by Aja James
But her body remembered and relived every touch, every sensation, every sound. She still tingled from head to toe from the aftershocks of bliss. Her nerve endings continued to hum with pleasure and need.
Yes, her body remembered.
It also anticipated. Would he come again tonight?
They hadn’t spoken of it, but she’d made clear how long she intended to have him. Her previous partners had been very prompt at following her instructions, thrilled to prolong the orgy-filled encounter.
But Devlin Sinclair was different. She couldn’t anticipate him at all.
A muscle ticked near her left eye. Apparently she could have a few thoughts before her brain fully woke up, after all. Disturbing thoughts. Stressful thoughts.
She needed to regain her inner balance.
Grace finished her breakfast, washed the dishes and locked herself in the bathroom for the next half hour to set herself to rights again. By the time she emerged, she’d successfully focused her mind and body on other things.
Calming habits like taking her chinchilla Miu-Miu to the apartment’s rooftop terrace, to which only Grace had the key, having reserved it for the duration of her lease.
While the pet rodent sniffed around the potted plants and wicker furniture, enjoying her thirty minutes of liberation from her cage, large and well-stocked though it was, Grace diligently wrote in a red, leather-bound journal, as her psychiatrist had directed her to do.
It was a way to get more in touch with herself, Dr. Weisman had said. By writing down her thoughts and going back over them every day, she might be able to peel the layers of the metaphorical onion back and reveal her feelings.
He encouraged her to use adjectives and adverbs, rather than simply nouns and verbs. Rather than state, she should describe, even if her words didn’t make logical sense, even if it was just a jumbled stream of consciousness.
Her phone buzzed beside her with a text from her aunt.
I brought groceries, let me in.
Grace punched in a series of codes that automatically unlocked her front door, but stayed on the terrace until the full thirty minutes was up. Her aunt knew her routines well and was never offended by her apparent lack of welcome.
In truth, Grace looked forward to each and every one of Aunt Maria’s visits.
When she finally made it downstairs and put Miu-Miu back into her cage, Grace went to stand before her aunt, lining up for her usual hug.
Which she received without a moment’s delay. Aunt Maria gave the best hugs. A good five seconds’ worth. A lengthy, fragrant squeeze of affection that never failed to warm Grace inside out.
“Grace, honey, what am I going to do with you?” her aunt admonished when she finally released her. “A piece of molded brie, water, bananas and macaroons. That’s all you have to eat in the house?”
Grace shrugged. She didn’t see any issues with this diet. If she craved anything in particular, she’d get it at a restaurant nearby. There were many good eateries in Soho.
“Well, I brought you ready-made salads, they come with dressing, mandarin oranges, your favorite, a fresh-baked sour dough bread, and some meats and cheeses. You just have to warm it up in the oven or microwave if you want that roasted taste with melted cheese.”
Most likely Grace would eat them cold, though her kitchen was outfitted with a high-end induction range and other stainless steel appliances. They still shone like new because she never used them. The refrigerator, sink and coffee machine were the only kitchen installations she used on a regular basis.
“How are you, Aunt Maria? How is work?” Grace asked perfunctorily.
Niceties didn’t come naturally to her, and she’d rather take a needle to the eye than make small talk. But this was Aunt Maria, and she wanted to make an extra effort.
Her aunt bustled about in the kitchen, preparing herself and Grace plates of roast beef sandwiches with fruit and salad, as it was almost twelve. She knew that Grace had her lunch promptly at noon.
“We took in another child yesterday,” Maria said as she worked, “sweet little thing of maybe four years old. Doesn’t seem to know her own name. Parents died in a car crash with no will and no close relatives. She’s been shuttled to and fro in the system for weeks already. Probably still shell shocked from her loss and all the confusion ensuing. I’m trying to get her to talk to us, but she hasn’t said a word since she arrived.”
They sat adjacent to each other at the kitchen counter, Maria taking the end and Grace taking the side. There was a dining table large enough to seat six right next to the counter, but Grace used it more to spread out her work, while the desk in the corner served mainly as a place to put all the flowering plants her aunt gave her over the years.
Grace had long since stopped taking care of the plants, since she apparently had a very brown thumb; Maria came by almost every day, regularly enough to make sure they were given the right amount of love.
“I can come talk to her if you want,” Grace offered.
She often volunteered at the orphanage to spend time with the children. She related so much better to them than to adults. And they seemed to understand her and weren’t put off by her awkwardness. Given the amount of time she spent there, perhaps it was fairer to say that the children volunteered their time to keep Grace company than the reverse.
“That would be nice,” Maria answered, taking a big bite of her sandwich and chewing robustly. “Maybe she’ll talk to you. You have a way with the children.”
Grace used a knife and fork to cut her sandwich into four quarters of triangles before starting on one with measured bites. She chewed each mouthful exactly eight times before swallowing.
“I don’t really feel like an adult,” she said in between bites.
Except for when she engaged in marathon orgies with the opposite sex.
Maria paused in her eating to regard her niece closely. She was silent for long moments, but Grace took no notice. She interacted with the world around her at her own pace, which led her sometimes to pick up conversational threads that others had long abandoned, or enter into prolonged silences while others waited in vain for her to finish her sentence.
“Grace,” Maria began, laying a hand gently on Grace’s shoulder. But she didn’t finish whatever thought she started on.
Instead, she looked toward the massive California-king bed in the northeast corner of the studio. It was made with military precision, not a wrinkle in sight. But a corner of the coverlet was turned down. Like an invitation to sink into the downy softness again.
Grace always made her bed after breakfast and bathroom, in that order. But the folded corner indicated that she was expecting company later.
Every six months for two weeks like clockwork.
Maria didn’t understand it, but despite how her niece felt, she was an adult, and it wasn’t Maria’s place to pry.
When this “habit” first began, Maria had the misfortune of running into Grace’s guest on his way out of the apartment. When questioned, Grace had calmly and logically explained what she’d been doing and why she was doing it.
Maria didn’t approve, but she also couldn’t forbid the daughter of her heart from making human connections any way she could, for she did it so rarely.
Not that Grace ever heeded her aunt in any case. She always did whatever she wanted. On the one hand, you could say she didn’t conform to societal norms. On the other hand, Grace Darling was freer than most other human beings who did behave as expected, who lived within boundaries.
But… Maria decided to broach the subject anyway. These emotionless “connections” couldn’t make her niece happy. Wouldn’t comfort her when one day Maria was gone.
Grace needed someone to lean on in life. Someone to give her tight hugs and feed her good food.
“Are you busy with a guest these two weeks?” Maria asked, trying to sound nonchalant, even though Grace wouldn’t pick up on her moods or tone.
“Yes,” Grace answered, finishing her last bite of
sandwich and moving on to her salad, again, cutting the leaves into organized sections.
Maria nodded. Making conversation with her niece was like pulling teeth.
“What does he look like?”
“He’s magnificent.”
Maria choked on the sip of water she was just in the process of swallowing, the bold adjective taking her by surprise, even though Grace said it with not a smidgeon of emotion.
“Really? Tell me more,” Maria encouraged.
But Grace abruptly left her seat and walked away.
Well, that seemed to be the end of that conversation.
Except, shortly, Grace returned with a red notebook.
She sat back on her counter stool and flipped to a page bookmarked by a string.
“Face: classic, sapphire, bumpy nose, thick lashes. Form: tall, hairless, lean, muscled, angular. Sound: deep, husky, rich, soothing. Smell: clean, crisp, minty, male. Taste: salty, spicy, chocolatey—”
She paused in her recitation to interject, “Just his nipples. He tastes like chocolate there.”
“Oh.” Maria’s blush was steaming up her face.
Grace continued on, “Sexual organs: prodigious, steely, satiny, plum—”
“That’s quite enough, dear!” Maria interrupted with a high-pitched squeal. “I get the picture.”
Grace closed her journal and set it on the counter, picking up her utensils to finish her salad.
“Do you, ah, do you jot down such details for all of your… your guests?” Maria ventured, after gulping down the rest of her water.
“No. My past partners haven’t been memorable. I don’t usually think of them the day after. But this was on my mind when it was time to write in my journal. I have three pages of descriptions and would have continued but time was up.”
“So this one is special?” Maria leaned in with an optimistic smile.
Grace shrugged.
“It’s what I thought of this morning, that’s all. Maybe I will think of something else tomorrow.”
“Isn’t he coming back tonight?” Maria knew her routine well, disapproving or not.
Grace splayed the sections of her orange like a flowering lotus blossom on her plate, before plucking one off its pin and putting it into her mouth.
Maria waited while she chewed. Grace didn’t speak while chewing.
After a swallow, she said, “I don’t know.”
And that was the end of the discussion, Maria thought, but then Grace said something she’d never uttered before, for it presupposed a degree of feeling, a type of emotion—she said:
“I hope so.”
Chapter Five
Benjamin D’Angelo could barely stop himself from skipping as he walked, hand in hand between his favorite women, down the street.
On his left was Sophia St. James, the Pure Ones’ Queen, but to Benji, she was simply “big sister Sophie.” Sophia smiled a lot and laughed a lot and always said the funniest things. She just finished her second year of college and was going to spend all summer staying with Benji and his parents in NYC for an internship at the Met.
On his right was Nana Chastain, Benji’s new Mommy, though his father Gabriel called her Inanna for some strange reason. Benji just called her Mommy, and sometimes Mom or Mother when he was feeling particularly mature given that he was already six years old. She’s not so new anymore, but Benji always felt the same thrill every time he claimed her for his very own. Nana looked like a golden angel, and she gave the best kisses and hugs.
On Nana’s right was Benji’s Uncle Tal, though Mommy called him Papa. Benji had learned early on that one’s mother’s father was one’s grandfather. But since Benji wasn’t born to Nana, perhaps that rule didn’t apply.
Besides, Benji had met grandfathers before, those of his classmates and new friends made at parks and playgrounds, and they looked really old. Uncle Tal looked older than Daddy but not that old.
It likely helped that Daddy, Mommy and Uncle Tal were all elves and vampires, and vampire-elves. That meant they never grew old. Whereas Sophia and Benji were just humans, though special humans according to Sophia, and they couldn’t wait to grow up.
Benji wished Daddy could have come on their outing too, but he had to run some errands like getting their rental stocked and prepared, buying groceries and cooking dinner.
Nana’s apartment where they usually stayed when in the City wasn’t spacious enough for everyone, so they found a bigger home within walking distance to the Met. And among the five of them, only Daddy knew how to cook and cook well, though Sophia made some mean breakfast dishes, like Benji’s favorite French toast with Nutella.
“Where are we going now, Mommy?” Benji asked eagerly.
They had just finished a tour of the Metropolitan Museum of Art—Sophia was going to help curate the Persian exhibit—had a light lunch in the cafeteria there, and took the subway to Brooklyn to rummage through the street fairs.
Benji’s stomach growled.
“From the sounds of it, we’re going to get an afternoon snack,” Inanna answered, hearing her adopted son’s hunger pangs despite the boisterous street they were walking down.
“Count me in!” Sophia seconded the notion. “How about some kind of dessert? Like ice-cream or pastries?”
“I know just the place,” Inanna said. “It’s not far from here.”
She turned to Tal, whose arm she held close to her right side.
“Papa? Are you up for it?” she asked quietly, so the others couldn’t hear.
Her father had a lot of pride, as any warrior-class Pure male would. Though he’d regained much of his old strength over the past year, his blindness still made him uneasy in strange, new surroundings. The hustle and bustle of the City were even more disorienting than Boston where they’d been staying since they’d liberated him from his centuries-old prison in Japan. She knew he must be exhausted after several hours of being out and about.
New York City was intimidating to most. But to a blind, four-thousand-year-old warrior who had spent most of that time imprisoned and closed off from civilization, the City was Tartarus.
Her father gave a brief nod and squeezed the hand on his arm reassuringly. But the tight clench of his jaw did not escape her. His entire body was strung tight as steel, vibrating with tension.
She’d rather have left him at their temporary home where it was calm and quiet; he could have used the time to familiarize himself with the layout. But she also knew that he didn’t want to be treated like he was special because of his disability and history. He didn’t want the extra attention or to be handled with kid gloves. So she off-handedly invited him to come out with them on an excursion in the City, and he accepted.
Inanna searched her father’s face with a concerned, heart-aching gaze.
He’d come such a long way in such a short time. When they found him, he’d been a barely-breathing skeleton with so many open, festering wounds on his body, the Pure Ones’ Royal Healer, Rain Ambrosius, had cursed vehemently in Chinese while shaking her head in amazement that he’d managed to survive thousands of years of torture and captivity.
Once, the Healer had the ability to use her zhen to draw out and absorb the pain and poison from wounds, healing sufferers much faster than any medical procedure or drug. But she’d lost her ability when she gave her life and Gift for her Eternal Mate. Now, she was just a Healer like any other, albeit an exceptionally talented one.
This meant that Tal’s recovery had been long and arduous. It was a testament to his will and determination and hard-headed stubbornness that he was mostly whole today.
Mostly. Not completely. He and Rain refused to say a word, but Inanna knew that her father was far from well. She worried for him constantly. She couldn’t bear to lose him again.
Not ever again.
“It’s just around the corner. You’ll love it,” she said, valiantly making her tone cheerful and putting an enthusiastic bounce in her step for Sophia and Benji’s sakes.
No on
e soothed and calmed like Mama Bear. And her pastries were to die for. Tal would feel so much better after a good long sit-down in her delightful shop “Dark Dreams.”
*** *** *** ***
“I’m leaving for the Shield today,” Ryu Takamura said after knocking twice on Devlin’s tech room door.
Devlin swiveled around to face him, folding his hands casually over his stomach, tilting his chair back and sprawling his legs.
His lips tipped up at one corner.
“Seems you’re all abandoning our little group, first Inanna, now you. And let’s not forget the traitor who met her deserved fate. It’s getting downright boring around here.”
Ryu was not fooled by his comrade’s careless tone.
“I’ll only be in Boston for a few weeks while Ava and the baby get checked out and she works with the Healer on her research. Her parents would never part with Kane longer than that.”
Devlin tilted his head to one side. “Does your wife’s people know about what you are yet?”
Ryu uncomfortably rubbed the back of his neck, though the word “wife” never failed to put a dopey grin on his face, a rare occurrence for the Ninja.
“We didn’t see the need to alarm them yet,” he answered, “it’s up to Ava when she’s ready to tell them. It would have to be soon, though, because as she makes progress on finding a treatment or cure for her father’s Parkinson’s, she’s going to have to involve him and explain where the drug comes from, the powers of her new DNA.”
Devlin was silent for a few moments and Ryu grew self-conscious under his friend’s intense blue gaze.
“What?” he couldn’t resist asking.
Devlin shrugged. “Nothing. Just that love and marriage and a baby carriage seem to suit you,” he said simply, sincerely.
The Chosen’s Assassin colored, both from shyness and pleasure.
“I don’t have a clue what I’m doing,” he admitted. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to make them happy. I’ll spend the next thousand years, Dark Goddess willing, to deserve this.”