TATE’S TASK
Copyright © January 2020 Lilith Darville
Editing by Maggie Morris, The Indie Editor
Cover Design by Melody Simmons
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this literary work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
While I know it’s hard for many of you to believe a romance writer doesn’t personally and actively “research” every little erotic bit, I want you to ponder whether mystery and thriller authors actually go on a killing rampage before putting pen to paper. The opinions expressed and actions taken are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s.
First Edition: January 2020
LilithDarville.com
Contents
Prologue
1. — Francis —
2. — Tate —
3. — Francis —
4. — Tate —
5. — Francis —
6. — Tate —
7. — Francis —
8. — Tate —
9. — Francis —
10. — Tate —
11. — Francis —
12. — Tate —
13. — Francis —
14. — Tate —
15. — Francis —
16. — Tate —
17. — Francis —
18. — Tate —
19. — Francis —
20. — Tate —
21. — Nameless —
22. — Tate —
23. — Francis —
24. — Tate —
25. — Francis —
Books by Lilith Darville
Michele – I miss you so! I kept my promise. . .
Celestial E-message
To:Hera, Queen of Olympus & Goddess of Marriage
From:Zeus, King of Olympus & God of the Sky
Date:Celestial time
Subject: re: New Headmistress for the Sexy Sins Academy
Hot damn, sweetheart. That’s the best show I’ve seen in a long while. She’s sure a chip off the old block.
__________
To:Zeus
From:Hera
Date:Celestial time
Subject: re: New Headmistress for the Sexy Sins Academy
Don’t sweetheart me, Zeus. I still haven’t forgiven or forgotten your tryst with that little mortal of yours.
__________
To:Hera
From:Zeus
Date:Celestial time
Subject: re: New Headmistress for the Sexy Sins Academy
I want her back. Period. It’s that, or the golden shackles await. See that it’s done. Aphrodite will be some pissed—just saying. You get to handle that fallout.
Keep me posted!
__________
To:Hades
From:Zeus
Date:Celestial time
Subject: re: New Headmistress for the Sexy Sins Academy
Consider yourself warned.
__________
To:Zeus
From:Hades
Date:Celestial time
Subject: re: New Headmistress for the Sexy Sins Academy
Or what, bro? Last time I checked, that little headmistress has free will, and if she’s the chip off the old block you say she is, you have nothing to worry about.
1
— Francis —
“Francis!” Tate’s voice rings sharp and insistent through the murky darkness. I turn toward the sound as my preternatural vision adjusts to the nothingness. How the hell did the wee shite get through the portal? Mo chridhe.
“Oh, there you are. Is this purgatory?” Tate’s voice plants itself in my head.
“No, it’s the Fade, which is more like a corridor between Bardo and the Nyx, a place of absolute oblivion.” A silver thread of light encircles my wrist and has snagged Tate’s unity brand, linking us, but the light flickers as wisps of black smoke weave around it. “You have to get out of here.” I’m fading fast into the eternal coma, the Nyx, the particles of my body barely holding form. “You’ve got to get out of here now. You’re in danger here.” My thoughts join strength with my urgency, giving me a slight foothold in the Fade.
“I’m not leaving without you.” Tate takes hold of the ether circling the light thread and holds on tight, pulling me to her at the same time as she silently screams Bob’s name. A strong shaft of light breaks through the shadow and wraps around her unity brand like a cuff. With a final yank on the light thread, she grabs my hand and pulls me in her wake. An instant later, we’re lying on the kitchen’s slate floor.
“I’ve got him.” Caleb’s dependable voice sounds strong and true through the fog. Then, his astral energy manipulation ether encases me, precariously holding me from slipping back into the Fade.
“He absorbed too much power from the incubus, and that can be fatal. We’ve got to help him and fast.” Robert’s ether brushes over me. “Gods damn, it’s not working. Hang on there, buddy.” Robert’s hazy form shimmers beside me.
“Is he melting or something? What’s happening?” Tate sounds on the verge of panic, and I wish there were something I could do to ease her fear.
“When Francis absorbs another being’s power, he loses layers of his corporeal being. That’s the trade-off of going up against evil spirits,” Caleb says. “We have very little time.”
“What do we need to do?” Tate asks.
The voices blend together as I fade almost welcoming the idea of oblivion.
“Can you get a drop of your blood into his mouth?” Bob says. “That might be enough to allow his fangs to descend so he can join with you. It’s the only way he can get enough ether to save him.”
“I can do that.” My Gianna’s voice is relieved, hopeful, and jolts me right out of my self-pity. I latch on to a thread of ether and hang on for dear life, waiting for her blood.
“It might kill you.” Bob is right to put Gianna’s welfare before mine. Even thinking of the risk of feeding on her is enough to make the bonds that hold my form together weaken.
“If I don’t try, it will definitely kill him, right? Are you all right with this?”
“He’s fading!” Caleb’s alarm makes my heart ache.
“Save him, Tate. We’ll figure out the rest later.” Robert’s penetrating voice breaks through the fog. “Open your mouth, Francis.”
I struggle against the inviting pull of the void and open my mouth a crack.
“Give me your hand, Tate,” Caleb says. “I’ve shifted my hand. I can open your vein with a claw.”
“Ouch. Godsdammit.” My Gianna’s melodic voice drifts into what consciousness I have left, and I lean toward it. Hot moisture hits my lips. Seconds later, energy surges through me, and my fangs descend, blocking out the moaning coming from the woman before me. Blocking out everything but the need to have her, take her essence. I rear up and sink my fangs in the side of her neck, groaning as the symbiotic exchange of our fluids pulls me back toward this realm. I take a long pull on her blood, letting her energy surge through me. Someone wrenches my head back.
“Enough, Francis! It’s working. Get ready, Bob. He’ll take her hard. I’ll keep her warm. You breathe ether into her.” Caleb’s voice barely registers as my Gianna’s sweet nectar hits my bloodstream.
I rip off her clothes and set her on the fleshy chair holding her. I spread her legs and plunge into her, blind to anything but stop
ping the pull of the Fade waiting to take me to the Nyx. My Gianna screams as I ram into her and spreads her legs wider.
As her essence coats my cock, energy continues to surge through me until my corporeal form solidifies. I open my eyes, blind to anything but my Gianna taking large, gulping breaths of sunlit ether coming from somewhere behind my shoulder. Her eyes fasten on mine, and I almost drown in the mixture of love and pain coming at me. Yet at my gaze, she relaxes and locks her legs around my hips, lets me take what I need. I fuck her with the violence of passion stored for over four hundred years, accept the healing I’ve needed for centuries.
With each thrust and breath, the ether works its magic. My body rebuilds its form. I howl as pain and pleasure course through me. It’s happening. Golden ether slips under my skin, rebuilding my unity brand and winding it tightly together with Tate’s, driving me to rut even harder, claim her in a way I’ve never been able to for all these centuries. Gianna’s moans form a backdrop of distant music as our destiny is realized.
Gianna’s hips meet me thrust for thrust, just as they had that one glorious day centuries ago when I’d taken her . . . and taken her life. But I’m too far into the grip of unity heat to let the usual crippling fear take hold. I will never again cause her death. Her cunt locks around my cock, and I lose myself to the ride.
A flood of passion, restrained for centuries, builds behind my balls, gaining pressure with each thrust. It bursts forth as pleasure washes through my system, another thing I haven’t felt for centuries. I howl again, insensible from the sheer force of it.
My memory returns the instant I snap back to consciousness. Slipping into the Fade and almost sliding into the Nyx seems to have broken, or at the very least weakened, the cloaking spell Aphrodite put on me. It was either that or the unity brand now throbbing on my left wrist. A feeling of deep calm settles into my vampire heart—we are together again at last . . . And this time, I’m not going to let Sir Robert sard things up. It is time he puts the needs of the whole ahead of his deeply selfish need to remain first in Tate’s heart. For centuries, we’ve let him get away with this. Well, no more.
I lie perfectly still as I take my bearing. Tate’s warm back rests along the side of my body. Her ether licks its healing magic through my body, wiping away the last vestiges of power drain.
“Sprite. Babe.” Robert’s insistent whisper penetrates the fog. Her body moves against mine as he jostles her. “Wake up.”
Tate, my Gianna, groans and shifts beside me. “Please, babe. Stop shaking me. I’m awake.” Tate releases a huge yawn followed by a sigh.
“Sorry. You okay?” Robert’s concern blows away the last of my fog, and I open up my empathic sense. The tenuous telepathic link is now solid, and I can read every one of Tate’s thoughts. My Gianna is okay, but hurting. She also burns with lust.
Tate snuggles closer to Robert, which shoves her ass squarely into my erection. I lie perfectly still, barely breathing. Breathing? Shite. I am indeed. It’s been a century since I’ve had enough ether to breathe. Ether is the life-essence that’s fed me since I ascended to Bardo. Not only that, the insistent throbbing on the inside of my left wrist is another thing I haven’t felt for centuries.
I hold back the whoop of joy threatening to break from my chest. I crack my eyelids and slowly turn my wrist, careful not to signal my return to consciousness, and another surge of joy bolts through my heart. My unity brand is clearly formed, my bud deep red and waiting to open. And if the insistent ache is any indication, it needs feeding.
“Is he okay?” Robert asks.
Tate lies very still for a moment, no doubt getting a read on the state of my well-being. Then, she carefully moves her butt away from my throbbing cock.
I want more, but that will have to wait. Wait until I show my Gianna what I wanted to all those years ago. I will court her until those eyes and her thighs open wide, begging me to take her, make her mine. Memories slam into me. We are a clan, all five of us. Our spirits have collided through the centuries—the image of five of us sprawled in a fifteenth-century boudoir flashes into my mind. Once we met, there was no separating us. We took a blood oath to put the needs of the clan above all things. Inevitably, we joined in all the love roles—familial, sexual, spiritual, but we’d stayed linked, weaving in and out of each other’s lives.
“If the hard-on he has is any indication, he’s just fine,” Tate hisses.
Robert chuckles. “That is so you. Gods how I missed you.” The bed moves as he lies on his back and pulls Tate into the crook of his arm. “About that hard-on . . . Are you okay with what happened last night?” And there it is, the trait that keeps us cycling through lifespans, unable to complete the last trial needed to unite us for all eternity. Robert does not share well. Never has. He had her first and has insisted on being first ever since. If and when he’s willing to share, he has to call the shots.
It started with the three of us in the court of Henry II in 1557, while I was still human. The man Tate calls Bob, my Gianna, and me. We’d been inseparable and loved the debauchery running through the French royal court. We fucked and romped our way through the courts of France, Scotland, and England for several years before King Louis and religious piety hit with all kinds of outrageous laws against debauchery and loose women. We’d been caught mid-coitus, and, at a time when women were charged with all things evil, the court tried and convicted Gianna of adultery and witchcraft. Those beautiful eyes had locked on Robert’s and mine as they tied her to a cross and lit the wood surrounding her.
You are mine for all time. She didn’t make a sound as the flames licked up her body, but her internal screams almost brought us to our knees.
Without question or hesitation, we’d walked up the platform and linked hands. Our flesh fused together as the flames consumed us. We are yours for all time.
Bob, Gianna, and I ascended to Bardo for what turned out to be the first level of the eight that had to be completed before our souls could unite and ascend to Nirvana, together for all time. A big black hole yawns open as I try to remember just what happened that first time in Bardo, but my next memory is of losing them . . . and spending the next couple of hundred years trying to find them.
Tate’s worried thoughts break through my reverie. Shit. He senses my attraction to Francis. Gods, what’s happening to me? Oh, gods, what is that burning heat? I need to quench it. I need Francis . . . Focus, Tate. Bob first.
Robert’s body went from relaxed to vibrating with tension in the short time I’d trotted down memory lane. Yes, indeed, there it is. And Tate feels it, too. His need to be first.
“What do you mean, am I okay with what happened last night, babe?” says Tate, her voice casual, but seeming carefully so.
“I mean, how do you feel about fucking him last night?” Robert’s equally casual tone can’t hide his underlying jealousy. As a bonded clansman, he can’t hide it from me. We were imprinted with each other in the same way that Caleb has imprinted on our Gianna. We are unconditionally bound throughout eternity. Bob and I might never have had sexual feelings for each other, but we have otherwise been the most intimate of friends. It is a deep bond of love that cannot be broken.
He is no doubt praying I am asleep because he knows what would be coming otherwise. We talked about it when he ascended this time around while we waited for his Tate and our Gianna to arrive. Now that the spell blocking my memory is gone, it has all come back to me. We keep being sent back to repeat the Eros—Romantic Love—level because our Robert can’t let go.
It’s time that we set Sir Robert, Lord and Master, straight once and for all. He will not sard this up for us this time.
2
— Tate —
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. And I don’t mean that’s what I’m doing . . . Although every single pore in my naked body wants to be doing just that as I lie between these two very hot men. I immediately squash the thought. I can sense Francis stirring beside me despite the fact that he hasn’t moved a neuron. But something
deep within me flares alive, and a burning hunger gathers in my core. And Bob can sense it.
He’s added a couple of refinements to that moody temperament of his, so who the fuck knows how he’ll respond if he gets jealous. When Bob’s temper flares, it isn’t a pretty sight. Oh, it’s not as if he gets violent—he’s always walked away from trouble. Instead, he uses his rapier tongue and wit to reduce his victim to an amoeba in thirteen seconds flat. Thank gods I’ve only had the dubious pleasure of being on the receiving end twice in our time together, both cringeworthy moments.
I know from experience that Bob’s “I mean how do you feel about fucking him last night?” isn’t a casual question. It’s like the first serve of a Wimbledon tennis match. And now I’m compelled to tell the truth. Not that I lie to Bob. I don’t. One of our two wedding vows was honesty, and I haven’t broken it since. However, I have been known to dance around an emotional truth or two, and this is certainly one that’s going to test my dancing chops. I snuggle against his tense body and finger the fine hairs on his chest.
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