by Lynsay Sands
She felt the skin tighten on her face as if shrinking away from what was coming, but said, “He was bellowing at me furiously, and I started babbling I’m sorry and thank you, I was so grateful. But that just seemed to incense him more. He slapped me hard and I stumbled to the side, lost my footing and fell to my knees, and then I just cowered there while he screamed at me about how he’d controlled himself, wanting to wait for me to be ready, and I’d nearly given it away like some cheap puta. Was that what I wanted? To be taken in some back alley like a prostitute? And then he snarled, ‘If that is what you want, I can give you it!’ and I glanced up to see him undoing his pants.
“I just gaped at him. I didn’t understand. He’d saved me and now he was—” She shook her head with remembered bewilderment. “I didn’t understand what was happening. Why he was acting like that. Or maybe part of me did. There was a reason I’d been so uncomfortable with him. I’d known he wanted something from me, I just didn’t want to know. But while I was sobering quickly, I still wasn’t thinking clearly and I didn’t really understand what was happening . . . I still don’t to a certain degree.”
“What do you mean?” G.G. asked slowly.
“He was an immortal,” she explained. “I didn’t know about them at the time, but he was. He could have controlled me, made me do what he wanted, go to him willingly, but he didn’t and he was almost insane with rage. I think the whole exercise was just to humiliate and hurt me at that point. He was so angry and frustrated with me. But he stopped with his pants open, and grabbed me by the hair, yanking my head back and shouting ‘Look at me when I’m talking to you!’
“I cried out in pain, but I doubt he heard me, he’d moved on to bellowing again about my behavior and what could have happened to me. Then he bent and grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me and I just—I lost it,” she said, remembering the mad rage that had welled up in her the moment he’d touched her in that dark alley. It had filled her, pushing her fear and confusion aside and consuming her.
“What did you do?” G.G. asked.
Ildaria closed her eyes briefly as she recalled the moment. “He’d opened his pants, but not all the way, and he hadn’t taken himself out, but his movements had dislodged his cock. It was dangling in front of my face and—” Opening her eyes, she tried to explain how she’d felt. “I wanted to hurt him for threatening and frightening me, for even thinking of raping me in that alley, and I pushed forward in his hold and bit the weapon he’d threatened me with.”
G.G. blinked, and then asked carefully, “You mean his penis? You bit his penis?”
Ildaria grimaced. “I didn’t just bite it, G.G. I clamped down on it and started sawing my teeth back and forth, determined to bite through. I wanted to unman him,” she confessed, almost ashamed of herself and still a little bewildered by the insane rage that had claimed her. It had come on so hard and fast. Shaking her head at the memory, she continued. “Blood was squirting into my mouth, but I was so furious that I didn’t care. I just swallowed and kept gnawing away at his cock, determined to remove it from him so he could never hurt or humiliate another girl again.”
G.G. had released something like a grunt, his legs instinctively closing protectively as she spoke. Now, he asked, “If he was immortal, why didn’t he take control at that point and stop you?”
“I don’t know,” Ildaria said helplessly. “Maybe the alcohol was making me hard to control. Or maybe he was just so shocked and horrified that he didn’t think to take control of me then. But he didn’t,” she said with a shrug, and then added, “Instead, he pushed me away rather violently . . . which had the unfortunate effect of finishing what I was trying to do . . . I fell back on my butt with the amputated bottom half of his cock in my mouth.”
G.G. made a pained sound, but she ignored it and continued, “He dropped to his knees clutching himself and screaming in agony, then fell over and lay writhing on the filthy ground. I just watched him with a kind of horror at first. The rage was gone as suddenly as it had struck, leaving me confused and shocked by what I’d done. But when his agonized screams turned to moaning, I regained enough sense to know I should probably get out of there. I lurched to my feet and staggered away . . . I didn’t even realize I still had his member, or part of it anyway, in my mouth until I reached the end of the alley. I took it out there and threw it across the road, and then I ran home.
“Or tried to,” she said after a moment, and then explained, “I hadn’t sobered enough to be steady on my feet, and then the pain struck and hampered me. I didn’t understand what was happening, but I’d taken in enough blood that the turning was starting. I did make it to the house, but not inside. My abuela found me on the doorstep when she came home. Apparently I was convulsing and moaning in pain.”
“You didn’t hurt her?” G.G. asked with concern.
“No,” Ildaria said at once. “No. Thank the saints. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d hurt her.” She sighed. “Fortunately, she recognized what was happening. I guess the blood on my face and the metallic glint growing in my eyes gave it away. She dragged me inside, and then ran to her employer. Señorita Ana came back with her, took one look and carried me back to her home. She was immortal, and why my abuela had recognized what was happening. Abuela was one of those servants who is trusted with the knowledge of immortals.”
“Which explains how Señorita Ana knew you were being abused when you were four. She read your mind back then,” G.G. said with realization.
Ildaria nodded. “She read my mind and saw the beating of my mother that I had witnessed, as well as the abuse I’d suffered.”
“But your abuela worked days, not nights usually?” G.G. asked with a small frown. “If Ana was immortal why would she need a cook during the day? Most immortals sleep during the day.”
“The Villaverdes are a very wealthy and powerful immortal family. Ana had a huge sugar plantation with security and a large household staff. She had both daytime and nighttime security and household staff as well as workers in the fields. Most of them lived on the plantation, either in barracks if they were single, or if they had family, in one of the bohios—huts,” she explained, “on the property. Almost all of them took meals there too. My abuela cooked for the daytime staff and security and Ana’s first daily meal. She only worked nights when there were large parties and more help was needed.”
“So you lived on the plantation in a bohio?” G.G. asked.
Ildaria shook her head. “No. My abuela had her own home on the edge of Santo Domingo. She and my grandfather inherited it from his father who was a wealthy merchant. It wasn’t far from the plantation, an easy walk.”
G.G. nodded, and then said, “I’m sorry. I interrupted. Please continue. Your abuela brought Señorita Ana to you and she took you . . . ?”
“She took both myself and my abuela back to the plantation,” she finished, and told him, “Señorita Ana was very kind. She saw me through the turn, bringing me donors to feed on, making sure that I didn’t take too much blood from each donor, and ensuring they didn’t feel the pain of my feeding.”
“This was before blood banks,” G.G. murmured.
“Si,” Ildaria agreed.
“What happened to the immortal who turned you?” G.G. asked when Ildaria fell silent.
She shrugged unhappily and pointed out, “He didn’t really turn me so much as I accidentally turned myself.”
When G.G. didn’t comment and waited patiently, she sighed and continued, “I didn’t remember what had happened when I first woke. The shock of the turn on top of the attack left me somewhat scrambled. Señorita Ana assured me that was normal and it would come to me eventually once the nanos had finished their business.
“Anyway,” she continued when he merely nodded again. “Once I was through the turn, Señorita Ana explained the basics. That I was an immortal now. That I’d somehow ingested blood filled with nanos that had been programmed to keep me healthy and repair any wounds I sustained. She explained that because
the nanos used blood to both do their work as well as to propel themselves, they used more blood than a mortal body could supply, so during the turn the nanos had provided me with fangs, added strength, night vision, mind control and mind reading to be able to get the blood I need. She also told me the origin story of the nanos, that they’d been created in Atlantis eons ago. That the mythological Atlantis was advanced technologically as some stories suggested. That scientists there had created the nanos as a noninvasive way to cure disease and repair injuries. But that it went wrong. The nanos didn’t self-destruct and flush from the body once they returned it to what was considered a peak condition as intended, but continued to keep their host at their peak, making us basically immortal.
“She also told me about the South American Council, explained that they were our governing body, and then she told me about the Enforcers the Council sent out to make sure we followed the laws the Council made. She followed that up with our laws; that we are allowed to turn only one, which is usually saved to change a life mate. That we are only allowed one child every hundred years. That we are never ever to draw attention to ourselves, and—at that time before the existence of blood banks—that we must always be careful not to take too much blood and harm mortals. After making me repeat those laws to her to be sure I understood, she left me to rest.
“The next time I woke up Señorita Ana was there again and she started right into my training. First she taught me to bring on my fangs and make them retract, then she concentrated on teaching me to read mortals, and then on controlling them. Once I’d mastered all of that, she took me out to teach me to hunt for safe donors and so on.” Ildaria paused to take another sip of her cocoa, and then set the mug down with a small sigh before admitting, “But when three weeks of training passed and I still had no memory of how I had been turned or who had done it, Señorita Ana decided my inability to remember was psychological rather than physical. She felt sure the turn should be far enough along by that point that the memories must be there. I was simply refusing to face them for some reason. She wanted to involve the Council. Her father was the head of the South American Council and would surely help if she asked. She felt sure they would be able to get into my thoughts and find the memories I was refusing. She was also sure they would want to know who had turned me.
“The idea of meeting the Council was frightening to a fourteen-year-old girl. The Council passed life and death sentences, but I wanted to know what had happened, so didn’t protest and Señorita Ana said she would send a message to the Council that night. She warned me, though, that it might be several days before they could convene to meet with me. Which, to be honest, felt like a reprieve in my mind.
“It was nearing dawn when she left me. I had been up all night training, and was exhausted, so fell asleep the minute I was alone. But I didn’t sleep well or long. I guess the idea of meeting with the Council was more troubling to me than even I had realized.”
Ildaria shrugged. “Whatever the case, I was awake well before noon and went down to the kitchens to visit with my abuela.” She smiled softly at the memory. “I had seen her every day, but not for long. Usually just for a few minutes before she left at night. But that day we spent all afternoon together. I helped her with the cooking, and we chatted and laughed, and then before she left, she told me that she was glad that I had become immortal. That she would never need worry about me again. No chico malo could take me away from her like my mother had been taken away. And she told me that she loved me, and saw only good things for me in my future.”
Ildaria paused for a minute, recalling her grandmother’s shining eyes filled with happiness and hope that last afternoon. “To her mind, my being turned had lifted me up. I was now one of the immortals, above the rabble to her mind. She was sure only good things could come to me now.” Ildaria sighed at the memory. “Neither of us could know how wrong she was. I certainly didn’t, and I didn’t know when I hugged her goodbye that it would be the last time I saw her.”
Eight
“Tell me.”
Ildaria glanced up with surprise at those quiet words. They weren’t an order or a plea, just a request. And they made her realize that she’d been silent for a long time, lost in the memories of the last afternoon she’d spent with the woman who had raised her and been more a mother than her own could ever have been. Those ten years with her abuela had been the happiest of her life.
Sighing, Ildaria gave herself a mental shake and straightened in her seat. “Señorita Ana always came down to the kitchens when she woke up, usually shortly before my abuela left, but sometimes earlier. That day she hadn’t come, though, so after Abuela left I went looking for her, expecting my training to continue. Her fiancé, who I now understood was her life mate, was coming downstairs as I came out of the kitchen, so I knew she was probably awake. I headed upstairs, intending to go to her room to see what she wished me to do,” she explained. “But as I approached her door, one of the maids said Señorita Ana was in the salon, expecting company, and wished for me to join her there now that my abuela had left. So I headed back to the stairs.
“I heard one of the servants opening the front door and greeting someone as I approached the landing. I arrived at the top of the stairs just in time to see a man enter. I recognized him at once. It was Juan. And recognizing him brought everything back to me. It was like being punched in the stomach. I think I actually moaned and half bent under the impact. Fortunately, he didn’t notice me or my reaction and walked into the salon, saying, “Saludos hija.” Meeting G.G.’s gaze she translated, “Greetings, daughter.”
“Bloody hell,” G.G. breathed.
“Si. The man who attacked me was Juan Villaverde, Señorita Ana’s father as well as the head of the South American Council. And I had bit off his cock.”
G.G. closed his eyes briefly.
Leaving him to digest that, Ildaria stood and moved into the kitchen. All this talk was drying out her mouth and making her thirsty. The hot chocolate hadn’t really helped. Water would, she thought, and found a glass, then grabbed a second one as well and moved to use the ice cube maker on the refrigerator door. She smiled faintly as she did. Ildaria loved this refrigerator. She loved not having to mess with ice cube trays as she’d had to do at Jess’s place. Here, she simply pressed the glass against the pedal and ice dropped into it with a rattle. Of course, Marguerite’s refrigerator had had an icemaker too, but this one was hers. Well, it was hers as long as she lived here . . . which might not be long if G.G. completely rejected her and sent her on her way.
Mouth tightening, Ildaria moved to the sink to run water into each glass of ice and then carried one over to set down in front of G.G. before returning to the kitchen. As she opened cupboard doors and retrieved a bowl and ingredients, she reminded herself that she would be fine. She had survived much worse in her life, she could survive his rejection. She would just get a job somewhere else.
Ildaria was even beginning to think that might be easier than she’d previously thought. She’d taken waitressing jobs since moving to the United States and Canada, not even considering trying for accounting work. But now she realized G.G.’s couldn’t be the only business in need of an immortal to work the books. Immortal accountants were not thick on the ground. She might not have her degree yet, but with three years under her belt, she could get another job in her field. She would work, rent a room somewhere and finish her degree. She would survive this.
“What are you doing?”
Ildaria glanced around to see that G.G. had moved to stand by the island, the glass of water in hand.
“Making muffins,” she answered automatically, and then paused as his expression changed, and she realized she was making muffins. They blinked at each other briefly, the memories of last night’s dream rising between them.
His lips trailing down her breast to the valley between them as he said, “You smell like muffins.”
She’d been startled by the announcement, but then he’d added, “Vanilla an
d spice. Delicious.” The words had been followed by his tongue swiping up her second breast and lashing the nipple there, and he’d growled, “I love muffins,” before claiming that nipple to suckle it. Ildaria had promised herself she’d make him muffins as he began to nip and lash at the hard bud, sending bolts of excitement through her body.
“Muffins sound good,” he said, his voice deeper even than usual.
Ildaria noted the heat in his eyes and swallowed, her body suddenly vibrating just a bit. Turning away abruptly, she returned to what she was doing, measuring ingredients and putting them in the bowl as she said, “I was thinking blueberry muffins. Do you like blueberries?”
The silence was long, but finally he said, “Yes,” in his normal voice and she relaxed with relief. Like her, he’d pushed down whatever that memory had made rise between them. Now was not the time for it.
A quick glance in his direction showed her that he’d settled at the island with his water, and now held H.D. in his arms. He was petting the dog soothingly as he watched her. She turned back to what she was doing.
A moment passed and then G.G. asked, “What happened when Señorita Ana realized it was her father who had attacked and turned you?”
Ildaria shrugged. “I don’t know if she ever found out.”
“Explain,” he requested gently.
She nodded, but grabbed eggs from the fridge before admitting, “I didn’t go down to the salon. At first I didn’t even move. I just stood there at the top of the stairs awash in horror.” She shrugged. “I don’t know how long I stood there, but finally the maid who had told me Señorita Ana wished me to join her approached. She asked if I was all right, and was I not going down? Señorita Ana was waiting. When I nodded and started down, she moved away. I heard her walk back up the hall, and I just—” She grimaced, cracked an egg’s shell on the side of the bowl, and let the egg drop out on top of the dry ingredients as she finished. “I just walked calmly down those stairs and straight out the front door. I even managed to stay at a walk until I’d reached the end of the drive. Only then did I break into a run.” She met his gaze again. “I have been running ever since.”