by J. K Harper
The moment of being over the roaring flames was like nothing I’d ever experienced.
And then we landed on the other side of the bonfire, finally hand-fasted to each other...a unit of three people who were better together than apart.
Epilogue
Nastia
“Get back here, you little scamp! Give me back that jar of Vaseline!”
Instead of listening to me, Yakov ran even faster through the grass outside.
Roman was nowhere in sight. I should’ve known that he was up to no good. I thought that my twins had been asleep. Instead, they were conspiring together. They were barely two, but they were absolute terrors.
I thought that they were trying to hide, but as I went further into the woods, I could hear them quietly giggling.
I followed the sound of two troublemakers who thought that they’d gotten away with it.
I came around a huge tree and shouted, “Gotcha.”
With laughter and squeals, they ran again. At least they’d left behind the jar of Vaseline. I’d pick it up when I got my hands on them. I’d put them in timeout, though their fathers had a tendency to just pluck them out of their timeout playpen. The men were big softies. Just a hint of a pout would make their fathers cave.
Then I heard a scream of pain that made my heart stop.
“Yakov! Roman!”
I ran towards the sound. Yakov must have tripped over something while he was running, because he was facedown on the forest floor and crying his little eyes out.
“Yakov!” I turned him over and held him in my arms. He looked okay, a bit of dirt everywhere. I could see the slightest smear of blood on his knee.
“Mama,” he sobbed, throwing his chubby little arms around my neck.
I stood up.
“Playtime is over. Roman, where are you?”
Roman was the quieter of the two, though he was the master planner. His thumb was in his mouth as he came out from behind a tree.
“Didn’t mean it,” he told me.
“I know you didn’t mean for anybody to get hurt, sweetheart.”
Then I realized that his hair was pushed into a faux mohawk.
“What on earth did you do to your hair?”
“Silly,” he told me. “Mountain.”
I had to hold back a fit of giggles. I wasn’t going to wash out the half tub of Vaseline that had ended up in Roman’s hair. I’d leave it up to one of my mates.
“Well, we’re going to go home and wash up now, okay?”
“Kay,” my little boy said.
Yakov had stopped crying, though he wouldn’t let go of my neck. I shifted him so that he was on one hip.
“Do you want me to carry you?”
Roman shook his head and began to skip through the forest. I followed him back home.
When we opened the door, Pyotr was right there.
“I smell blood,” he said.
“It’s nothing, just a little scrape.” I gave him Yakov. He looked at the tiny bit of blood that had already dried on Yakov’s knee.
“Do we need to take him to the doctor?”
His concern for the babies made me smile. He was a little overprotective when it came to our human-fragile children. They wouldn’t come into their shifter-vamp strength until puberty. Until then, they were just as vulnerable as any human child.
“He’s fine. I’ll just wash it with some Bactine and put on a Band-Aid. He’ll be as good as new.”
“How did he hurt himself?”
I shook my head. “Running through the forest like a wild thing.”
Viktor must’ve heard us come in, because he walked into the room. He scooped up Yakov, taking him from Pyotr’s arms. Viktor kissed Yakov’s crazy hair. “Be more careful, eh, my boy?”
I went and got the first aid kit out, and then cleaned his tiny scrape and put on a Band-Aid.
Roman was in the living room, building something out of K’Nex. They weren’t supposed to play with them until they were three or up, but their fathers had insisted on giving the kids any toys that they’d asked for. If I wasn’t careful, they’d end up being monumentally spoiled and insufferable.
“Me!”
Roman marched up to his father, who scooped him up with his other hand. He bent to kiss Roman on his head, too, but stopped.
“What did you do to yourself?”
“They ran away with a jar of Vaseline…you’re on clean-up duty.”
I saw Viktor’s mouth twitch as he looked at our son’s faux-hawk.
Then he let out a huge guffaw. Pyotr started laughing, too.
“It’s not funny! They made a huge mess. I still have to go out to the forest to get the Vaseline.”
“I’ll get it, dear,” Pyotr said, still laughing. He went out the door and was back in the blink of an eye with the half-full jar of Vaseline. “We should probably keep it on the top shelf.”
“I wonder if we should have any Vaseline in this crazy house at all.”
Pyotr bent to kiss me, his mouth touching me lightly but with a lot of love.
“I’ll have to childproof more of our cabinets. Don’t worry. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
He put an arm around my waist and pulled me close while we watched Viktor take the boys to the living room and play with their K’Nex.
I saw Yakov’s mouth open in a huge yawn, his eyes sleepy.
“Nap time,” I announced.
“No!” Yakov said. He got to his feet, as if he would run off again, but he stumbled a little bit, landing on his bandaged knee.
He let out an enormous howl, just like Viktor.
Viktor was quick to pick up his son.
“Bedtime,” Viktor said firmly.
Yakov put his little head against Viktor’s shoulder and closed his eyes, still crying a little bit. I thought that he was milking his small injury for all it was worth.
Pyotr held out his hand for Roman.
“We have to wash your hair, Roman.”
Roman took a look at the door, as if he was considering making a run for it, just as his brother had.
With a sigh, he went and put his tiny hand into his father’s larger one. He gave the impression that he was doing Pyotr a favor.
Pyotr and Roman walked out of the room and headed for our twins’ bathroom. I could hear the water turn on.
I went to the kitchen and poured myself a little Moscato. I loved my boys more than anything, but there was never a quiet moment in our home. I heard the sound of an opening door, then the water was shut off. There were a couple more door openings and closings before I could hear the footsteps of my mates coming down the stairs.
“Wine?” I asked.
“Please,” Viktor said.
I poured him a glass and he drank it gratefully.
“You always taste so sweet when you drink Moscato,” Pyotr said, sweeping me up in his arms so that my feet were about a foot off of the ground. He bent his head to the side and bit my neck delicately. I could feel his fangs piercing my skin, but the natural anesthesia in his fangs took away the pain. He drank just a sip or two before licking my neck and closing the entry points.
“Thanks, I needed that.” Pyotr kissed me.
“Now that the kids are in bed, what will we do?” I arched a brow at Pyotr.
“Whatever you want.”
Viktor drained what was left in his glass.
“Bedtime for the kids is bedtime for the adults, too.”
Pyotr still held me while he walked into our bedroom on the ground floor. The kids had the upstairs, which was their bedroom, their playroom, their bathroom, and the laundry room.
Pyotr sat down on the bed, carefully arranging me in his lap before he pulled the hem of my dress over my head.
I didn’t know if I had goosebumps from the sudden chill of my skin being exposed to the open air or from the look in Pyotr’s eyes as he looked at my lingerie-clad body.
His mouth came down on the top of my right breast. My back arched from the warmth that spread from
his cold mouth.
I could feel my bra being unfastened from behind me. Viktor was on the bed too.
He guided my arms up so that he could slip my bra off. Pyotr moved downwards, kissing his way past my cleavage, past my ribcage, past my soft stomach, down to the juncture of my thighs.
He pulled my thighs apart and sniffed me. He pulled my underwear off.
“Best smell ever.”
He began to lick me delicately.
I didn’t need to try ice-cubing when one of my lovers was always colder than room temperature. The chill of his tongue made the fire inside of me seem even hotter.
Soon, my hips were bucking against his tongue. His hands were holding onto my hips when I fell over the edge, screaming. I was so glad that my mates had had the foresight to completely soundproof the master suite.
When I opened my eyes, my body was on top of Viktor’s, his hardness resting against my soft lower lips. His hands guided me downwards to accept him all the way.
Pyotr’s cold finger, coated with lube, explored my back entrance. I knew how to breathe deeply and relax my muscles.
Pyotr slid in the first half inch and he carefully worked himself inside of my back door, even though there was barely any room in there once Viktor was inside, even after having two children.
Finally, Pyotr was fully inside of me. Like a well-trained pair of rowers, they carefully rocked me between both of their hard bodies. My hands were on the bed, trying to brace myself as they both pumped inside of me again and again.
But Viktor was already groaning, his face tightening as he shot warmth inside of me. Pyotr released just a little bit later, his fangs digging into my shoulder as he grunted.
When Pyotr let go of my shoulder, I rolled off of Viktor. Pyotr settled on the bed behind me and spooned me while my top leg went around Viktor’s body.
“You are the best mates in the world,” I told them.
Viktor kissed me while Pyotr’s hand stroked my hip.
“I love you,” both of them said.
Gift of the Dead
by Claire Ryann
Chapter 1
"Abuelita," Naomi groaned, "please tell me why we couldn't fly."
The drive down had already taken ten hours and now her grandmother was telling her it was "only" going to be another six "or so."
"Flying is for birds," the woman declared from the passenger seat.
Naomi rolled her eyes.
She thought of her grandmother as a caricature of Mexican grandmothers everywhere, short and curvy with her hair carefully dyed to resemble its original raven black color—and sassy as hell. When her grandmother made a decision there was no arguing.
And this year, Abuelita had decided that Naomi had been holed up in her house crying long enough.
Naomi stifled a frustrated sigh and turned on the high beams in hopes for better visibility around the blind curves of the twisty Mexican road.
My first trip to Mexico and I'm driving down a one lane mountain road with my grandmother, Naomi thought ironically as she hit the brakes as a small creature scurried across the road in front of her. What the fuck was that? She craned her neck to watch the thing disappear up the mountain side out of the view of the headlights.
Her grandmother mumbled something in Spanish as if she'd forgotten that her granddaughter didn't speak a word of the language beyond the few words for family members and most of the menu at the little Mexican restaurant across the street from the office where she worked.
"What?" she was trying to keep the impatience out of her voice, but it was becoming more difficult every time her grandma opened her mouth.
"Mapache," Abuelita repeated with a stern tone, "raccoon! It was a raccoon."
Naomi shook her head and bit her lip to keep herself from saying something that she'd regret. It wasn't that she strictly adhered to some old fashioned notion that she wasn't allowed to speak her mind to her elders—she'd always been close to her grandmother and they'd had plenty of blunt discussions over the years. It was just that she knew that her grandmother was tired from the long drive and she still didn't understand why it was so important that she drive them to this town in the middle of the Mexican mountains for the Dia de los Muertos celebration.
"Grandma," she started again, "Why do you have to go to this town and why do I have to go with you?"
The older woman sighed dramatically, "Mija, I told you a million times, the Day of the Dead is very important here. They have the biggest celebration. The most dancing, the biggest feast, more music and..."
Naomi listened to her grandmother's voice brighten with her description of the village's celebration and then fade off thoughtfully.
"And?"
"Noemi," her grandmother addressed her by her Spanish name, her dress making a crinkling noise in the dark cab of the sedan as she twisted on her seat till she was semi-facing Naomi. Nay felt her grandmother's hand lightly pat her arm, "Dia de los Muertos is a joyful time, the souls of the loved ones we have lost are allowed to return to the world of the living for only a short time to visit us. For those of us who have love on the other side, we must make the best of the time we have together, si?"
Her grandmother's hand left her arm, leaving a chill across her skin where it had been warmed by her grandmother's touch.
She decided not to try to make any sense of her grandmother's words. She'd already endured two weeks of Grandma's ramblings about the celebration.
Naomi had always thought of her grandmother as a no-nonsense kind of woman. She didn't believe in "mumbo-jumbo" or "hocus-pocus." Nay had never even known her grandmother to be particularly religious, although her father told her that he remembered when his mother went to church—well—religiously.
Apparently that had ended after Grandpa died, but that was before Nay had been born, when her father was still a teenager and her tia was only nine years old.
Nay's dad said that Abuelita went back to work to support them and make sure that they all finished school.
The woman that Nay had grown up with didn't have much time for baking cookies or knitting sweaters. She had worked in an insurance office till she turned sixty-seven just a few years ago and since retiring, she'd been enjoying some travel—as long as it didn't involve flying—and catching up on all the reading she'd missed out on over the last thirty years.
But she had never dated another man since her husband's death and for the last fourteen years, she had traveled to a tiny village somewhere in the mountainous regions of Mexico's mainland for the local Day of the Dead celebration each year.
Nay didn't really understand why, her family had immigrated to the States in the 1800s and several generations later about the only ties they had to their Mexican heritage were the color of their skin and … well. That was about it. Abuela only spoke Spanish so well because she'd used it in her work for so many years. Nay's own father had grown up bi-lingual but had largely forgotten most of the language after years without a need to use it. Two years of high school Spanish was the closet Naomi herself ever came to learning the language.
Nay yawned. They had left Beaumont at 9 AM. It was almost eight at night now, already pitch black on the desolate Mexican back road and she still had a few more hours to go, according to her grandmother.
"Only a little farther," Abuelita assured her softly.
"You said it was a fifteen and a half hour drive," she said through another yawn.
"Si, only a little farther."
Naomi shook her head and concentrated on the road ahead. Her grandmother's breathing betrayed her napping from the other side of the car and Nay found her thoughts drifting to Logan.
A little over a year had passed and at least she had gotten to the point where she didn't break down in tears every time he wandered into her thoughts. She could face the world again, make it through a full day of work without needing a tissue, but alone at night the house got lonely. She wasn't up to going out with friends and the thought of dating again was beyond comprehension.
She just missed him so much.
The only reason she was driving her grandmother down here now was because Abuela had begged her. Well, the older woman had started with begging, moved to bribery, and finally guilt. Nothing like a good, old fashioned guilt trip to start off a four day long grandmother/granddaughter bonding trip to a foreign country.
Naomi almost laughed out loud at the thought.
Then Logan interrupted again and the smile faded.
They'd only been married for a year and a half. He'd been deployed for the last ten months of their all too brief marriage. He was scheduled to be home in just a few weeks and they were excited about starting a family before his next tour.
Except he never made it home. Instead of the flight schedule she'd been waiting for, she got a notice from Uncle Sam saying that Logan had been killed in action.
To this day, she hadn't decided if not knowing all the details made it easier or harder to accept.
"You're thinking about him again, Mija," her grandmother's voice was soft in the darkness and it had a melancholy, far away sound to it.
"I can't help it," Naomi confessed, "I just miss him so much."
"I know, sweetheart," her grandmother's hand fell on her knee, "I know what it is like to lose the other half of you. That is why we are going to Veranoches for the celebration."
Nay couldn't help but notice the way her grandmother's voice lilted upwards when she mentioned the small town and the Day of the Dead celebrations there.
"Grandma," she asked as she looked at the clock glowing on the dash and mentally ticked off another hour, "What's so special about this place? Why do you go every year?"
She could see her grandmother out of the corner of her eye as the woman stared intently at the road stretching out in front of them. The silence went on farther than Naomi expected and she thought her grandmother hadn't heard her.
Just as she was about to ask again, Abuela's head nodded slightly and her voice echoed eerily through the silence of the sedan's interior, "It's the only place I believe in ghosts."