A Winter Moon

by S. J. Smith

  When Violet finally sat up, she saw that many other guests had collapsed to the ground as well, their clothing in some disarray. Oliver was entwined around her, panting. Lucas was sitting up next to them, shirtless, scratched and bleeding, breathing hard. Without saying a word, he leaned over and ran his tongue over her neck.

  “I missed the taste of you, my sweet, beautiful Violet,” he murmured.

  “Ghede wanted a taste, I see,” said Oliver as he sat up. He caressed Violet’s neck with a gentle hand. Although he had stripped his clothing off, and his face carried a shadow of exhaustion, his demeanor resumed its previous elegance. “Papa Ghede never could resist a beautiful woman.”

  Violet’s head was still spinning. Her heart thumped against her ribcage and she struggled to catch her breath. The scene surrounding her shifted in and out of focus. Her vision blurred, and she fainted into Lucas’s arms.

  When Violet awoke hours later, she felt dazed. Her body ached, and her mouth was dry. She sat up slowly and saw that she was in a suite-style bedroom with dark mahogany and green furnishings. She was reclining on a chaise lounge beneath a silk sheet. Lucas was seated in a chair across from her, smoking a cigarette and reading. She looked under the sheet and realized that she had been undressed down to her lingerie.

  “W-what happened?” she asked, her cheeks reddening.

  Lucas looked up. “Ah, you’re awake,” he said, closing his book and leaning forward. “You fainted, that’s all. It can happen when a possessed conjure man brings you into his fold, so to speak.” He seemed unconcerned, smiling across at her with his legs crossed casually.

  The memory of the evening flooded back into Violet’s mind: the drums and the dance—Oliver taking control of her body. It was like a vivid dream.

  “And what happened to my dress?”

  “Covered in rum.” Oliver emerged from somewhere behind her where she lay. He was dressed in his white linen again, and looked as immaculate as ever, though his shirt sleeves were rolled up. He was holding an ornate porcelain opium pipe in his hand, which he placed on the table next to Lucas’s book. “But how are you, my darling?” he asked, leaning over her with concern written in his pale features. He caressed her cheek and tilted her chin up, looking into her eyes. Violet wasn’t used to being poked and prodded like this, but as she looked into the dark blue eyes of her host, she felt herself give in to his touch. She gazed up at him and thought that he was ageless. His skin was paper-white and flawless. His red hair, previously smoothed back, was now slightly untidy. A strand fell forward, framing his face. He seemed completely at ease, although his expression was something reminiscent of concern.

  “My beautiful Violet,” he murmured, running his thumb along her jaw. “Even our patron saint knows how special you are.”

  Lucas watched them from where he sat. He felt a mixture of jealousy and desire, watching Oliver and Violet together like that.

  “It’s true,” he added, overcoming his feelings for the moment. “I’ve never experienced such an intense ritual.”

  Oliver withdrew, and sat on the sofa opposite Violet. “Do you like it here?” he asked, continuing to watch her.

  Violet sat up and rearranged the pillows behind her, clutching the sheet to her chest. She was worlds away from everything she knew. The streets of New York City that seemed like a dream against the backdrop of the past couple days. Her life—the modelling, the cinema, all of the time spent with New York’s bright young things in high society seemed somehow irrelevant in this strange new reality. She took a deep breath.

  “Well, Mr. Deveroux, it’s difficult to define exactly whether I like it or not,” she said at last.

  “Go on,” he replied with an incline of his head. He had picked up the opium pipe, and began to prepare it, setting out a small lamp and preparing a small dab of opium tar over the flame. He kept his eyes on her as he stretched the dark paste over and over again with a practiced hand.

  Violet watched, wondering at the deftness with which he prepared the drug. “It’s like nothing I’ve experienced,” she said at last, “somehow, it’s more foreign than anywhere I’ve been in Europe…stranger…” she trailed off.

  Oliver inserted the opium into his pipe, and held it over the flame, inhaling deeply. Tendrils of white smoke rose from the pipe, and the air of the room became sweet and hazy.

  “Of course if Lucas hadn’t ended up in your backyard, you might be having a singularly mundane experience of the place.”

  Violet laughed. “That may be true,” she conceded. “But there is something in the air here. It’s like a smell or, electricity or something.”

  Oliver smiled at her, flashing his fangs. “That’s one of the things that drew my family here from up North, so many moons ago.”

  “I was born and raised, here, but I’ve never wanted to live in another state,” Lucas said, moving across the room to join Oliver on the couch.

  The older vampire passed him the opium pipe, and he took the delicately painted ceramic stem in his hands, leaning over the flame and inhaling deeply. He set the pipe down and let the smoke escape in slow-curling wisps as he leaned comfortably against Oliver’s shoulder. He stroked Lucas’s dark hair, brushing it back from his face. Before Violet could wonder about the nature of their relationship, Oliver took him in a slow and tender kiss. Lucas’s eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a low moan. The redheaded conjure man’s eyes were on Violet as he nibbled Lucas’s lower lip. She felt her cheeks grow red as she watched the two men in their embrace. Perhaps it was the sweet vapors from the opium pipe, but she had begun to feel warm and relaxed. There seemed to be no place for jealousy in her heart as desire flared in her loins. The kiss was broken, and Lucas turned to look at Violet, smirking.

  “Lucas told me that you’re the only woman he’s ever desired—even before he met you,” Oliver said as he casually began unfastening buttons of the other man’s shirt.

  Violet raised her eyebrows. She guessed that this meant that he had seen her in the movies. She wondered if it had truly been by chance that she had found him in her backyard that evening.

  “He says he wants to paint you,” Oliver continued, as he unbuttoned the final button of Lucas’s shirt. It fell open, and he caressed the other man’s chest and stomach. “Why don’t you show me what has driven my sweet Lucas so mad?”

  Violet understood what he meant at once. All of her inhibitions melted away in the opium haze under the attentive gaze of the two men. She slowly pushed the sheet down, revealing the black lace chemise and stockings that she wore beneath. The feeling of having both men watching her undress, taking her in with a look of absolute hunger in their dark eyes, was a sensation unlike anything Violet had experienced. She felt as if she were teetering on the brink of absolute euphoria. She shrugged one of the straps of her chemise off, allowing it to slip down her shoulder. Oliver’s hand was moving lower down Lucas’s stomach. He was aroused. She could see the outline of his manhood, straining against the front of his trousers as he watched her. Oliver caressed him, and he moaned aloud. He looked as if he might succumb to lust. Violet let her slip drop to the floor. She stood there now in only her stockings, her slender body completely exposed. Her small breasts and soft thighs were for Oliver and Lucas to feast their eyes on.

  “Good girl,” Oliver murmured. In spite of having taken opium, and the passionate scene unwinding around him, he seemed to be in complete control. Violet couldn’t tell if he was enjoying himself or not. His face was neutral and perfect in its ageless beauty. He was undoing Lucas’s trousers now, pulling the buttons of his union suit apart in rapid succession, revealing his body to her. Lucas looked wanton. He pushed his hips against Oliver’s touch, but his eyes were on Violet.

  “Come, Violet, let’s give our Lucas a little bit of what he wants, shall we?” Oliver said with a slight smile as he released Lucas’s manhood.

  Violet dropped to her knees in front of them. She felt it now, the hunger that she saw in the men’s faces. She wanted to taste
Lucas. She wanted him to take her in front of Oliver. She wanted to be devoured whole by these men. She crawled to the sofa and nestled herself between Lucas’s legs, taking him into her mouth. He let out a hiss of pleasure and grasped a handful of her hair. Oliver was pinching his nipples and biting at his neck, leaving little red dots across his pale skin. He remained there for an instant, watching Violet on her hands and knees, ass up in the air as she pleasured Lucas. He stood up suddenly, crossing behind her. In a swift motion he dropped to his knees, caressing the smooth skin of her bottom before giving it a good hard slap with the flat of his hand. Violet gasped in surprise. He slapped her again. Her skin flushed red under each assault. He caressed her, and then rested a finger teasingly between her thighs. She moaned and pushed back against him. Lucas was immobilized by her ministrations, his breath ragged as he moaned aloud.

  “Lucas,” came Oliver’s voice from behind her, his voice portrayed complete calm, “I’m going to take your woman. Would you like that?”

  Violet could sense him moving behind her, undoing his button fly. One hand rested on her hip, then she felt him push against her, easing into her heat. She couldn’t help but gasp aloud at the sensation. She braced herself against the couch, looking up at Lucas. His dark eyes were clouded with desire as he watched Oliver thrust into her. He reached for the opium pipe and held it over the flame once more as he inhaled. Tendrils of white smoke drifted up from his lips in lazy spirals. His expression was one of absolute bliss. Violet moaned as Oliver filled her to her core, moving slowly, ever restrained in his desire. She pushed back against him, demanding more, and he pulled away, leaving her wanting.

  Without a word exchanged, Lucas got to his feet and took his place behind her. Violet cried out and thrust against him, grabbing at his thighs as pleasure shot through her, electric and unrestrained.

  “My beautiful Violet,” Lucas was murmuring as he grasped her hips.

  Oliver sat back on the sofa, watching the two of them. He had never seen Lucas so passionate about a lover before. This Violet Miller—a famous muse from New York City—would she want to stay with them? The love that Oliver felt for Lucas was one of father and lover combined. He couldn’t bear the thought of what his unhappiness might be if Violet left Louisiana and returned back to her charmed life up North.

  Violet was lost in ecstasy now. It was as if she had fallen into a trance again. Her hands were braced against the couch as she offered herself in nothing but her stockings to the man behind her. It was strange that she trusted him implicitly. The rest of her life faded into obscurity as Lucas thrust against her, hands around her slender waist as he increased his pace. She could feel pleasure building inside her, threatening to explode.

  Oliver was undressing now. Letting his white linen drop to the floor as he pulled off his shirt and trousers. Violet took in the sight of him hungrily, admiring his powerful build. His white skin was covered in black tattoos. Voodoo symbols and coats of arms. An elaborate cross was tattooed on his chest, which rose and fell rapidly, betraying his desire as he moved to embrace Lucas from behind. Without a word, Lucas withdrew, and Violet moved up to the couch, spreading her thighs apart and resting a hand there as she watched as Oliver kissed Lucas’s cheeks. He nibbled his neck from behind as he stroked his manhood and slipped a skilled finger inside of him. Lucas was beside himself with arousal. He surged forward, thrusting into Violet as Oliver spread him apart, pushing inside of him—taking him whole. He let out a strangled moan of pleasure and bit down hard on Violet’s neck. Oliver thrust hard into him, and his face transformed into a mask of ferocious desire. Each thrust drove him closer to the edge—closer into Violet’s heat. She writhed against them. Lucas was sucking at her neck now, and the pain of it mixed with the pleasure, as he drank of her body and soul. She was barely conscious of Oliver whispering.

  “Take her. Take her, Lucas,” he was murmuring over and over again in the younger man’s ear as he thrust into him. “Together.” He was taller than Lucas, and he leaned over him, sinking his fangs into the other side of Violet’s neck. She writhed and moaned at the mercy of the men. Lucas pushed into her one final time, bellowing into the crook of her neck as he came to his crisis, filling her with his seed. Violet bucked against him, lost in a haze of absolute pain and pleasure, losing control as her orgasm crashed over her. Her eyes rolled back, and the room went dark.

  When she awoke hours later, she found herself nestled in between Lucas and Oliver in a large four-poster bed. Each man had thrown a protective arm across her as they slept. She was surprised to find that her neck was free of pain. Her teeth felt unfamiliar and strangely oblong. They were sharp. And then she knew. Her heart swelled with a strange happiness as she felt the steady breathing of the men beside her. She had fallen in love with them. She had fallen in love with New Orleans.

  THE END

  Bonus Story 23 of 40

  Just in Time

  The drunk guy next to me leaned over to blow his beer-laced question in my face. “So who do you think’ll win, huh? Nets or Celtics?”

  I scrunched up my nose and leaned away slightly while he wobbled in his seat. He had a leathery face from many days working out in the sun. His eyes were an unfocused soupy green color and pointed in my general direction. He wore a black trench coat over a blue work shirt and jeans. His muddy boots kept slipping from the ledge under the bar. I chuckled and then pointed to the flat screen directly in front of us, hanging over the bar.

  “The Nets man. All day,” I said. A few New Yorkers within earshot cheered, and the drunk guy grinned.

  “Nah. So what they’re up this quarter, all the Celtics have to do is catch up in the last two minutes and they’ve got this,” the guy said, slurring his words. The Brooklyn crowd at the bar heard him, and he got booed and pelted with peanuts. I chuckled again.

  “They’re going to catch up twenty points in two minutes?” I said. “Not a chance.”

  “I got a huge bet ridin’ on this, I can’t afford to lose it,” said the drunk. I shook my head apologetically.

  “You shouldn’t have bet on the Celtics man. The Celtics? Really?” I said in disbelief. The guy groaned while he gulped down the rest of his fifth beer.

  “Guy is gonna get iced,” the man on my left said with a laugh. I patted the drunk on his back.

  “I suggest you start running now guy, maybe you’ll be able to hide from your bookie,” I suggested. The drunk guy looked up with wide eyes that were surprisingly alert and he slapped two twenties on the bar top before he bolted out of the door. Three seconds later three huge guys ran out after him. Half the bar was loud with laughter.

  I snorted and then paid attention to the screen once more as I brought the bottle of lager to my lips. Got to love this city, there was a never ending supply of entertainment if you knew where to look. With the life I had, I’d just about seen it all.

  I’ve been nearly everywhere on the globe, but had no frequent flier miles to show for my kind of travel. I had the ability to teleport. Create my own wormholes and jump through them to any point on the globe. Often the cracks I created in space and time close right up after I travel through, but sometimes I create large pathways that lead not only to a different place, but a different time. I’ve sometimes gone full years back and forward in time; it was wild. Of course I used my gift with as pure intentions as possible. After I set myself up financially I only jump for largely recreational reasons or if I see that someone truly needs help. Like the drunk guy who made the wrong bet.

  I haven’t done a good Samaritan act for the week yet, so I figured I’d let him get his beating and then jump back in time to stop him from at least making the wrong bet. He left his wallet in his seat before he bolted from the bar and as I looked through it I found his address. It wouldn’t be difficult to fix that guy’s mistake. I’d leave a note on his refrigerator telling him to bet on the Nets or don’t bet at all. I sat and watched the rest of the game and celebrated with the bar as the owner came out and bought every patro
n a beer when the Nets won.

  I left the bar and stepped out into the cold New York night. The city was never quiet that was for sure. I walked around to the side of the building and leaned against the brick façade as I pulled a cigarette and lighter out of my pocket. I lit the cigarette and inhaled the bittersweet taste of tobacco smoke. I watched people walk by on the busy sidewalks as I savored my cigarette. I only allowed myself one per week to keep the cravings at bay.

  As I blew out a plume of smoke I caught sight of a shock of red hair. She stood out, like in one of those cheesy romance films; caught under the moonlight all ethereal in her pale-faced beauty as the background melted into indistinct watercolors. She had a small smile on her lips as she walked along the sidewalk, seemingly lost in a sweet memory. She wore a long red pea coat and had a cream colored scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. One strong winter wind and the thing would fly away. Then, as if I had summoned it, a sudden cold breeze swept the scarf from her shoulders and blew it into the empty street. She looked up, her bright blue eyes startled and she went after it. Even I stepped forward to help her get the scarf. Because hell, I needed to find out who she was.

  Before I could step out into the street I saw the huge semi turn the corner. It was going just as fast any other city driver, and the woman had no chance to get out of the way. I froze and watched the macabre scene in slow motion. She skipped out into the middle of the road and bent to pick up her scarf and looked up just in time to see the grill of the semi before it slammed into her, sent her flying twenty feet into the air before she landed on the street with a thud. All traffic stopped. The entire block stopped all movement as everyone looked at the horrible scene and took it in. After the two seconds of tense silence, people started screaming and yelling at the driver who wasn’t paying attention to the road.