Butcher, Baker, Vampire Slayer: A Retelling of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night

by Juliann Whicker

  “But it’s all so public,” I said trying to keep my nerve. I started ticking off my fingers. “The coat room is all right, but with this weather you don’t have a lot of uninterrupted time. The restrooms have guards right across the way, and anyway, ew.”

  He looked at me bemused. “What are we talking about?”

  “Places to make out,” I said, like, duh. I flipped my hair which didn’t work very well because it was too short.

  His chocolate brown eyes got larger, but instead of backing off and running as far away from me as possible, he took a step closer and actually looked at my mouth.

  “That’s what you go to museums for, to scope out the make-out opportunities?”

  “Of course,” I stammered. “What do you go for?”

  He shook his head with a smile he looked like he was trying to suppress. “Apparently I’ve been doing it wrong my whole life.” He frowned in sudden intense concentration. “The top floor is rarely guarded. I can’t blame them. The art is horrible. Not that the art matters, since why would anyone look at art when they could be kissing someone?”

  “Exactly,” I said after a lame pause, which I spent staring at him in horror. “The top floor? I’ll have to consider it. There was a really cute guard who I bet I could talk into taking a quick break.” I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm.

  I turned back to him feeling my cheeks burn. I sounded completely psychotic. The pastel girls didn’t sound like this. They were smooth and subtle, not like an awkwardly flying projectile. “What?”

  He smiled at me slyly. Slyly I tell you, which he should not have done because it made my heart race ridiculously fast.

  “If you’re looking for a perfect stranger to kiss, look no further.”

  My mouth fell open as I stared at him, black coat, black boots, black hair and that dangerous gleam in his eyes that made me shiver. Perfect was right. His mouth was possibly the only soft and supple part of him. I wouldn’t know. I couldn’t even think about this, but what excuse could I have to turn him down? I was a self-proclaimed make-out slut. He was beautiful. More than beautiful, exquisite like one of the works of art around us, only alive, warm, and full of energy.

  “You?” I squeaked before I got my voice under control. “I mean, you probably have a girlfriend. I do not mess around with guys who belong to other girls.”

  He frowned. “Do I look like I belong to anyone?”

  “I don’t know. Do you?”

  He cleared his throat and crossed his arms, looking incredibly gorgeous, also like one of those men wrestling monsters in the painting behind him. “There was a girl. She announced her intention to date your brother instead of me.”

  I gasped as I stared into his face, barely noticing when he took two steps closer, now a fully revealed threat leaning over me with one black eyebrow raised.

  “That’s why you’re looking for him? You couldn’t wait for him to get back to the school to beat him up?”

  He shook his head a tiny bit. “No. I’m here to congratulate him. And to warn him. She’s not delicate and sweet, like you,” he said, brushing my cheek with his hand.

  I gasped and pulled away staring at him feeling a wave of something that made him look more like chocolate and less like human.

  “I’ll give him your message,” I said edging away from him.

  “It hardly matters,” he said, smiling at me. “How does this process work, the seduction of strangers? Do you simply say, ‘I’m desperately in need of human contact and there’s a corner on the fourth floor where I’ll be waiting?’ or is it something less delicate?”

  I stared at him, my mind racing. Olivia had proclaimed her love for my brother? When had that happened and why didn’t I know about it? He must be lying. Wasn’t he? “The most effective and efficient method is flashing guys.”

  His eyes widened and now he glanced down at my chest. I gasped and tried not to run away screaming. I had actually said that. Out loud. I hadn’t had a guy check me out in a very long time, what with being disguised as a boy in a boys school. Uncomfortable wasn’t the word. I couldn’t just stand there while he ogled me. Instead, I fell forward and kind of mashed our faces together.

  The kiss was terrible, much more assault than affection, in fact, I could hardly call it a kiss. When I pulled away, he stared at me. I felt dizzy, like I’d been punched in the face, the numb stunned feeling before the pain set in.

  He turned and walked off. Good. Except he stopped and looked at me with a raised eyebrow like, ‘aren’t you coming?’ I stumbled towards him pulled by his magnetism. He took my hand in his, the grip strong, warm, the contact so overwhelming and complete, it was doubtful I’d be able to pull away if I tried. I didn’t try. I could barely think straight as he pulled me up the broad, marble stairs two at a time to the fourth floor where apparently he knew a perfect corner.

  I didn’t really notice the art as we ducked into a room full of floor to ceiling abstract paintings. We walked through the room until we reached the far corner which was sort of tucked between a window and a closet. I leaned my back against the wall, breathing hard from all those steps, not from him standing so close to me, his eyes burning into mine, me a girl who had declared her interest in kissing him.

  He leaned down slowly while I closed my eyes tight, fists clenched, waiting for the inevitable disaster. I waited and waited and waited. When I opened my eyes he was staring at me, a soft tilt to his lips.

  He spoke in a low voice that resonated inside of me. “I’m not sure how to do this. I have to admit that I’ve never been kissed in public before. You’ll have to show me how it’s done.”

  I stared up at him before I raised my hands, hovering for a moment before I rested them on his chest. “Are you sure you’re ready for something like this?” I whispered as I studied his throat, his chin, his mouth then brought my gaze back down to his chest. For some reason, I couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

  “I think I can take it, but,” he paused, brushing my jaw with his fingers applying just enough pressure that my eyes came up to meet his. His eyes were hooded, soft, like he looked sometimes at Calder, tired, but satisfied, the two of us alone and nothing else mattered. “Please be gentle with me.”

  I nodded before I slid my hands up his chest, over the silky smooth skin of his throat to his jaw, smooth, freshly shaven. I brushed his face with my fingertips, over his lips, my heart pounding faster and faster as I explored his skin, touched his whisper soft eyelashes, and smoothed his dark, firm eyebrows. His hair. I tangled my fingers in the glossy locks, bringing his face down, closer to me almost like I knew what I was doing.

  To be honest, I had dreamed and fantasized about kissing him enough times. I sort of let that dream state take over. I brushed his cheek with mine while I curled my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to me until our bodies brushed. I felt that soft contact like a two-ton collision. Awareness pulsed through me, his body so close to mine without layers of clothing and bindings between us. I wasn’t sure if I gasped or he did, but his hand brushed my cheek, down the side of my neck. I had a jacket on, but it still felt raw and real, like his life was flowing into me as sure and steady as a river that kept rising higher and higher like my mind, floating up and up while my body melted against his.

  My heart pounded as I turned my head, brushing his cheek with my lips, feeling the skin, like sweet, delicious lightning flowing into my heart. I kissed that cheek, one kiss and then slid a tiny bit closer to his mouth before I kissed him again. I worked my way over his skin tasting every delicious morsel of my chocolate man before I paused at the corner of his mouth. He was breathing hard, but held perfectly still as I rested for a moment, gathering my courage. If you didn’t count the travesty downstairs, I’d never kissed anyone before. I wanted this to be perfect.

  He tasted like chocolate.

  Dark, rich, indulgent chocolate imported from another country, melting against my lips, silk, but pliant, soft, but firm, his mouth like wings that flew me to heave
n while the rest of the world swirled far below. The kiss was so sweet, so delicious, his lips parting beneath mine, his breath like icy mint, something that burned cold and made my bones ache for more.

  I distantly heard a cough and then Orion pulled back, his eyes wide and glazed, as shocked and out of control as I felt before he smiled at me, a wild grin that brought an answering smile to my lips.

  “And that’s why they brought the steel from the mountains of Carthagian instead of Bristol. Why don’t we look at this display over here,” he said with his hand around my waist, leading me quickly away from the security guard woman who watched us leave with pursed lips and an, ‘I’ll be watching you,’ look in her eyes.

  “There is a Carthagian mountain range?” I whispered when we were out of earshot, through the wide doorway and passing a sentry of armor, sword raised in a salute as we hurried by.

  “Of course,” he said, with a wicked grin. “Didn’t you go to school?”

  I shook my head as I focused on the stairs beneath my feet, his hand still in mine, descending too quickly for my shattered nerves, and my lips that would never, ever be the same again.

  Chapter 19

  The Butcher

  I hadn’t meant to talk to her. When I’d seen the cab, seen ‘Sebastian Tancetta’ get into it with a backpack, I’d followed behind him in my black convertible, keeping her in view, enough that I could see her limbs in the backseat as she changed clothes.

  When she’d gotten out at the museum, I’d stared at her, all long legs and slim waist with curves she’d kept camouflaged during her entire stay in Calder. She practically danced up the wide granite steps, the skirt flipping higher giving me a glimpse into a forbidden world.

  I’d parked and taken my time going inside, walking through the museum like I was hunting vampires, my heart pounding until I saw her, standing in front of a painting of one of my ancestors, fighting werewolves. I wasn’t going to let her see me and I certainly wouldn’t talk to her, but she stood there for so long that I stepped forward and caught the expression on her face, the sadness and horror of someone whose parents were slaughtered by werewolves.

  I wanted to take her away from there, to hide her face against my chest until she forgot to be afraid and sad. I paced around her, glancing at the guards who watched me warily. I had to get her away from their suspicious eyes. I stood behind her so close that I could smell the vanilla on her skin.

  We spoke, words that covered a world of meaning. Her eyes gazed at me, afraid that I’d see through her pastel disguise. Her anxiety mounted and her eyes widened. She spoke stiltedly, as though she were playing a part she hadn’t rehearsed properly for. When she started flirting, I watched, fascinated. I wanted so much to touch her, to hold her and tell her that she didn’t have to try so hard, to be someone she wasn’t. She was so vulnerable, so delicate, so utterly bewitching.

  She wanted me to look at her like a girl, to study her lips as though they were meant for kissing, her body as though it were a soft and sweet invitation to me. She wanted me to think that she was superficial and inane. Two could play that game. The more outrageously she flirted, the more blatantly I showed my interest. She was completely rattled when I suggested the fourth floor as an ideal place to make-out. Make-out. I wasn’t even certain what that meant, but the fourth floor was somewhere I’d cornered a vampire one night and staked him through the heart. How many years ago had that been? The museum administration was very understanding about removing the footage from the security cameras. Naturally, since my father was on the board of arts that controlled their funding. Perhaps there were a few retired Butchers among their ranks.

  I wasn’t certain if anything would happen between the two of us, Violetta who struggled being with me when she’d been playing her brother for so long, and myself who could barely contain the need I had to feed her my energy and force her to make me cream puffs.

  When she kissed me, neither one of us expected it. Her mouth impacted mine and everything else disappeared as this monster awoke in my chest spreading fire through my limbs, fire, strength, and implacable resolve. I was going to take advantage of her vulnerability until she was strong enough to resist me. I would give her that strength after I’d devoured her weakness.

  I took her with me to the fourth floor, the abstract paintings a mess of chaotic lack of intention that I intended to make up for in the corner where I hung above her, leaning against the wall behind her, trapping her.

  The sight of her, eyes tightly closed, waiting for me to attack gave me pause. Did she want to be with me? She needed me. I could feel her craving for my energy as a tightly vibrating spring that would explode out of her at any moment.

  She was waiting for it to be over, but it had only just begun. I told her that I was waiting for her, that she had to choose this, to take me if she wanted me, and that was when she put her hands on my chest, touching me, sliding her hands up to my neck, over my skin that burned and ached before everything became exquisite pleasure. Her breath against my skin, her lips… I held so still my body taut as I held back the nearly uncontrollable need to turn my head and take her mouth, to devour her lips until she couldn’t breathe, until she didn’t need to breathe because she could inhale me instead. Not rational, but those thoughts were all I had as I held back, letting her take her time, trailing slow, agonizing kisses over my skin to the corner of my mouth. I trembled as I waited until finally, finally, she brushed my lips with hers.

  I was nearly lost as I slid my hands around her back, holding her, careful not to lose myself to the desire, the growing hunger as she took my strength and fed me euphoria. I could have been stabbed and not noticed. I couldn’t resist, move, think as she pulled the life out of me leaving me with the floating ecstasy that buried self-control, self-denial, self-sacrifice. I gave it all to her as I pulled her against me, her body so light and soft I worried she would float away. She clung to me, her fingers threading through my hair while she devoured my breath.

  When I heard a cough behind me, I pulled away, holding back the choking rage that should only fill me when facing nightmares. The woman guard kept her distance from me, the look in her eyes cautious.

  I dragged Violetta away from the woman before I did something ridiculous like fight for the right to privacy in a public museum. I shouldn’t drag her around, but I wasn’t done. She wasn’t finished with me. The bond between us throbbed with unfinished need. She needed me. I could feel it almost as greatly as I felt my own need to be consumed by her.

  Chapter 20

  The Baker

  “Where are we going?” I asked as he led me out the front doors and down the broad, pale front steps. I couldn’t just let him lead me around like a pathetic puppy.

  “My car,” he said easily, his long legs taking the steps two at a time. “You’re not done kissing me.”

  My legs stopped moving. I stood, immobile in the middle of the street across from the parking lot, staring at him.

  “You want to kiss me in your car?”

  This must be a dream, a nightmare, something that made sense instead of the reality of Orion telling me he wanted to kiss me with the chill mid-October breeze rustling around my bare legs.

  He glanced at me, down at my legs then over at a car that was slowing down for the pedestrians, us, who were not moving. “It’s a very nice car. Spacious leather seats, surround sound system, and a bar of chocolate in the glove compartment. I don’t know about you, but I could kill for chocolate right now.” His smile reached his eyes as he looked at me, the sun catching bits of gold in his glorious brown eyes.

  I licked my lips and moved. I needed chocolate. Desperately before I tasted him in the middle of the road. The Greek was right. I needed a stash. “So, your car, what does it look like?” I tried not to look directly at the black convertible with the top down that gleamed in its parking spot.

  “It’s the flashy convertible on the end. Is it sufficiently ostentatious for you?”

  I raised an eyebrow and sh
ook my head. “No, but I’ll have to settle for lack of alternatives.”

  He grinned at me then opened my door before he went around and slid into his seat. He turned towards me with something dangerous gleaming in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a slight smile. “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Orion Daughtry. I’m eighteen, and I really like black.” He leaned forward and opened the glove box, handing me the high quality chocolate bar.

  I sighed as I unwrapped the foil with my shaky hands and bit into the dark, dark, dark chocolate, but not as dark or delicious as he had been.

  I closed my eyes and sank against the leather, the taste of chocolate not satisfying my craving for him but possibly enhancing it instead. I saw an image of him with his chest bare, his lips on my throat and I opened my eyes wide. Where had that come from? Probably the weird paintings. Maybe he was a vampire and he was going to suck the blood from my neck. Would I even struggle? I shook my head, trying to stop feeling so out of control dizzy, breathless, wanting him.

  “I’m Violetta Tancetta, I am also eighteen, and I like black too. Just not on me.” I tried to sound casual and cool instead of the screaming fainting person I felt like on the inside.

  He frowned as he reached forward and took the chocolate bar, biting off a corner. His mouth around chocolate looked so good, like his pink tongue as he licked his lips. I had an almost undeniable need to lick the chocolate off of him. That’s what I needed, melted chocolate to lick off of him.

  I was officially mental.

  “I like black,” he said. “You have to like something else, otherwise that’s stealing.” He smiled, his eyes gleaming at me.

  I leaned forward and put my hands on either side of his face, his head cradled in my hands as I stared into his eyes before I looked down at his mouth, the speck of dark chocolate on his lips that seemed to be calling me. I very carefully brushed his lips with mine, parting my lips just enough to suck on that bottom lip and its speck of chocolate.