“Have you an appetite?” Delphine was again the gracious hostess, no hint of my transgression to be found in her tone. Wine awaited us upon our arrival, which I sipped and found its quality confusing to my pedestrian palate. I tasted sunshine, grass, and even Delphine. Her presence was light on my tongue.
“I could eat something small. I don’t want to be lethargic. Just in case.” I kept my voice neutral. Coquetry was not my forte with an immortal whose skill was my undoing. She snapped her fingers once, and a waiter I had not seen before delivered two small tureens of soup, ladling a thin bone china bowl to the brim with the steaming liquid. Brown kelp swam in the clear broth, along with slivers of field onions. Small snails, pulled from their yellow and black shells, lay poached in the bowl, their former homes used as decorative flourishes along the rim. It smelled like the sea and earth all at once.
She saw my question as I studied the soup. “It’s a restorative, particularly for men. A recipe I reconstructed from my childhood. I spent many days prizing those snails from the rocks, dodging the waves that threw cold spume over my head.” Her wistfulness told me that such days had been a long time ago. The soup told me that she remembered, perhaps painfully, and carried the river of time with her as a burden that was not entirely without regret.
She sipped the soup directly from the bowl, delicately inhaling with each venture close to the rim.
“I was born on an island, isolated. Not even a sail on the horizon, unending waves of cobalt rolling past the limits of my vision. Turf greener than any I’ve seen since, crying seabirds and the ceaseless bass drum of the waves, eating my home away one grain of sand at a time. I learned patience there, Ring. I learned about how beauty in a confined space can be a powerful weapon, and how the consumption of a lesser was not just survival, but delicious.” She popped a snail in her mouth and rolled it sensually once on a very pink tongue, swallowing and winking at me lasciviously. So, she could still be playful. That was good. For now.
We ate and drank in reasonable peace, although the sexual tension remained thick. As if it could dissipate around this creature, I thought as she dabbed her mouth and rose. Pushing my chair back, she deposited herself on my lap and held my glass up for me to sip. Her eyes were very bright.
She drained my remaining wine and asked, “What do you see when you look at me? At all of this?” She pointed with a glance at the opulence of the yacht. Her palms were flat on my chest, and she swung a leg over to straddle me like a lover.
“I see garishness that isn’t you. Not really your style. I see people who obey you because of what I haven’t seen, the other you that begins when the fucking ends and it’s time for business. Whatever that might be.” I was close enough to see the fine golden hairs on her neck, strayed from her body and waving in disobedience.
“Very observant. This glorified rowboat was owned by a filthy pig who achieved sexual pleasure from rape. Of course, he won’t be doing that any more, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to undo his ghastly taste. So industrial, masculine, yet cheap. I can look at this holding or any of my other baubles and think that I’m rather secure for a former Pictish camp whore. No more being savaged from behind by stinking fighters, no more staring at the stars as they pounded away around the fire at night. I loved thinking that the black mask of the swan in the sky was flirting with me, telling me that soon, soon, he would spill in me or on my leg, and it would be over. Until the next time. No more squabbling over scraps like a dog, with my thighs covered in blood and wondering how soon do I have to eat before I feel hands on my neck again. Now, Ring, I am the ruler. I am the force, the hammer, and I do it all wrapped within a touch that drives men to their graves willingly. I know who you are. I looked at you and sensed your lethality, your odd sense of commitment to those girls you pretend not to love. I know your type, Ring. I know every type of man; it’s my business, because if I find a man I don’t understand, it means that I am losing control of my flock. And that is something I cannot afford.”
She leaned forward and brushed my lips with her fingers. “I know that your augmentations will let you survive me. I’m not even certain I can kill you. I know I don’t want to. You have things I want. Or access to them, anyway. The necklace is a wedge, a fulcrum for me to build my access to power. And that is something that I want badly enough to give you that which you cannot live without, if only you taste them once. Starting with this.”
She knelt before me and freed me from my pants. I was instantly erect when my eyes connected her destination with the potential pleasure she would bring me. I was not wrong. Warm silken sheets dragged along my length as her lips closed over me, her head moving up and down, varying speed, direction, and pressure. I could feel each whirling moment of her tongue as she rested at the end of each stroke. Only her eyes remained unchanged, never leaving mine, the corners wrinkling with mirth as she fed her ego from the wanton submission on my face. I could have feigned resistance, but it was a lie, and a weak one at that. In a moment, I began to pull away, but she placed both hands against my stomach, seizing the initiative against my flagging will. It was too much. I gave in and bucked, thinking that, even in that second, she was in command as her throat worked once, then twice, my muscles going dead slack in seconds from the aftermath of my orgasm. I felt her pulling spirit from me and I gave it willingly, just as I had given in to her mouth. Marcus had been the fortunate one. He was dead. He couldn’t know the pangs of living without possessing Delphine, but I would, and as she rose from the floor to pour more wine, I realized that nothing I would do from that point forward would be without her permission. Just as she had planned, all along.
I spoke, my throat grating with dust after her attentions. “I know I must sleep to recover, but, before I do, why am I here? If you know the truth about the necklace, why this charade? Why give yourself to me when you don’t have to?”
She laid a hand at her throat, charmed by my stupor. “You’re not asking the right question, sweetheart. I know where you got the necklace. I know about the Baron, it’s his work as surely as if his signature were upon it. I don’t want the jewelry. I want the victory. I want you. I want anything and everything that secures my place. Hell is an upwardly mobile social club, you might say, and I’m not going to stop in the middle. I want to sit at the top. And, Ring, you really are selling yourself short. What if I just enjoy fucking you? Surely you cannot argue with such a simple pleasure? Or is there guilt? Guilt for your betrayal to both lovers? Guilt at lying down with the enemy? I assure you, I am not your enemy. Would an enemy treat you as I have? Especially knowing that time with me would not kill you? Look at this, Ring” she caressed herself lazily “it’s all yours. For the night, and the morning, and again, in the future. Think about it. Limitless pleasure. A full exploration of these skills, and my singular attention. My hands will bring you to readiness in an instant, my mouth can finish you and you will be in me at your whim. Tell me, does that sound like a threat?”
“No.” My lids were getting heavy. She was lethal, but not to me. She was just psychotically addictive and gifted beyond words at her tasks, all of which had driven me to the brink of collapse in seconds. “What do you want?” I had no idea what to expect. She was completely opaque, despite her patina of lust.
“A good question, very good. The first time you’ve cut to the heart of the matter. Well done, pet.” She beamed at me from her perch on the edge of the table. “Let’s start with what I don’t want. Jewelry, no matter who the maker. Money, things, or places to put them. I have it all. I want you to confirm your suspicions. About the Baron, that is, as well as Elizabeth. Find out what he really asked you to do, rather than bring a wayward daughter home to a lonely, glorified hunting lodge in a forgotten dale. What I really want is quite simple. Kill Elizabeth. Kill her and let me reign as I should, and you will have me in all of my forms for as long as you wish. All my things, all my power, all of my passion, all yours. And all you have to do is rid the world of a greater evil. Kill my mother, and le
t me reign in this hell as I was born to do.” Her lips touched mine with the promise of a silken prison and pleasures yet to come.
“Mother? Where is hell? What does it look like?” I asked, coming to an understanding that this was a family fight, on our world, and all of us were at risk.
Delphine snapped her fingers again for more wine. “Yes, mother--an uppity, frigid bitch. And, right now, hell looks a lot like New Orleans.”
I slept, dreamless and still, my will spent in Delphine, allowing my body to take the lead. Delphine did the same in the morning. I awoke to her riding me, a coy wave with one hand and the other behind her, fingers dragging along my thighs in a double sensation that made me thrust upward involuntarily. It was spellbinding, especially considering I hadn’t brushed my teeth.
Her amusement was gently reproving. “What, no sailaway fuck until next time?”
I laughed aloud. Her brazen tongue clashed so with her tousled hair and angelic expression. She pouted even as she settled on me, her warmth constricting and bending my will with each rise and fall of her hips. “I was Army, not Navy. But I accept your kind offer.” She bent forward to me, her work undone, and I wondered how lonely the ride home was going to be--and what awaited me there.
Crow Hop handed me my bag as he refused my tip. “Thank you, sir, but I’m well compensated.” He was the model of discretion, carefully avoiding the door that opened, framing Risa and Wally, their distress visible even at a distance. My slavish behavior was fading with each moment away from Delphine’s presence. I could not say if that was welcome because the memory of her touch was incandescent.
“A word of advice, Crow Hop, although you’re a man grown. Get away from her. Get away and stay away.” I shook his hand and he searched my face for anger, something. I’m not sure what. But I think, as he turned away, that I saw fleeting compassion for me, and that made me feel even more unclean as I trudged Hector’s last walk to my awaiting lovers. The situation had changed, but they had not, and I had a great deal to explain.
I warily entered my silent home, but Risa broke the ice and put her arms around me. Wally waited and we embraced warmly. I was thankful and relieved. Until that moment, my tension had kept me subconsciously wired.
“Sit,” Wally directed. I sat.
“Are you hurt?” When I shook my head no, she said, “Tell us. Everything.”
So I did.
My report ranged from a tale of debauchery to a clinical analysis of internecine warfare between immortals for control of New Orleans, Miami, and points between. It was broken by occasional questions or clarifications between the three of us when I remembered a voice. Delphine’s voice, whispering to me in the night. I felt her lips at my ear, telling me secrets and promises in a sultry drone that drenched my psyche with a latent desire to do her bidding. The memory was hypnotic.
Risa wondered aloud if I was imagining it as I fought to heal from her feeding.
“No, it makes too much sense. And the things she said to me, they bolster what I heard while I was awake. Her little girl lost bullshit, her offer to me. Her needs, her wants. It’s all a lie. Look, I went there a sinner who was ignorant of his transgressions; I walked out riddled with guilt.” I sought any indication of penance with the girls. I owed them that.
“What? Sins? You didn’t sin, Ring. You fucked an immortal” Wally was incensed. “You did what you wanted, what we wanted you to do, I admit I do not like it, the knowing how good she was and all . . . ,” she trailed off, the sexual challenge of Delphine fresh in her mind as a threat.
“You learned a great deal. At some risk. So you had fun, you came home to us, not her. We have no lease on one another’s bodies, only our minds, and only that by agreement,” Risa summed up our less than traditional household. “Was it productive? Do we even want to participate in the politics of Hell, whether it is a real place, or some distant mine under a cabin adorned with bones? Who gives a shit? Do we?”
I thought we did for several reasons. Suma. Boon. Pan. Their families. Our futures. I didn’t have to spell it out for them; the girls reached the same conclusion. “When Delphine was telling her story, I noticed some very human things about her.”
“Her tits?” Wally asked, archly.
“True, they were magnificent, but yours are better. And Risa has better legs, while you’re both better lovers. Less consuming, more giving. Although the burping --” Wally kicked me, and laughed. We were okay for the moment. “No, I felt her insecurity through her sin. Pride, and plenty of it. No surprise there, but the self-pity was a shocker. I don’t think that there will ever be enough of anything to take Delphine far enough from the mud and rape of those camps she told me about. And that, ladies, is why I think she is easier to manage than Elizabeth. The devil we know and all that.”
Risa was doubtful. “Easier how? Because she can’t kill you quickly? And Elizabeth can? How do we know Elizabeth is even truly immortal? We have flawed intelligence from dubious sources about women who may or may not have ever been human. How is that truly knowing anything?”
I presented my case. “Let’s assume Cazimir is an immortal, and, somehow, his family has spilled into the wider world. We have daughters, sisters, all females, for some reason- running wild, fucking and eating and murdering people on three continents. He concocts a plausible crime of theft, finds us, and does what? Hopes for the best, that we remain mute through the search? That his brawling brood doesn’t turn on each other and inform us of the shitstorm we’re walking into? No. There are only two possibilities. He knows and doesn’t think it matters because the fight is happening whether we get involved or not. Or something that scares me.”
“Which is?” the girls asked in unison. Too many days together can lead to that type of speech.
“Cazimir isn’t a father, brother, uncle, crazy cousin, whatever. He’s a rival. And we are his brass knuckles. He doesn’t want peace. He wants war. Not to expand his empire, but to sit right where he is and reign, just as he has done since we, as humans, began to call him by his true name: Satan.”
Our problem had an expanding set of outcomes. I detest moving goal lines, so we agreed to thin the herd. We would start with our easiest target, and the current president of my fan club, Delphine. I had recovered from our twelve hour dinner, so I could safely assume she was at her best as well. Girding my loins for battle, I made a mental note. Keep her mouth away from my zipper, and I would remain the picture of steadfast control. Of course, that meant violating many of my personal principles regarding never looking a gift horse in the mouth, or, in this case, refusing a gift whore’s mouth, neither of which sounded very mannerly but made my point, nonetheless. Delphine had used that term, not me-- I was just going along with her ritualized self-empowerment, and- she actually scared the hell out of me in the same way a superb rollercoaster does. She did everything except turn upside down, and we simply hadn’t gotten around to that position, I sensed.
Our plan seemed perfect, with one small exception: When I called her phone, the number was disconnected. All of her email accounts were invalid, and her site had gone dark. Joseph would not miss the chance to shame me like the peasant he knew me to be, so when his number bounced back as invalid, I knew that Delphine had gone under, most likely minutes after I left. Risa and Wally tried every possible means we had of contacting her, all to no avail. When a street view camera outside her primary home showed a property that had been boarded up, we knew she was long gone. All of this meant that something had convinced Delphine teaming with me was a losing ticket.
I respectfully disagreed. But we still had one grape to squeeze. Suma.
Risa is tenacious when she gets an idea, no matter how nascent. She had that ruminating look when I found her at the kitchen table after dinner. The cloud of stillness around her meant she had been thinking for some time.
“Hey.” She emerged from her reverie slowly. “I put a few ideas together while you were otherwise occupied, you tramp.” I leaned against her partly in apology. Part
ly because I missed her, and I craved her approval after my sojourn to slutville.
“I’m listening. My answers are a bit thin, and I’m getting tired of being out-thought by immortals who are glorified criminals. Even if that’s actually what we are, but you get me.” I grabbed an orange and sat, whittling the nubby rind, while she gathered her thoughts. Wally came in from the yard, Gyro in tow, and stole the wedges I had peeled. She stuffed the first one into her mouth with an accompanying glare. I wasn’t out of the woods yet.
“Wally mentioned, as you were no doubt cavorting with that hag, that we are being taught a lesson.” Risa tapped at the laptop in front of her, opening a file labeled Names. “This is a compilation of our recent contacts. Guess what they have in common, other than all of them being acquainted with your penis?”
“Very funny. None of them stole my fruit and held grudges?” I wasn’t going down without a fight.
The Forest Bull (The Fearless) Page 20