by Amy Faye
That was if he didn’t do it himself first. So the way I saw it, there were a lot of good reasons to stay on his good side.
He started moving even before the words were all the way out of my mouth. Anatoly had an unexpected exuberance to him. I followed, and Blake followed a little ways behind, his face twisted up in amusement at the whole thing.
Anatoly was already standing a few feet inside by the time I got through the door. He was pouring out an amber-colored, alcoholic beverage that I had to admit had my name written all over it. He handed the glass to me without asking, not that I was going to complain, poured another in an instant and handed it to his son, and then poured a third out for himself.
“Za zdarovye,” he said. Then he drank deeply. I smiled and pretended that I knew enough Russian to understand what that meant. The stuff was more alcoholic than I’d expected, and my mouth was full before I realized that I was in over my head. I could feel my face heating up before the mouthful of liquid had even reached my stomach.
“What is it that you wanted to show her, Dad?” Blake set down an empty glass. “That, uh…” he wagged a finger pointedly at one of the bookshelves that lined the walls. “You know.”
Anatoly raised his eyebrows as he looked down at the glass. “Good vintage,” he commented. “Nice finish.” Like Blake hadn’t spoken. I decided to step in at that point.
“What was it that you wanted to show me? I’d love to see anything you’ve got.”
He set the glass down and let out a long breath. His smile started to fade as he did, until he was looking at me. He looked almost sad.
“That’s where the trouble starts, dear little thing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m afraid that this old man might have misled you just a little bit. A pretense for bringing you back here, you see. I didn’t think this was appropriate in front of the rest of the family.”
“Dad?”
I ignored Blake, and it seemed like Anatoly was intent on doing the same thing.
“I need you to take your pants off.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Your pants. I need you to take them off. Trust me, I’m not going to take an ounce of pleasure in it. This is important.”
At some point, I thought, my eyes were going to pop all the way out of my head and I was going to lose my mind.
“You want me to take my pants off?”
“Dad, that’s going a little far.”
“I told you already. I’m not trying to get a look at you naked. You’re a very attractive young woman, certainly, but I love my wife, as… difficult as she can be at times. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”
I continued to stare. Blake seemed to be speechless, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. A strikingly handsome fish.
“I don’t understand.”
“Your birthmark. I need to see it.”
I looked over at Blake. Had he said something about it? Had he even noticed? He’d never mentioned it to me. I looked back at Anatoly, searching for some sort of joke. Waiting for the moment when he declared that I was being Punk’d.
“You need to see my birthmark?”
“That’s right.”
I hesitated another moment. I could deal with that, no problem. At least, that was what I told myself. But to have him just ask about it, out of nowhere, that was a surprise. I frowned and then took a deep breath. I undid the button on my jeans and pulled down the right side, until the edge of my panties showed.
It was humiliating, but it was necessary, and I accepted it, first because there was no way that he could have known if it didn’t mean something to him, and second because, again, he could have killed me if he felt like it without a second thought.
He knelt down and looked close. My face had been warm from the alcohol, already starting to course through my veins. Not fast enough to make this any less humiliating, of course. That would have been too pleasant. But now it burned hotter as blood flushed up.
“Blake, come look at this.”
Blake stepped around and knelt down beside his father. I watched them examining me like I was some sort of medical oddity.
“What?” For the answer I got, I might as well have been talking to an empty room.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
Blake’s face drained of blood and his expression dropped. I waited for someone to explain what the hell they were looking at, but apparently neither of them had any interest in that.
“I just, I didn’t…”
“What’s wrong? What’s the problem?”
Blake’s eyes flicked up to look at her when she spoke, and then they immediately darted away as soon as he almost met her gaze. He stood up and walked away.
I was waiting for Anatoly to tell me I could pull my pants back up and hoping that someone would explain why they’d gone through all the trouble of humiliating me when footsteps sounded outside the door, and then it slammed open.
Margaret’s attitude had changed entirely. Gone was the woman who needed to second-guess every little thing, the woman for whom nothing was ever good enough. The woman who had decided that it was her life’s goal to make my life hell.
“Blake, you’re never going to guess who’s here?”
“Mom, this isn’t—”
“Nia! Nia’s here! Come on in!”
The last part, she said to the hallway, and then a woman stepped through. Her looks matched the standard set by the Yovanovich clan; unnaturally good. She looked like a painting of the platonic ideal of a woman. She strode into the room with an impossible grace, and in three long steps she’d grabbed Blake and turned him around like a top, and then she planted her lips on his. Hard, and I couldn’t be sure, but very possibly with tongue.
13
I watched the whole thing with a weird sense of detachment. Like it all suddenly started to make sense, in a weird way. A thousand questions popped into my head, all in the same instant, and I realized the answer to all of my problems. It had been staring me in the face the entire time.
All I had to do get over the embarrassment, all I had to do to get away from Margaret, all I had to do to stop having myself examined like a medical school cadaver, all I had to do to get away from the judgmental looks of his brothers, was do what I was good at.
I buttoned my pants, and in the moment of everyone’s eyes on the two lovebirds on the other side of the room, I walked out. It made me feel better about everything. Like I’d managed to finally get myself free of a heavy weight on my back. There really was nothing to worry about any more.
I smile and walk out. Too much has already gone on here. If I was smart, I’d have left a long time ago. I’d have left when Margaret started needling me with her ‘why not take separate rooms’ talk. As if she was still going to keep pretending that she didn’t know I’d been fucking her perfect son.
Well, he had a perfect girlfriend, and it wasn’t me. As long as I know where I stand, frankly, I’m golden. I can’t help smiling as I walk down the hall. Behind me, someone says something, but it’s easier to ignore them.
Here’s a piece of advice: life’s easier when you don’t have any problems. Here’s a second piece of advice, one that goes well with the first one: you can’t have any problems if you get rid of anything that becomes a problem.
The freedom that came with having no problems again felt good on me. Felt natural. I could just go back to my real life.
In a sense, I could kiss Margaret. I don’t, because she wouldn’t like it, but it’s a stability that I’ve been lacking in my life since Mom died. Mom was a treat in a lot of ways, and she was unpredictable.
Sometimes she was a miser, and I’d go without a winter coat that fit. Just squeeze into the one that was too small and had a hole in it, because there was no convincing her that I needed a new one.
Other times, she’d show up at home with a brand new sports coupe and a smile and explain how great everything wa
s going to be. That would lead to another cold winter when it turned out that the budget couldn’t actually accommodate the payments.
Having someone who just said what she wanted to say, no matter how much it stung, was a welcome return to form. It reminded me of Mom. I smiled and kept walking.
A hand falls on my arm and I let it spin me around. It’s easier not to fight them. If I fought, then there would be actual trouble. If I just let them do what they wanted, then I’d be out the door before long. Just listen to someone say some words that probably meant nothing at all, and then go.
“Cassidy!”
I raise my eyebrows at Blake. He really is startlingly good looking. It’s not hard to figure out why I was fighting for a guy like this. What’s hard to figure out is why I thought that it was going to be any different than the other times. Fighting was a losing proposition. Is a losing proposition.
“I’m going home,” I announce. Maybe I should say it with some anger. Maybe I should say it like I’m hurt, or like I’m disappointed, but I’m not. Deep down, I’ve been looking for a chance like this. “You can have her. Nia, was it? She’s a good catch.”
He towered over me, looking down. I watch him work the words out in his head, his jaw making little micro-movements as he settles into his anger and whatever it is that he’s going to try to say to convince me. He doesn’t seem to realize that I’m not upset, I guess.
“Cassidy, she’s nothing to me.”
I shrug at him. I wish I could say that I was angry. I think that would make more sense. But I’m just not. I’m finally back to feeling like myself for the first time in weeks, and the truth is, it feels great.
“Look, I’m not mad, okay? You don’t have to feel like you need to apologize for anything.”
“I’m not trying to apologize. Stay, okay? Just stay.”
“I don’t see what the point is.”
In the dim, dark recesses of my mind, I’m aware of Anatoly standing in the doorway, watching me. Watching us. His wife’s with him. She looks pleased, and he looks like he’s waiting to see how things play out.
“The point is that I love you, alright? I don’t give a shit about Nia.”
As if on cue, the gorgeous woman leans in and wraps her arms around him. I let her. He turns toward her, saying something. I think he’s telling her to stop, but I don’t really know why. It doesn’t matter either way.
I start towards the door again, apparently free of the responsibility to keep listening.
“Cassidy, don’t go.”
“Oh, she should. The girl wants to go, let her go.”
I feel something inside myself harden when I hear Margaret say it. I don’t know what it is, or why it’s there, or what she did to set it off.
His hand falls on my shoulder again, and I look up at Blake. His perfect cheeks. His perfect face. His perfect hair. His perfect body.
“What?”
“I want you to stay, okay?”
“Why?”
“Because I love you.”
I spend a moment thinking about that. There’s no reason for me to be here. But the truth is, the more that Margaret reminds me of my mother, the more that I want to punish her.
“Okay.”
14
My stomach hurts and I don’t want to get up.
I’d been having a good dream, too. Blake was in it, but his family wasn’t. We were doing what we always do when his family wasn’t around, and God damn did I enjoy it.
My head hurts. It’s too early. I try to remember what time I got to bed last night. It was early, I guess. I wanted to spend a little time away from Margaret, more than anything.
I wanted to go back to sleep for a long moment. But then again, something starts to wake up inside me. A burning sensation. A familiar burning sensation. One that I know exactly to put out. So I roll over, my eyes still mostly closed.
Blake’s never turned me down before, and he’s not going to start now. I know that. Particularly not when he’s the whole reason I’m in this mess in the first place. I smile. This bed’s big. I could think of a lot of things that we could get up to, in a bed this size. It’s sized for playing around on.
I don’t think we quite have the people around to really challenge the real-estate of this bed, though. Particularly because I just rolled over towards Blake, and I still haven’t hit him yet. It’s really a marvel of a bed.
I reach out my hand to shake him awake. He turns out to be little more than a pile of blankets. That, finally, gets my attention and I open my eyes more fully, looking around the room.
I’ve got to pee, pretty bad, but I ignore it. I’m also feeling a little sick. Stomach bug, I think. It’s not the first time I’ve had one, but it’s the first time that I’ve been at a guy’s house, meeting his parents, when it happened.
I repeat my little mantra to myself. Nothing’s a problem if you ignore it long enough. It lasts for a moment before I decide I have to go to the bathroom again. I push myself up out of bed.
“Oof. No good.”
There’s a moment where I think I might not be able to get up. That is unusual. Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking about nookie. The warmth of arousal stays right where it is, though, in spite of my warnings.
I push again, and this time, make it up and to the ground. The bathroom’s right across the hall. Of the whole thing, that’s the easiest part. The part of me that’s conscious is glad that I don’t have to go farther. More than a few moments and I’d really be awake. I look out the window at the sky. It’s still dark.
Not pitch black, though. Dark blue has already started to streak the black sky, and in an hour, maybe more, it’ll be bright and shining outside. Same as every day. Then I finish my business, wash my hands.
A little voice in the back of my mind reminds me that this is probably the last chance to empty my stomach out into the toilet without having to run out of the room hoping not to be sick, if it comes to that. But the nausea, I hope, isn’t that bad.
I wash my face and look into the mirror. What am I doing here? I should have left. Where is Blake? With or without him, how am I going to get rid of the arousal that’s starting to eat up at my insides? Do I wait to go find him before I start to deal with it myself, the old fashioned way?
Of course I do. If someone’s going to walk in on me dealing with my carnal needs, I’m dragging someone else down with me. I smile. Perfect.
I start with a plan. If he’s anywhere, then he’s probably downstairs. That’s where the TV is. This time of morning, nobody else is going to be up. We could have a naughty little moment together. I smile at the thought of it. My body shivers unbidden.
I pad down the stairs. Nobody in the foyer. Nobody in the hall. The house is silent, except for the sound of my own footsteps. I reach up and take the moment to pinch my nipples to full hardness, and murmur a soft noise of approval.
“Blake?”
No answer. Not only is there no answer, there’s no indication that anything has moved at all. Just my voice slowly winding through the mansion, and then dissipating on the carpeted floor.
I walk into the den. The television, filling one of the walls, is off. The room’s dark, except for the natural light coming through the windows. There’s exactly enough time for me to twist my face up in confusion before things start going wrong, all at once.
A loud noise from outside, like metal grinding on metal, sounds. So loud that I can feel it vibrating in my chest. Then the floor shakes under me.
I’m glad that there’s nobody to see me stumble; I catch myself only barely, and only on the wall. My breath comes hard and fast.
“What in the…”
The noise comes again, and the ground shakes again. This time it’s louder, but I can finally pinpoint the direction. It’s coming from outside. From the east. And if it’s coming from outside, that means there’s something to see.
There’s only a moment’s hesitation, worrying that I’ll be sent sprawling if I get caught in the wrong place. T
here’s a couch between me and the east wall, though, and I figure that if I can’t make it all the way, I can fall towards the soft cushions. That makes it easier, at least.
But the noise doesn’t come again until I’m at the windows, and then it’s louder still. So loud that it drowns out the thoughts in my head. So loud that I feel like my ear drums might explode. My whole body hurts with the sheer pressure of the noise.
The shake isn’t delayed this time. It’s instant. I brace myself against the wall and tear open the blinds, just in time for another shake as something massive lands on the earth outside the window.
Something massive, and red, and covered in scales. Something with wings and a tail. Something that opens its giant mouth, sized to eat a person in a single bite, like a potato chip. And then a roar comes out, and fire sprays out in gouts of flame along with it, and I can’t deny it any longer.
It’s impossible, and terrifying, but there’s a dragon outside.
15
I did what anyone would do, of course; I screamed, and I ran. It’s the logical thing. I’ve got a history of running away, but I feel like I should have a pass here; it’s probably dangerous. That flame burned so hot I could practically feel it through the windows.
I only have a second or two to take a step before something caught my hard, in a running tackle. I screamed louder and spiraled my legs like I was trying to ride a bicycle, kicking and screaming and hoping to high heaven that I can eventually get away from the dragon that hit me.
The fact that I could still move, that I could still scream, that I could still try to kick my way free, didn’t really occur to me until I opened my eyes again to find that I hadn’t been hit by a Dragon at all.
Dante looks down at me with a concerned expression. I look back up, though I don’t think my expression is quite as serene or worried. I think I look more like I’m going to throw up.
“Cassidy! You shouldn’t be here. Back inside.”
“But,” I start. “I… there was… I don’t know what you guys think you’re up to, but there’s dragons outside. Now, ‘sell weapons to the government’ or whatever? I get it. It’s a family business. But dragons? Don’t even get me started!”