you, Wentworth. I had hoped for better,” Wynter added, chiding him playfully, and her guest paled.
“I meant no offence, Mrs Cole. Please forgive my ignorance. You are of course entitled to your privacy and I would never have asked such things if I’d realised it would intrude upon your privacy,” he answered, bumbling and clearly fretting. He obviously didn’t want to upset her, and so Wynter took the opportunity to gain the upper hand.
“We all make mistakes,” she replied, and then placed her hand on his arm gently. “Think nothing of it, and please, do not let this affect our budding friendship. In fact, I would offer you a place to sit and talk with me so we might get to know each other, if only I had some furniture.”
Wentworth laughed, and Wynter joined him. She was glad the tension had eased between them but was also pleased she had said no. After all, he wouldn’t give her a show if she’d asked for one, so why think it safe to ask? She knew exactly why when she turned back to Marcus and found him grinning from ear to ear. He had clearly egged his friend on, and Wynter shook her head.
He truly was a damn fiend.
Six
After spending the better part of the day still entertaining Wentworth, Wynter couldn’t deny feeling more comfortable with him, and actually found him quite charming. He was well travelled and highly educated, and he had a story for everything. In fact, she’d lost count of the numerous tales he had told her over the day.
“Marcus clearly adores you,” he told her when the two of them were alone. Wentworth had been marvelling at the marble statues Camilla had commissioned years before—the only things that’d seemingly been left behind of hers—and had asked for a closer look. Wynter knew now how he’d simply wanted a moment alone with her. She played along and nodded to him in answer, but then winced when Wentworth spoke again. “You two must be very much in love.”
“He loves me very much, yes,” she replied honestly, her eyes on the statue ahead of them rather than on him, but she saw Wentworth smile from the corner of her eye. It was clear he understood exactly what she was getting at, and checked that the coast was clear before dropping his voice slightly and leaning closer.
“Which certainly explains his most recent behaviour,” he said, and she nodded. “Then why stay? You’re certainly strong enough to defend yourself.”
Wynter felt a pang of grief hit her chest at the sheer thought of trying that route again, and shook her head.
“I already tried, and it wasn’t just his world he burned to the ground to get me back, but also mine,” she whispered, and then turned to her guest with a sad smile. “I’ve accepted my fate, Wentworth. I’m making this future work, and actually, it’s going pretty well so far.”
“Glad to hear it,” he replied, and then with a nod they moved on through the house and to the front doors, where she wished him a fond farewell and then left Marcus to say goodbye to his friend.
That afternoon, Wynter sat with Marcella for a while. At first things were awkward between them again, but it wasn’t long before the Priestess began to thaw. She seemed about ready to open up and after a while, she placed a hand over Wynter’s heart, as though sensing her lost child there.
“I was going to call her Mara,” she whispered.
“Beautiful,” Wynter answered, and then a thought came to her. “Are your names always a variant or have some kind of similarity to Marcus’s?”
“Yes. My mother was Marsha and my grandmother was a Mara. It’s surprising no one ever seems to notice, but then again I am one of the first Priestesses ever to live a normal life alongside our master.”
“Times have changed I guess, and you seemed to enjoy the work. Was it nice to have a human façade to hide behind?” Wynter asked, and remembered back to all the times Marcella had fooled her into trusting her and believing she had her best interests at heart, when in fact the devious witch was always either getting her into or out of trouble.
“I adored it. I could see people from up close, rather than always watching from afar. I had friends and relationships, and of course was able to get to know you, my love,” she whispered. “Without that closeness we shared, I would’ve never given my daughter’s heart to you.”
Wynter swallowed the lump in her throat and felt her eyes begin to sting with tears.
“Either way, if I had known what you were doing, I would’ve never accepted. Please know that, Marcy. I cannot bear that she is gone because of me, and watching you mourn her has been the worst experience of my life.”
“She was fated to serve you, and at least this way she will live forever. It was never your choice, or mine,” Marcella replied, and Wynter frowned.
“Marcus. He made you do this,” she hissed, and was surprised when the Priestess shook her head no.
“It was her, don’t you get it? She would’ve never gone unless it was willingly. I saw her future right before we found you again, my love. I saw you, strong and whole, and knew I was merely a vessel. I was caring for her until she was strong enough to give you life everlasting, and when that time came, fate brought us together again,” Marcella insisted, but Wynter still wasn’t buying it. However, if this was what the powerful witch needed to tell herself, then she decided she wasn’t going to argue with her. Marcella had been forced to give up something no mother should ever have to, and so Wynter decided she wasn’t going to play the martyr or feel sorry
for herself in her presence. It wasn’t fair to her, or to Mara, whom she could sense was indeed thriving inside of her. Growing stronger and more resilient in what she wanted. Or more accurately, who she wanted.
Marcus.
She adored him and Wynter knew she had to be careful that love didn’t take over them both. That Mara herself didn’t take charge of her vessel and leave Wynter’s soul fighting to be heard. That they remained two halves of a whole and nothing more.
***
Archie knew he and Brodie were acting like lovesick teenagers, but he didn’t care one little bit. They were spending day after day either making out on the sofa or working out in the bedroom, and while his jinni lover was still struggling to fully give himself to their new relationship, Archie knew he was all in. No more lying to himself. No more hiding how he felt. It was incredible.
Archie was patient and loving towards him, and Brodie was opening up more and more each day. It helped that they had all the space they wanted while Rosalie continued to hide herself away, but he was sure to check in on her often and had Rafferty to thank for keeping her fed and watered. She was getting there, but they all knew it’d still take a bit of time, and they were willing to give her all that she might need.
That afternoon, while the TV blared with a DVD the two of them were only half watching, he heard the unmistakable sound of a door opening and closing towards the back of the house. Rosalie was clearly up and about, and Brodie jumped beside him, clearly having heard it too.
“Any ideas on how to keep her this side of the door?” he asked, and Archie shrugged.
But then one came to him.
“Teach her about Rafferty, and about everything and anything. Give her the chance to see who we are, and to focus on something other than what happened to her,” he suggested, and was glad when Brodie nodded in agreement. They’d tiptoed around Rosalie for too long already. She knew some about what’d happened to them and the creatures involved, but there was more than just darkness in this world. And more that they could teach her about finding the light.
They heard the gentle but unmistakable sound of footsteps out in the hallway a couple of seconds later.
“Hey, Raff. What’s for dinner?” Brodie called towards the empty space on the sofa opposite them, and Archie followed his line of sight to where the goblin was apparently sitting.
“Barbeque chicken,” came the deeply toned response from the exact location he’d looked at, and Archie’s stomach rumbled in reply.
“Sounds good,” he replied.
“Sounds really good,” a soft voice chimed, and Rosalie’s head appeared from around the doorway. She was smiling at first, but then frowned. She had clearly heard three distinct voices, but only found the two men there, and Archie knew it was time they told her about their invisible friend.
“Hey, Rosa. Come join us,” he called, and shot Brodie a look when he stiffened, like they’d been caught in the act or something. He’d simply been sat with Archie in his arms, and yet still the ancient jinni seemed to think there was something wrong with people catching them together and showing one another affection. It was beyond frustrating, but an issue the be tackled at a better time.
Whenever they decided to leave the island, he vowed he was going to take Brodie out. As in, properly out. He was going to show him the gay scene of today and make him see that it wasn’t something he should be ashamed of. Maybe he’d even take him to the next Pride Festival? That’d be nice. And good fun too. He’d been to a few in his time and was sure even someone barely out the closet like Brodie would find the experience meaningful.
Rosalie did as Archie had asked, and it was clear she was still a little confused, so he got straight to the point. He told her all about Rafferty and how neither of them could see their friendly household goblin, and when she’d gotten over her initial shock, his voice chimed from the doorway.
“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” he told them, and while Archie’s gaze instinctively went for halfway up the wall, having assumed Rafferty would be small, he noticed Brodie’s eyes dart upwards. He smiled and nodded, and that was when Archie realised just how wrong all the fictionalised goblins he’d seen in movies and on television had to be.
“How tall is he?” he asked his beau when Brodie turned back to him, and he laughed.
“Near enough seven feet,” the jinni answered, and this time even Rosalie giggled. She’d clearly assumed the same and it was just another surprise, but at least this time they’d both been caught out by it.
The three of them then chatted for a while, and Archie bided his time, but he had questions churning inside of himself. Things he needed to address, and he figured there was no time like the present.
“So, are you keeping the baby?” he asked over dinner, and Rosalie blanched, but she didn’t deny her predicament.
“I want to keep it. What happened to me wasn’t the baby’s fault, so I’m going to show it how much I love it. Teach it to be good, rather than like him,” she answered resolutely.
“Sounds like a bloody good plan if you ask me,” he answered, making her smile, and they quickly returned to their meal, but Archie couldn’t ignore the sour look on Brodie’s face. He was across the room so thankfully she couldn’t see him, but he could.
Brodie was worried, and Archie knew why. The baby was going to inherit its father’s nature, whether she wanted it or not. The time might come when Rosalie wouldn’t have a choice or any input as to whether the child would remain innocent, but all they could do was hope for the best. Perhaps Rosalie was doing the same, and really, he didn’t know what else they could do.
She wanted to keep it, so the half-werewolf child was going to come, and when that time came, he was going to make damn sure Rosalie knew she didn’t have to go it alone.
Seven
With her new, decidedly brighter outlook driving her forwards, Wynter made an effort with everyone in the house. She spent day and night with Marcus, having no other choice, but she did her best not to hate him the entire time. Whether near or far, she tried to forget about the past and move forward. To become the wife he could be proud of, and the person she would feel proud to be too. The elegant gowns stayed, no matter the occasion, and she was finally beginning to feel like she might belong by the stylish vampire’s side. It was odd how just the small changes made such a difference, but at the same time Wynter was glad of them. Without the small stuff she knew she’d never make it through a day by his side, let alone an infinite lifetime.
Marcus seemed to enjoy her this way too. Like always, he enjoyed ripping the clothes from her every chance he got, but he was disrobing her of finery these days, not the corporate suits and dresses like she’d always used to wear to her job at Slave. And at least now, the clothes weren’t ruined thanks to his forceful need to get her naked in the swiftest way possible. The clothes she wore were merely manifestations from her imagination and transformed back into white smoke the second he removed them. They were like a part of her and appeared just the same way as her arms and legs did. Her true form was actually the smoky mist, and remaining whole was merely an alternative. An easier one, sure, but Wynter felt she was slowly learning what it meant to be a jinni and she was proud of her smoky self too. As cliché as she thought it might be, power was everything, and of course she now had this endless supply to draw from, so felt on top of the goddamn world.
Jack appeared to agree with her choices too, and he seemed happier, even if he was Marcus’s daily feeder now that he had dispatched with the other Managers. It was taking its toll though, and Marcella noticed her unease one night as Wynter watched her husband feed on Jack for the third time that day.
“He’s fine, my love. Do not fret,” she told her, and Wynter focussed on those strange mixed tones to her voice that came and went. Even after all this time, she knew she’d never get used to that sound. All those voices. All her ancestors coming through as one.
“Should I speak with Marcus and ask him to find some new Mana
gers?” she tried, but the Priestess shook her head no.
“Jack has his duty, as do you and I. He would feel like a failure if either of us got in the way of that,” Marcella answered, and then Wynter saw her wince and curl in on herself. She tried to hide it, but failed miserably, and when a second wave of pain seemed to rattle through her, Wynter immediately went to her aid.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded, but the witch refused her. She shooed her away and tried to change the subject. When Wynter insisted, she stood as though to storm away, but then clutched at her stomach and folded back in on herself again.
“My body has been telling me for a long while how it’s time I conceived another child, but I’m not ready,” she confided in her, and Wynter wrapped Marcella in her arms.
“What is it, period pains? I can get you a hot water bottle or some painkillers?” she offered, but the Priestess shook her head.
“A hundred times worse,” she answered, “the pain is excruciating and will simply continue to get worse until I conceive. The previous Priestesses of our coven usually experienced this once in their lifetimes, but for me this is the second calling.”
“Because of me,” Wynter answered, but she didn’t dwell on things. Marcella didn’t need to hear it either and she simply smiled.
“I wasn’t meant to have anything to do with Jack after conceiving the first time, but when I had my visions of what fate had in store I knew I had to reveal myself to him and to secure his place by my side. My master must have his new Priestess, and until I conceive her I will continue to suffer, but it’s worth it.”
“What do you mean?”
“The pain is comforting. It means I feel something physical. Something that actually ties me to this life, rather than lures me to the next like the agony in my heart does,” Marcella explained, and Wynter wanted to cry. She pulled the witch to her and held her tightly again, and suddenly found her mind going crazy.
Even in Death Page 6