The Invisible Entente: a prequel novella

by Krista Walsh

I smiled. “That sounds perfect.”

  He leaned forward to give the driver new directions, and I rested my hand over his on his thigh. He jerked back — only a momentary reaction — and I heard the hint of a moan in the back of his throat that told me tonight’s conquest would be simple.

  A few minutes later, the cab pulled up in front of Jermaine’s loft, and he jumped to the pavement before it came to a complete stop. He went around to pay the driver and opened my door, offering a hand to help me out.

  I accepted, ran my thumb over the center of his palm, and enjoyed the way goosebumps broke out over his skin. I basked in the waves of desire emanating from him.

  He led me into the foyer of his building, and as soon as he slid the cage door of the elevator shut behind us, I pressed myself against him and trailed my fingers over his neck, just over the collar of his shirt.

  “I hope you don’t feel I am being too forward,” I purred.

  “Not at all,” he replied, with only the slightest stammer under the huskiness.

  “There is something about you. Something I cannot put my finger on. But it drew me to you from across the room.”

  I spoke with my lips near his and brushed against them, tasting his heat.

  “I believe the word you’re looking for,” he caught my bottom lip between his teeth, “is power.”

  The hesitant, awkward man disappeared, and a stronger one pushed me up against the wall with a kiss so deep my legs trembled. He wound one hand around the base of my neck while the other clutched my hip, drawing me closer, leaving no gaps between us.

  I twisted my fingers in his thick brown hair and cast my mind out over his. Every iota of his passion washed over me, ran over my skin and through my blood. I was immersed in the heat of him, drowning and soaring all at once. My body tingled with the energy — so much more intense for having touched him.

  The elevator pinged, and he slid the cage open without breaking the kiss. He guided me down the hall, trailing hard kisses down my neck as I grabbed at his T-shirt. We stopped long enough for him to unlock his door and pull me inside, then his hot lips returned to my mouth and his hands fumbled with the zipper on my dress. I kicked the door shut behind me, tugged off his jacket, and yanked his T-shirt over his head, moaning against the warmth of his arms.

  I wished I knew what it was about him that made him smell so delicious. He left a craving in me I had not experienced since my first, and I hoped he would be as satisfying as he tasted.

  He boosted me up onto his hips and carried me into the bedroom. I appreciated his focus. I didn’t want him to pause the proceedings to offer me the aforementioned beer and leftovers. I would feed soon enough.

  He toppled us both onto the bed, and his hands were all over me as he shimmied my dress down to my ankles — not the most graceful act, but full of an urgency that drove me closer to the brink. The buzz of his skin set every inch of me on fire, my blood burning with want. Pleasure and desire burst in tiny explosions throughout my body as he pressed against me, his muscles tensed, his shoulders rolling up to his ears as he braced his arms on either side of me. Every time he tried to work his way between my legs, I pushed him back, attempted to get on top — a power play that amused me until my hunger grew tired of the delay.

  Grabbing his shoulders, I flipped him over and forced him onto his back, and the surprise on his face told me I had gone too far and given myself away. Unfortunately for him, I was past play time, and he was out of any time at all.

  I wriggled my hips and watched the debate in his eyes — the desire to lose himself in the moment versus the knowledge that something was wrong. I loved that part. In another moment or two, as I came closer to my peak, he would start to fight. He would try to buck me off and get away, and the fear would add just a hint of acidity to the taste of him. Enough to offer some zest, but not ruin the dish. Some of my kind hated it, preferred to take their meals at the height of pleasure, but that was too sweet for me. I needed some fight.

  The sound of his heartbeat thrummed in my ears, and the salt of his sweat rolled over my tongue as I ran it over his chest.

  The pressure inside me grew, my own heart racing as I built toward climax, and I raised myself up to stare down at him, gripping his wrists to keep him still. His face sharpened in my vision, each pore clear and defined as my eyes changed. By the awareness filling his expression, Jermaine had noticed.

  But there was more than fear in those brown eyes. There was recognition.

  As I raised my guard, bracing myself, my skin prickled with a surge of magic that burned my hands where I touched him. I jerked away, and he raised his hands to send a ball of electricity shooting toward me. I dodged out of the way in time, grabbing the sheet to shield myself. The cotton caught fire, and I dropped the sheet on him, throwing myself off the bed as he flailed to quench the flames.

  The instinct to fight for his life was strong, but he had underestimated me. More than anything, I required my secrecy. I had to feed, and if he spread word of what I was, I would starve. I wanted to survive as much as he did. Launching myself at him, I grabbed his face and dug my thumbs into his eyes, squeezing as he tried to pull free. Another blast of energy, this one weaker but still forceful, caught me in the chest, and I flew against the wall, the back of my head cracking against the plaster. I dropped to the floor to avoid another attack, and the wall blew out behind me.

  I leapt at him again, but he moved faster and grasped my hair, and the tug of my roots shot pain into my skull. He yanked me back onto the bed and kept his grip tight. Something cold and sharp moved against my throat, and for the moment, I thought it best to remain still.

  “Warlock,” I spat. “I should have recognized that particular stench you carried.”

  “And I should have known you were nothing but a goddamn succubus.”

  “Why? Because no other woman has ever been so eager to get into your bed?”

  The pressure on my hair tightened, and I grunted with pain.

  “I should kill you,” he said, and I heard a soft inhale as he breathed in the scent of me.

  “I would very much like to see you try.”

  “Either way, you’re missing out on this meal.”

  “Something I have already accepted. Although it is a shame. A man like you would have kept me fed for months. Such power. Such virility.”

  I stroked the inside of his thigh and felt him twitch beneath me. His grip on my hair loosened and he ran his fingers through the strands, arching his back so he pressed against me.

  Then he froze, which made me smile. To feel men struggle against their desire always entertained me.

  “So what do you propose?” I asked. “You know my secret, but I do not know you. I have no reason to trust you. Without trust, my options are limited.”

  Jermaine chuckled. “I know the secrets of every supernatural in this city. I make it a point to know. The only reason I didn’t pick up on you right away is because you’re from out of town. That right?”

  I smiled. “I am from nowhere. Settling down is not good practice for women like me.”

  “No, I guess not. My point is I keep secrets. No use spreading them around when keeping them assures me allies when I need them.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You mean blackmail.”

  “I don’t like to think of it that way. It’s not like they don’t have anything on me. That balance is how this city functions.”

  “So you suggest I walk away? That I put my trust in you, try to forget the temptation of the taste of you, and believe everything will work out all right?”

  “I want to keep my soul, you want to keep your secret. Sounds like an even trade to me. But I’ll tell you what — the day I let your secret slip is the day you can come back and polish me off.” I felt him smile against my cheek at the double entendre. “Do we have a deal?”

  I weighed my choices. Yes, he knew what I was, but he was by no means an innocent flower himself.

  A trickle of relief, starting at the base o
f my skull, flowed down around my heart, through my belly, and between my legs. I smiled, thinking that as much as I needed to feed, I could think of a few other ways to pass my time.

  Sliding my hand up between us, hearing Jermaine’s breath hitch, I said, “Perhaps I could be persuaded to let you go, but my demands would be very high.”

  He chuckled and ran his fingers over my stomach toward my neck and cupped his hand around my throat.

  “I don’t normally negotiate with people who have tried to kill me, but with you, I might be willing to make an exception.”

  With a moan, I grabbed his hair and pulled him down for a kiss.

  *****************

  Silence met the end of Allegra’s story. An aching warmth hung in the air.

  The human girl spoke first, her face void of expression. “That was… graphic. Seriously. I don’t think I was legally old enough to hear that story.”

  “Not to mention — just like all the other stories spouted around this table — it sounds like a bunch of malarkey,” said Daphne. She adopted a falsetto and exaggerated accent. “‘I didn’t kill him, I just gave him the little death.’ Bullshit.”

  “Such poetry!” said Antony, his smirk wide.

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” Daphne shot back. “I knew the guy, and nothing would have induced me to sleep with him.”

  Allegra grinned. “And unfortunately, now you will never get the chance. He was so good, I would not have minded a second go.”

  Gabe chuckled. “It’d be easy to believe you’re trying to distract us from the real story by pandering to our more primal sensibilities.”

  She flashed her smile in his direction. “I confess part of my goal was to put images in your mind of what I am capable of doing.”

  “You were always one of the more skilled in the family,” Antony said flatly, and Allegra laughed.

  “Credit where credit is due, brother. Your skills always rivaled mine.”

  The human girl released a soft groan. “Another soul-eating sex monster?”

  Vera extended her hand. “Would you care to go next?”

  Antony’s bright smile, as sly and alluring as his sister’s, grew, and he shifted his weight to switch the leg he draped over his knee.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint everyone, but I have the most mundane tale out of all of us. Mine doesn’t even involve a fight.”

  “Indulge us, brother,” Allegra drawled.

  7

  *****************

  Antony Rossi

  We met at a bar. It was Sunday night and between sports seasons, so only the regular drunks were around, slumped over the bar in various stages of inebriation, a few of them sobbing over past woes or railing against the causes of all their troubles. The same pathetic specimens one finds at all similar establishments.

  I wasn’t there to join them. Alcohol rarely held any appeal for me, and the stench of the fleshy barstool extensions was nearly enough to drive me back into the rain, but I needed the escape. Work had been long and loud; my apartment felt no less loud for its silence. At least the bar had energy, a quiet hum that buzzed through my veins and made me feel alive. And hungry.

  When he walked in, he looked just as out of place among the refuse as I did. Yet he greeted the bartender by name and sank onto the far stool with familiar ease. Jim, as the bartender’s name seemed to be, brought him a pint without an order, and the man accepted it with a nod before turning his attention to the glare of his smartphone.

  I watched him over the rim of my glass, appreciating his rough hands and the muscles in his forearms, which flexed when he pushed the sleeves of his blue hoodie up to his elbows. His chin was stubbled, but the strict lines around the jawline suggested an attentive maintenance.

  What struck me most was the raw power emanating from him. So shabbily dressed, he was no doubt easily missed by the masses, but for me he shone as a beacon in the smog of the other men.

  Whether it was coincidence he turned around or he sensed me staring at him, I’ll never know, but as soon as our eyes met, I knew I’d have him. Having already fed that day, it wasn’t hunger that induced me to smile at him, just pure unadulterated desire. The way he smiled back made my body flood with heat.

  Not unexpectedly after the silent exchange, he took his drink and abandoned the swill at the bar, sliding between chairs to join me at my table.

  “At the risk of falling on tired clichés,” he began, and his voice reminded me of rich, dark coffee, “will you allow me to point out that I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before?”

  I increased the charm of my smile, a skill I’ve always been particularly proud of for what it has helped me achieve.

  “You may. The answer is simple. This is my first time here.”

  “Then that explains that. Mind if I join you?”

  I stretched out my hand, gesturing for him to take a seat. In spite of his poor fashion choices, he lifted the chair away from the table instead of dragging the legs across the floor as I might have expected the other imbeciles to do.

  He introduced himself as Jermaine, and when I told him my name was Antony, he repeated it with such perfect inflection that heat shot down from my stomach. In that moment, I didn’t think anyone had ever pronounced it half as well.

  “So what brings a classy guy like you to a shithole like this?” he asked, raising his beer to the gentlemen at the bar.

  “The shittiest of shitty days called for some drinking in a shitty bar, as it happens,” I replied, never letting my smile waver.

  “And why such a shitty day, Antony?”

  And again, the way he said my name made the rest of my day irrelevant. Never mind that the woman I’d devoured that morning had been less appetizing than I thought she’d be, or that my co-worker had once again decided it was wise to steal credit for one of my projects. That the two were related may have explained the reason for both, but none of it mattered anymore.

  “I can’t remember.”

  Jermaine’s smile widened. “Well, is there anything I can do to make your day better…Antony?”

  It was the deliberate tacking on of my name that decided me to invite him home. He’d read me well in the few minutes we’d spoken, and I wanted to discover how well his insight translated to other areas.

  He accepted my offer without hesitation and we left our drinks unfinished on the table, the mediocre beer having lost its appeal.

  My condo being only a few blocks away, we opted to brave the rain and walk, the cold not touching the heat of the moment.

  A few stares came our way as we stepped into the lobby, but the opinions of humans had never meant less to me. His fingers were warm on the back of my neck, his fiery tongue scorching mine. He tasted delicious, like honey whiskey.

  We made it upstairs, the automatic lights spilling a soft golden glow over my mahogany coffee table and burgundy couches. I didn’t bother to give him the tour, taking him straight through to the bedroom.

  My blood sizzled with his power, and everywhere he touched me created sensations I’d never experienced before.

  By nature I’m not a romantic person in any sense of the word, but I knew that something about this stranger could feed me for ages if I ever decided to go all the way. I found myself thankful I’d stepped into that awful dive bar.

  For that night, I chose to indulge other desires, but I was determined that, from that moment onward, his soul was mine.

  *****************

  Antony cleared his throat and gave the room a tight-lipped smile. “Sadly, I never had the opportunity to fulfill that other desire. Someone in this room stole that moment from me.” His brow furrowed with what appeared to be genuine regret. Then he smoothed out his expression and replaced it with his smile. “But you see? Like I said, not even a fight. It does not compare with any of your stories in the slightest. If the rest of our evening got a little rough, I guarantee you, all was consensual and mutually enjoyable. To a very large degree.” He chuckled. “Although I never app
reciated how similar your tastes and mine run, sweet sister.”

  Gabe’s features expressed a deep incredulity. “I don’t know much about your kind, but don’t you feed off the souls of the opposite sex?”

  Antony’s charming smile returned. “That’s dinner, dear Gabriel. Jermaine was dessert.” The smile dimmed. “But I hope my tale rules me out as a suspect. I’ve never even been inside his apartment.”

  “Then why would he tag you?” Daphne asked.

  “Perhaps because even the best sex can kill you,” he replied, and the silence that greeted his conclusion caused his smile to broaden.

  The human girl grimaced. “If you get your soul devoured, I guess. Or unless Gabe turns you to stone first.” She shook her head. “How did I wind up here with you people?”

  “That’s a damned good question,” said Daphne. She narrowed her green eyes and crossed her arms with a huff.

  Vera silenced her with a look, then said to the girl, “Perhaps you’d care to share how you did come to be here?”

  The girl opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, the large, scarred man beside her snarled.

  “She’s involved because of me.”

  “What?” the girl replied, the deadpanned tone giving away her confusion.

  “How?” Vera asked.

  Everyone else’s attention shifted to the man beside her. He squirmed in his chair and dropped his gaze to his folded hands as he began to talk.

  8

  *****************

  Zachariel

  I had spent months seeking out Jermaine. From all the information I had gathered about him, I should have avoided him as one did a pile of dog shit, lest I carry the stench of his oiliness around with me afterward.

  But I’d also learned he was the only person who could help me.

  Once I discovered he was in the city of New Haven, I didn’t have much trouble tracking him down; fifteen minutes at a computer in the public library had given me his phone number and home address. I approached his place near dusk, when I thought my chances of catching him on his way home might be higher. I didn’t enjoy being out during the day. Between the twisted scars on the right side of my face and my six-six, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound stature, my appearance tended to draw attention.