Her Vampire Lord

by Ines Johnson

  Ma petite minou, it begins. I blush now that I know what that word means. The man is brazen to use it as an endearment. But my minou warms at the mention.

  In the note, he tells me that he didn’t want to wake me. He stayed with me as long as he could, but he has obligations for the day. He tells me I’m beautiful. And then the bastard tells me that I snore prettily.

  Delight and agitation war within me. I shouldn’t feel any of this. The truth is, I don’t know what I should be feeling. I experienced more pleasure last night than most women feel in a lifetime. I am no longer in that seventy-five percent of women who don’t orgasm. I’m pretty sure I’m now in the top one percentile who can have multiple orgasms. Definitely one of few who have gotten off with a paintbrush.

  At the end of the note, he tells me that a driver is waiting outside to take me home. And then he requests the pleasure of my attendance at sundown, like he is some French courtier who is wooing me. The man confounds me. At times, his manners seem so out of place with the present, like he was cut from an ancient cloth. And then in the next moment, he tosses me down and buries his head, or his fingers, or some device, between my thighs and whispers the filthiest things in my ear.

  Gaius Serrano does not woo; he takes. He should be done playing with me. What more do I have to offer him?

  I dress, pulling on my skirt and shirt from the other day. They are hanging neatly on a closet door. I can’t help myself. I peer inside.

  It’s clear the man likes decadence judging by the expensive fashion in his closet. Everything is name brand with signs of tailoring. There are exquisite paintings on the walls.

  Three men dressed in Roman togas standing on a vineyard. The males bear a striking resemblance to the three Serrano brothers. Next to the Roman rendition is a portrait of the same three men, this time in Renaissance flare. They, too, stand in a vineyard. A final painting clearly depicts Gaius and his brothers in suits. But something is off about the suits. They look vintage.

  At the bottom of the third painting, I make out a signature. It is in the same script as the note Gaius left me. Did he paint these pictures? The man has some talent. No wonder that paintbrush seduced me.

  The silence in the house is eerie. Though it's fully furnished with extravagant decor, it feels like a crypt. A chilly breeze follows me down the halls, like when I’m walking in a graveyard. There’s no life moving, but my spirit doesn’t feel alone.

  Outside the front door is a sleek town car. The driver inside is napping. He rouses to attention when I pull open the back door. I curl into the backseat as he pulls away from the Serrano vineyard, feeling sedate and full of energy at the same time.

  Halfway home, I nearly tell the driver to turn around. The closer I get to my property, the less sedate I feel. With each passing mile, a to-do list grows in my head. I turn on my phone to open a checklist app when an alert pops on my screen.

  It’s an email from my accountant. He’s attached a ledger that shows one hundred shares of Durand Vineyard are now in my possession.

  I refresh the screen, certain I’m reading that wrong.

  But no. There it is. Fifty-five shares were transferred into my name early this morning. Not the five Gaius had acceded to.

  So that’s it? We are done? There is no more need to play this game, so why does he want to see me tonight? For the pleasure of my attendance?

  The car pulls to a stop outside my home. I climb out of the back before the driver can come around to open the door. Instead of going inside, I trudge around to the vineyard.

  It’s late in the day. The harvesters are already here, catching a bit of daylight as they begin to pluck the grapes from the vines. They’re in the furthest pasture. Looking around, I see that most of the vines are bare of fruit. It normally takes a couple of weeks at least to clear these pastures. At this rate, they’ll be done in a couple of days.

  I take sure steps on the fertile soil, the stems of my vintage heels never once sticking in the earth. It’s as though the vineyard knows I’m back in command.

  I pause as I come up to the group of women bent over baskets. They’re all dressed in colorful blouses and skirts. Each of their hair is a plaited braid of ebony. All of their skin is a dark honey gold, a few shades richer than mine.

  The woman closest to me lifts her head and meets my gaze. She is older. I can only tell that by the crow’s feet at the edges of her eyes. She has no gray, and no wrinkles otherwise. She simply looks as though she’s seen far more years than her fit body lets on.

  She opens her mouth to speak, but a male voice cuts her off.

  “Yes, Ms. Durand? What can I do for you?”

  I turn to see one of the few males who have come with the group this harvest. The men, too, all share the same ebony hair with plaits. Though they don’t dress in such colorful clothing. Unlike the women, the males all wear dark pants and dark t-shirts. They look more like a security detail than migrant workers. I’m fairly certain this is the same man who spoke so tersely to me just a few days ago.

  “Where’s Zahara?” I ask, wanting to take the man down a notch, but also, not wanting to give him the time of day. I shouldn’t fire him just because I think he’s a chauvinist pig.

  I could, though. Because I’m the boss.

  “Zahara is indisposed today.”

  I don’t like the tone of his voice. He makes the word indisposed sound like she’s been a naughty girl and is in time out.

  “I have a business matter to discuss with her,” I say.

  “You can deal with me.”

  “I prefer to speak with management,” I say, looking him up and down. “Not the middle man.”

  The sun is setting but I feel a wave of heat brush my shoulders. A low growl sounds from somewhere close. There are mountain lions in these parts. A few jaguars have been known to walk the land as well. But too many humans dot the fields for them to make an appearance.

  When I give the man before me back my attention, his eyes are narrowed slits. His mouth is pinched in disgust. His nose is wrinkled as though he smells something foul on my person.

  He opens his mouth to speak, his lips set in a snarl. But a feminine voice cuts him off.

  “Zahara isn’t feeling well today, Ms. Durand,” says the older woman—Itzel, I believe her name is. She’s still on the ground, her head down, her gaze averted. “She is resting.”

  I don’t believe Itzel. But it’s clear she’s trying to break the tension between me and the male. I also get the sense that she’s trying to protect Zahara. If I find out it's from this man, I will not hesitate to call the authorities. I know Zahara has all the correct paperwork to be here. I don’t know about this man, and I couldn’t care less if he ends up in an ICE detention facility with his attitude.

  “When Zahara is feeling better, would you tell her that I’d like to see her?”

  It’s a furtive move, but I see her glance out the corner of her eye at the male. “Of course, Ms. Durand.”

  I plaster on a friendly, non-combative smile. It makes my teeth hurt. “Thank you both. Thank you all for the hard work you’ve done this season. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  The man’s shoulders relax a fraction in response to my dulcet tones. He nods and then turns on his heel, but he doesn’t go far.

  I bend down to examine a vine. My gaze fixed on the plant, I pitch my voice. “If she’s in trouble, you can tell me. I’ll help.”

  A small smile plays at Itzel’s mouth. It reminds me so much of Zahara’s hard-won grins. I wonder if this is her aunt?

  “It’s nothing like that,” she says. Her gaze turns discerning, as though she’s trying to determine if she can reveal a secret. “Zahara is expecting.”

  Oh? That’s not what I was expecting to hear. My gaze slides over to the man. He has his back to us, but I get the eerie feeling that he can hear us even though we are whispering.

  “Does she need anything?” I try to push every possible meaning into that one word.

 
“No.” Itzel smiles sadly. “She is simply doing what she was born to do.”

  I don’t believe that. I don’t believe that women were solely born to bear children. But I’ve stepped on enough cultural norms today.

  I make my way back to the house. I don’t have much time before the sun sets and my own gentleman will come calling. There’s mounds of paperwork to do and plans to make now that the business is back under my full control.

  Instead of going to my office, I decide to take the rest of the day off. The notion of taking a rare day to myself isn’t what surprises me. The fact that I don’t feel an ounce of guilt does.

  22

  Gaius

  “I’d rather a witch over a shaman,” I say.

  “I’d rather neither,” says Hadrian.

  I’ve told my brothers of the magical interference happening in our vine roots. We knew the previous owner had had problems with his crops, but we’d assumed it was due to his own ignorance. Together, my brothers and I have hundreds of years of knowledge and experience making all terrains of soil yield to our will. But this is our first curse.

  “If we do nothing, the entire crop will die. We’ll lose millions.”

  “We have billions.” Hadrian shrugs. “Besides, I’d rather go home. This Arizona dry heat makes me itch.”

  “Do you think Cari will want to leave her sister?”

  Hadrian grinds his molars. He’s too busy teeth-gnashing to see that my hand balls into a fist at the thought of leaving Cari’s sister. The sun set over an hour ago, and I’m itching to get to Marechal. But family first.

  “The Alpha wolf in these territories is mated to a seer,” I say. “I’ll reach out through Frangelico, see if she can help us.”

  “Fine.” Hadrian pushes off his chair. “If that’s all—”

  “That is not all.” I raise my hand to stay him. “There is still the matter of the upcoming festivities at Club Toxic.”

  Hadrian slumps back in his chair with a huff. I look to Virius on the other side of the room.

  “I won’t go,” Viri huffs. He sits on a wine barrel and crosses his arms over his chest. “You know I hate parties.”

  I try to rein in my annoyance at my brother. Viri would look like a petulant child if he weren’t dressed in jeans and cowboy chaps, and a t-shirt that depicts Crazy Horse, a Native American legend. As usual, the top half of his attire is at odds with the bottom half. Sending him as an emissary to greet a congregation of vampire royalty is not the best idea, but it’s the only one I have.

  “Someone needs to greet the envoy,” I say.

  “Send Hadrian,” says Viri.

  “He has to watch Cari.”

  “I can watch Cari,” said Viri.

  From the corner of the room, Hadrian growls at that. Newly mated vampires do not take well to other males being alone with their women. Not even their brothers.

  “What?” says Viri. “You think I’ll fuck her? I lost my taste for cunt after the last Inquisition. I haven’t had a cockstand in two centuries. I think it might be broken.”

  Viri tugs at the waistband of his jeans and peers inside.

  “Do not take that out,” I warn.

  “He needs to look at it and see for himself,” Viri says in his most helpful tone.

  Hadrian hops up from the chair and backs away. Viri follows his brother around the room, holding his junk for inspection.

  “I’m not looking at your prick,” Hadrian shouts.

  “It’s not even hard enough to prick something,” Viri insists. “Look. See for yourself. I’m no threat to Cari.”

  “Put it away, Virius.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is my life. For the last couple of centuries, I’d been the only one interested in cunt. Both Hadrian and Virius were too broken to even look at women. Now, I have no interest in any cunt but one.

  I let my mind drift back to just before dawn. I’d stayed up as long as possible, watching Marechal sleep. Hers was the slumber of a very satisfied woman.

  I couldn’t sleep at all. I could hardly blink. I didn’t want to miss a second of her lying in my bed.

  With her comatose, I took her hand and pressed it to my face. Her fingertips weren’t all softness. There were a few ridges from hard work.

  As she dozed, I ran her fingertips over my forehead. Pressed them against my eyelids. Held them to my lips. I could not get enough of her touch, and while she slept, I allowed myself to overdose on the sensations.

  How had I lived centuries without this feeling? Letting my cheek rest in the palm of her hand, I felt certain I could fall asleep just like that. I didn’t. I didn’t want to miss a second of the feeling.

  So I simply lay there with her. Holding her hand to me. Gazing down upon her softened features. Listening to the soft snore that tickled her nostrils.

  Once day began to break, I held out for as long as possible. But the sun’s pull was powerful. I rose from the bed and crawled under it. Slipping into my crypt beneath the bed, I could still smell her. With the scent of her in my nostrils, I slipped into my first dreamless sleep in years.

  “If Cari touched my cock, it would glide against her hand. Not prick her.”

  Hadrian, who had been tracing away from Viri, halts. He becomes fully corporeal as he does an about-face. “You want to rub your tiny dick on my woman?”

  “My dick isn’t tiny. You’d know, if you took a moment to look at it.”

  Hadrian roars, preparing to pounce on his brother. I trace between the two, placing a firm hand on Hadrian’s chest to keep him from murdering Virius. I take care not to touch Viri anywhere at the moment. Hadrian’s fangs are dripping. Virius is too busy eyeing his junk to notice.

  “New idea,” I say. “Hadrian, why don’t you take Cari, and the two of you go to greet the envoy?”

  Hadrian takes a deep breath, putting his fangs away. Virius looks up, finally putting his junk back in his jeans.

  “I don’t know,” says Hadrian. “She’s still so young.”

  “She’ll be around other shifters and vampires,” I say. “She can’t hurt them. Much.”

  We have only been in the country for less than a year, but every supernatural creature has heard of Lucius Frangelico’s All Soul’s events. The parties at his club are legendary, calling vampire royalty from all over the world to come to see for themselves.

  Since Frangelico is heading out of town on a honeymoon with his new bride, he asked that we help his lieutenants greet some of that royalty. Any other time, I would be delighted to play politics with the high-fanged. But my attention is diverted.

  Partly to the issue of our rotting vines.

  Mostly to when I can get my hands back on Marechal Durand. And have her hands on me.

  “All this so you can stay and check on the vines?” says Hadrian.

  “He’s not checking on the vines. He’s going to wet his wick with Marechal.” Virius goes to the fridge behind the bar and rummages through the blood bags in there. “Didn’t you hear them last night?”

  Now I want to chase the man around the room, but I doubt Hadrian will hold me back. Because Hadrian will likely be chasing after me.

  “I told you not to toy with Marechal,” says Hadrian. “She’s your sister.”

  I hold up my hand, palm facing out, to halt that nonsense. “Marechal is not my sister. She’s…”

  The two males wait for me to finish. Hadrian crosses his arms over his chest like he’s preparing to protect his bride’s sister. Viri holds the blood bag to his lips, as though preparing for a toast.

  I lose the train of my sentence. I’m not sure where I was just headed. I don’t have the word for what Marechal is to me.

  “If you hurt Cari’s sister, you will be hearing about it from her for centuries,” says Hadrian. “This is why I told you not to toy with Marechal.”

  “I’m not toying with her,” I insist.

  “He’s not,” Viri agrees. “She slept here last night. In his bed. With him beside her. And she wasn�
��t tied down.”

  I turn on Viri. “You spied on us.”

  Viri shrugs. “I had a nightmare.”

  My compassion for my brother wars with my ire at him coming into my room when I was with Marechal. Though I’m not sure when he did. I was awake nearly all night.

  “You didn’t hear me when I came in,” Viri says after a swig of the blood bag. “You were asleep. I’ve never seen you sleep that deeply. I’ve never seen you sleep with someone. Other than the times Domitia crucified you to the bed, of course.”

  A shudder goes through the room at the mention of her name. Hadrian rubs the black ring on his left finger. Cari had insisted on wedding rings. Viri downs the rest of the blood. I scratch at my palms, remembering what the stakes felt like when Domitia had pinned me down.

  “That’s the second time Marechal was here,” says Hadrian. “You never do repeats.”

  I don’t. There are far too many women to sample. And here I am, anxious to return to this one tonight. So much so that I’m willing to neglect my duties.

  “What’s going on with you?” Hadrian looks me in the eye. From the rise of his brow, I know I’m not hiding my feelings.

  “I just want her again. I didn’t get enough the last time.”

  “Of her blood?”

  “I didn’t drink from her. I just… want to be with her.”

  To feel her underneath me. To feel her hands on me. To be inside her.

  My two brothers eye me. Not with suspicion. Not with pity. With awe.

  “What?” I say.

  “Do you think… could this be…” But Hadrian trails off.

  “What?” I demand.

  “He thinks you’re falling in love with her,” says Viri.

  The sound of something crashing outside the door turns all our heads around.

  “That would be Cari,” says Hadrian. “She’s probably calling Marechal right now. You won’t catch her. Best to go face Marechal with this.”

  But is that what I’m feeling? Love? I’ve never felt the like before. Not for anyone but my brothers.