Queen of The Hill (Knight Games)

by Genevieve Jack

  “My face is covered in blood,” I slurred. I was holding on to consciousness with both hands.

  He lowered me to the bed and brushed my hair back from my face. If he said anything else, I missed it as I drifted to sleep.

  * * * * *

  “I’m going to run you a bath,” Rick said.

  I’d spent most of the day in bed with a wicked magic hangover. Rick had been babying me all day, feeding me tea and toast and watching over me as I drifted in and out of sleep. The sound of running water preceded billows of steam through the doorway to the bathroom.

  I started to get undressed. The squeal and thump of a cabinet door opening and closing raised my eyebrows.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Cleaning up a little,” Rick said.

  I sighed. “You don’t have to do that. I’m a terrible housekeeper, but I’ll get to it eventually.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  My cheeks warmed with embarrassment.

  He poked his head out of the doorframe and tossed a tied garbage bag toward the hallway. I’d never seen him look so domestic. Warmth bloomed behind my breastbone at the simple human gesture.

  My eyes misted, and I sat back down on the bed dressed only in my bra and underwear.

  Before the first tear could drop, Rick was there to catch it. “Why are you crying?”

  “You really do love me, don’t you?” I asked. “I know it seems like a stupid question. We’re getting married; it should be obvious. But, as my caretaker, maybe you, sort of, have to love me.”

  The corners of Rick’s mouth sank. “I am not compelled to love you, mi cielo.”

  “I know. That’s why the tears. If you were, you wouldn’t be cleaning my bathroom.” I smiled weakly. “Cleaning means a lot to me.”

  He kneeled between my thighs and wrapped his hands around mine. A subtle smirk turned his full lips. He looked at me through his impossibly long lashes. “Wait until you see my dust and polish.”

  “Oh?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “No one polishes like I do.” He shifted his hands to my hips as if to drive the point home, then cupped my ass and jerked me forward until I was pressed against his chest.

  Mouth parted, I searched his face. There wasn’t one shred of defensiveness. He wasn’t guarded or confused about the future or dwelling on the “what ifs” of our relationship. Rick’s heart was open and exposed, as it had been for hundreds of years. He loved me.

  I lowered my mouth to his, gently melding our lips. He tilted his head and the kiss went deeper. I dug my fingers into his dark waves, wrapped my legs around his back. My tongue stroked his.

  Just when things were getting good, he gently pulled away. “It’s almost five. You should eat something,” he said.

  I narrowed my eyes but didn’t break eye contact. “Stand up and I will.”

  He swallowed hard enough that I could hear it. “You need your strength. Eat, have your bath—” Rick jumped up and ran into the bathroom where I heard him curse and turn the water off. I followed, laughing when I saw the half-inch of water on the floor around his feet. He reached into the tub and pulled the plug.

  “You think this is funny?” he asked through a smile. “It will ruin your floor.”

  With a smug grin, I tipped my head to the side and snapped my fingers. A strong wind coursed down the wall and blew the water across the floor and up the side of the porcelain tub. The toilet paper roll spun in the warm blowing air. Rick’s hair blew back, and he leaned against the sink to lift his feet. I ran my toe across the linoleum. Bone dry.

  “See? No problem,” I said. My nose began to run, and I reached up to wipe under it. My hand came away bloody. “Oh.”

  I swayed on my feet. Rick caught me around the waist and pulled me to him. “You’re still drained,” he said. “You need rest.” He propped me against the sink and re-plugged the now half-full tub of steaming water. He poured in a heavy dose of bubble bath and churned up a thick foam. “Come.”

  Taking his hand, I stepped toward him. His fingers traced the strap of my bra, then knocked it off my shoulder. I reached behind my back and unhooked the band. It dropped to the floor. “Mi cielo, please. You need rest. There will be time later.” His eyes pleaded with me.

  Reluctantly, I kept my hands to myself and finished undressing. He tied my hair up with a clip from my drawer and lowered me gingerly into the tub, folding a towel to support my head and neck. The water was cathartic, warmth seeping into my muscles. I moaned with pleasure and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Rick was slipping from the room.

  “Where are you going?” I asked

  He leaned back through the door. “Relax. I’ll be right back.”

  I closed my eyes again, and this time I allowed the warmth to carry me away.

  * * * * *

  When I woke again, my fingers were pruney and the water was lukewarm. Rick stood next to the tub with a puffy white towel in his hands.

  “How long have I been out?” I asked.

  “Maybe an hour. It took me longer than I expected.”

  “Longer than you expected to do what?”

  He extended his hand.

  I took a moment to wash my face, then rose from the water and allowed him to wrap the towel around me. As I did so, I tried to meet his lips, but he planted a kiss on my forehead.

  “Not yet,” he murmured.

  “Why?”

  He steered me out of the bathroom. Rick had transformed my bedroom into something out of a dream. Every surface was covered in red candles, the flames flickering and filling the room with warm light. He’d moved a small table into the room with a vase at the center filled with the same flowers as he’d sent me at the hospital—roses, lilies, protea, and liatris.

  “I love the flowers. How did you know?”

  “That you weren’t a fan of carnations? I’ve spent lifetimes with you, remember?”

  I crept toward the table, taking it all in. Two plates rested on either side of the flowers—lasagna, garlic bread, salad. The smell of garlic and oregano made my mouth water.

  “What is this?”

  “Do you know what day it is?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “The night after the full moon?”

  “Valentine’s Day. Our first Valentine’s Day as a couple since you’ve been back.”

  I snatched my phone from my dresser and confirmed. It was February fourteenth. “I didn’t get you anything,” I said. “I didn’t even know.”

  He swept into me like a dark wind. One of his hands pressed between my shoulder blades, the other my lower back. “All I want is you. All of you.”

  “You have me.” I searched his face. “It scares me sometimes. If you left …” I shook my head.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I know. It’s just, there’s a vulnerability that comes with loving someone. You hold who I am now—how I see myself, how I define myself—you hold it in the palm of your hand. You could crush me.”

  His lips hovered over mine, the warmth of his breath against my mouth. “I’d only be hurting myself. You see, I hold you not in my palm but deep within my heart, and if I crushed you, it would ruin that vital vessel and surely kill me.”

  I dropped the towel I was holding and dug my hand under his shirt and up his back. “Then I guess we’re stuck with each other.”

  His lips collided with mine, wanting and hungry. I shifted to take the kiss deeper. This time he didn’t stop me. I paused, breathless, to peel off his shirt, then worked my hand into the front of his pants. When I wrapped my hand around his shaft, he inhaled sharply. I allowed him to breathe in my kiss, working on his button and zipper.

  In a way no human man could accomplish, he wriggled from his jeans with a shiver of his skin I barely noticed. He stepped from them, standing fully naked before me, all lean muscle and taut skin. My breath hitched in my throat. My pulse raced. Quivering desire slithered from my nipples to the apex of my thighs.

  Grabbing hi
s hips, I pulled him toward me as I sank to sit on the bed. I took the length of him into my mouth, hot and slick, easing my tongue over his flesh. He moaned, digging his fingers in my hair. He thrust to the back of my throat. Pleasure rolled through my body, my nipples tingling, my thighs spreading to draw him closer. His lust became mine thanks to our metaphysical connection, and I sucked and stroked, losing myself in the rhythm.

  His hand coursed over my shoulder to cup my breast, kneading and pinching the nipple, while mine toyed with the heavy weights at the base of his shaft. We were close. I could feel the edge of my orgasm coming fast.

  In super speed, he shoved my shoulders back, slamming me onto the soft bed. Anticipation traveled over me, cool fingers on hot skin. Before I could draw my next breath, he’d dropped to his knees and buried his face between my thighs. Warm, wet pressure. I shattered, the orgasm causing my arms to tremble and my hands to grip the sheets. He slowed, kissing the inside of my thigh while I came down.

  Standing, he ran his hands up my legs, over my stomach. He braced himself on an elbow and teased one of my breasts. I bit my lip. With a shift of his hips, he aligned himself with me. One swift thrust filled me almost to the point of pain. I whimpered with pleasure, and ran my nails over the muscles of his back.

  Hands cradling my hips and face buried in my neck, he unhinged me. We collided in a pillar of soul-shattering light. Just when I’d caught my breath again, his lips brushed over my skin and his teeth sank into the flesh of my neck and shoulder. The air around thickened with power, sending the flames of the candles blazing three inches high. Rick drank of me, and I bit down on the flesh of the wrist he offered. Liquid orgasm, warm and intricate, coursed down my throat. I swallowed. I healed. I curled my body tighter against his.

  He didn’t disappoint. Ready again, he began to move with me.

  CHAPTER 21

  The Gilded Rooster

  “They’re going to try to wake your dad this afternoon,” Michelle said. She sat across from me at the Gilded Rooster, Red Grove’s only banquet hall.

  I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. My fingers pressed over my lips. Relieved tears streamed down my cheeks. “Is he—”

  “Breathing on his own? Yes. They’ve just kept him under so he could heal. But it’s time. Dr. Hastings said I could tell you, but he’ll call you later.”

  “Thank you. I’m so relieved.”

  Michelle frowned. “We won’t know the neurological damage until he’s awake,” she muttered.

  “I know.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this now?” she asked.

  “If we don’t decide on a menu today, it won’t get done,” I said, poking at my cucumber and tomato salad. It was the first course in our tasting menu. “I made this appointment before Dad’s attack. It just makes sense to keep it.”

  Michelle nodded. She poked at the salad but didn’t take a bite. Taking a deep breath as if she wanted to say something, she opened her mouth and paused. I looked at her pointedly. “On the topic of the fast approaching wedding date.” She lowered her voice. “Are you worried Tabetha will kill Logan after what went on with the vampires?”

  I blinked at her, my fork hovering over my neglected salad. “Seriously? Of course I’m worried, but there’s nothing I can do. I tried to talk to him, but it’s like he’s completely brainwashed. He thinks he’s in love with her.”

  “But she’s threatened to kill him, Grateful.”

  “I know.” I pressed my lips together. “Listen, Tabetha requested I turn over my territory by the spring equinox. I doubt she’ll kill him before then. If she does, she’ll lose all of her leverage. I have time. I’ll figure out a way—a spell, or enchantment—to keep him safe.”

  Michelle chased a tomato around her plate and popped it into her mouth. As she chewed, I got the sense she’d tasted the salad to get out of responding to me. I scooped up a bite and did the same. What could I say? Logan was an adult and he knew what he was getting himself into. There were limits to what I could do.

  “This is awful,” she admitted. “The cucumber is mushy and the tomatoes are flavorless.”

  I shrugged. “The Gilded Rooster is the only reception hall in Red Grove.”

  Michelle leaned her cheek into her fist and lowered her fork to her plate. “You’ve got a lot going on, Grateful. Maybe …”

  “Maybe what?”

  “Maybe you should consider delaying the wedding.”

  I shook my head. “No. I am not going to let Tabetha ruin this for me. I am getting married to Rick on the spring equinox. The wedding will be beautiful, and let’s face it, none of us will be there for the food.” I set my fork down, and a boy in suspenders and a bow tie swept by and removed our plates.

  “This place is a barn,” Michelle said. “A literal barn … with folding tables.” She leaned toward me. “You only get to do this once … well, in this lifetime. It should be special.”

  For a moment, I just stared at her, then I burst into laughter. “Believe me, Michelle, my relationship with Rick is special.” I smiled. “I wanted to have it at Valentine’s, but Logan was booked. And it would be awkward now with everything that’s happened.”

  The bow-tie boy returned with two plates. “The chicken,” he said, setting the plates down in front of us.

  “How is this prepared?” Michelle asked.

  The boy gave a little nod and said quite seriously, “In an oven.”

  I watched him walk away, my mouth hanging open. Michelle broke into belly laughs, and I joined her. I poked experimentally at the chicken. The rebound of my fork off the meat only made us laugh harder. As our laughter petered out, Michelle rested one hand on mine.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, she made a blatant statement of the obvious. “March twentieth is just more than a month away.”

  With a deep sigh, I slammed my fork down on the table. “You don’t get it, Michelle. I know this isn’t the best time to be married. I know my father might not be able to walk me down the aisle, the food might taste like rubber, and my dress might not fit perfectly. But you don’t understand.”

  “Make me,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

  “This is my life now. It’s not going to stop. There’s never going to be a good time to get married because there will always be a bad guy around every corner.”

  Michelle shook her head.

  “It’s true! In my life, the marriage is much more important than the wedding. The spring equinox is the magical apex of new beginnings. If this marriage is going to work, I need all the help I can get.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re worried it won’t happen if you wait.”

  My mouth flapped open and closed. “Don’t be silly. I can’t wait to marry Rick. We’ve never been more in love.”

  “At Gertrude’s you told me you weren’t afraid of marriage, you were afraid the relationship would fail. You want to seal the deal before anything can go wrong. You’re afraid of abandonment.”

  I bit my lip and stared at the painted concrete floor. “Stop psychoanalyzing me,” I said.

  “Grateful, marriage, even on the equinox, is not a magical binding spell. If Rick wanted to leave you, he could do it with or without the marriage license.”

  Anxiously, I tapped my foot. Why was I worried? Rick was mine in every possible way. But deep inside I knew why. He’d almost left me once. For Tabetha. He said it wasn’t romantic on his part, but time and circumstance could have changed that. What if Rick tired of me?

  My worries were irrational. We’d been together for lifetimes. He wasn’t going to leave me. Still, Michelle was right. The fear was there, as illogical as it was.

  “If it makes you feel better, you’re right.”

  Michelle grinned smugly.

  “But it’s my wedding. I’ll do it my way.” With some effort, I cut off a slice of rubbery chicken and popped it into my mouth. The sauce was indescribable. I think it was supposed to be sweet
and sour, but it had the aftertaste of lime gelatin. A facial tic started under my right eye as I forced myself to swallow.

  Raising her loaded fork to her mouth, Michelle paused to say, “It’s your party.” She popped the bite between her teeth, chewed twice, and then promptly spit it into her paper napkin.

  * * * * *

  “Welcome back, Dad.” I stood by my father’s bed while he blinked up at me trying to speak. His neck wound was healing nicely and his vitals were normal, but having your neck shredded and then a tube down your throat doesn’t do much for your voice. Dr. Hastings and Michelle had stopped the medication that afternoon, and Dad had been in and out ever since.

  He worked his lips and rasped, “Grateful?”

  I squeezed his hand. “Yeah, it’s me. Your voice will come back. Just give it time.” I brought the straw of the white Styrofoam cup on his bedside table to his lips, and he drank greedily.

  “Need to talk,” he said, although the words came out mostly air.

  “Are you in pain?”

  He shook his head and patted his throat. Becoming agitated, his eyes darted around the room. They stopped on the whiteboard hanging on the wall with the date and the names of his nurses. With effort, he raised a hand and pointed at it.

  “You want a whiteboard? To write on?”

  He nodded.

  The one he’d pointed to was permanently screwed into the wall, but they usually kept a small one for patient use in the cabinet under the window. I retrieved it, popped the cap off the marker, and arranged both in his hands.

  Danger, he scrawled. Each letter was a slow struggle. His hand shook.

  “You’re safe here, Dad. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  He shook his head and wrote, You are in above the word danger.

  “I’m in danger? Why?”

  He erased the board with the small eraser that came with the board. Not animal attack, he scrawled.

  “You weren’t attacked by an animal,” I said to show him I understood. “Do you know what attacked you?”

  He wiped the slate clean. Vampires, he wrote. Tears spilled from his eyes. Not crazy. He underlined the words three times.