by Chloe Adler
The guy is nothing but a bully, and though I should be terrified, a deep calm washes over me from head to toe. Without taking the time to assess what this unfamiliar feeling is—naiveté, entitlement or unadulterated fear—I spit, “Start the process then, or wait until Friday and you’ll have your money.” I take a step back and slam the door in his face.
After I’m sure Bob is gone, my newfound calm flees. What was I thinking? This will be Michael all over again. Why couldn’t I just play along? Then at least I could have drawn out the eviction process—even in the Edge, he can’t dump my stuff out overnight. But nooo, I had to open my big mouth. Now, just like Michael, Bob will find a way to make things worse. Stupid, stupid, stupid. One day playing vampire princess and I forget what’s at stake.
Now we’ll have to try things the hard way.
I walk down to the hardware store and purchase a new deadbolt. Growing up poor teaches you how to do a lot of things on your own, and changing out locks is one of the many skills I happen to have.
An hour later, I call a taxi to take me to the Ridge. On the way there, I phone Miss Cheryl but it goes straight to voicemail.
“Hi, Miss Cheryl, it’s Amaya. As you know, your brother raised the rent on my parents’ house with zero notice. What you may not know is that he’s been harassing me daily for the extra money. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal, and I’d hate to be forced to call the police chief about it. I’d also hate to have to quit working at Ichor, but if I lose my parents’ house, I’ll have no reason to continue there. So do me a favor and tell your brother not to drop by unannounced again. He’ll have his money by Friday, which is what he agreed to. Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow night for my shift.”
When we reach the front gate, I have the driver buzz the intercom. There’s no answer.
“Just drop me off here,” I say and take out a few bucks to pay him—while I still have any. This might be my last taxi for a while.
“You sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure.” I get out of the car with my backpack and wait until he leaves. Then I crawl through the gate. It’s not very secure. Is it just for show? Hoisting my backpack onto my back, I check my phone again. There are no recent texts from Vasily, but I told him I was on my way. The house is far from the gate and I’m not loving the idea of walking all the way there.
About a hundred yards in, the whinny of a horse is my only warning before an arm grabs me by my waist and I fly through the air, screaming—to land on the front of a horse that just keeps galloping. There’s no doubt who just pulled that barbarian move. The smell of lilacs tickles my nose. Though I struggle to turn around anyway, Vasily keeps his arm around me while burying his nose in my hair and breathing me in. Is he chuckling?
“Amaya.” His voice catches with laughter.
“What the hell, Vasily?”
“Too manly or not manly enough?” He plucks off my backpack as Sequoia gallops into the trees lining his property. Once inside the dense growth, he slows the horse to a trot and then a walk.
“Some warning would have been nice,” I say.
“You didn’t like it?”
Damn it, he’s got me.
“No answer equals a yes.”
I sigh.
“I see you brought your backpack. Does that mean you’re staying the night?”
“You did say that helping with the horses is a morning thing, no?”
“Bright and early. You a night owl?”
I shift on the saddle, trying to nudge his arm away. Now that the horse has slowed down to a walk, I can stay on without a problem. “My night job at the vectum is messing with my sleep patterns. Plus it doesn’t help that I don’t have a regular schedule there.”
“When will you?”
“Never. Cheryl changes the schedule each week.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s dependent on how much blood each donor loses. If someone lets a vampire drink their fill, they’re out for at least three days. If it’s someone my size, they could be out for five.”
“Of course.” He clears his throat. “I hadn’t considered.”
I pull forward and lie over the horse’s mane, my arms circling his neck.
“He likes you.”
“How do you know that?”
“If anyone else tried that, they’d be on the ground right now.”
“Oh.” I sit up too fast and Vasily vaults off the stallion, landing silently beside the horse. As the animal comes to a stop, he helps me down. The area we’re in reminds me of the clearing from my dream. It’s not as vibrant and there aren’t nearly as many flowers everywhere, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a little winged fae flew by right now.
“So you’ve decided to take our job?” Vasily’s eyes are on me, deep and dark.
“I have.” I smooth my hands down the front of my jeans, looking for my backpack. It’s perched on top of the stallion, balanced somehow.
“I’m glad.” The way he speaks to me covers my body in silken goose bumps. “The brothers will be happy to hear it too.”
“Why? Do all of them have horses too?”
“They do. And not all of them can ride as often as they like, so if you’re up for it, I know they’d like you to take some of theirs out, as part of the job.”
“You’re going to pay me to ride horses?” Hell, yes.
Vasily moves closer, his body towering over mine. “And if you’ll consider letting me drink . . .”
I don’t know why this makes me so nervous. Maybe because I’ve never had a vampire drink from me before, which is ridiculous since I work at a freaking blood bank.
To hell with my non-compete. I’m not exactly feeling kindly toward Bob and his sister at the moment. And why wouldn’t I want my first time to be with someone I know and trust? “Yes.”
He moves impossibly closer, and I have to strain my neck to peer up at him. His skin, two shades darker than mine, seems to swallow all the light in this sunny meadow.
I sigh and close my eyes, lifting myself onto my tiptoes, waiting for him to kiss me again.
A broad hand encircles the back of my neck, the touch of his lips forcing my eyes open. His are open too, and he’s gazing into mine, but the past intensity is gone. This time his eyes are soft, relaxed and, if I’m reading it, right—playful? Sure enough, his other hand moves to my back and he spins and dips me like a ballroom dancer. His body pulses above me and there’s no ignoring the hard length of his cock pressed against my thigh. Nor does he try and hide it. Even in a dip, I manage to press my thigh into him. He groans, adjusting himself against me, our tongues tangling. Reaching my hand between us, I stroke him through his tight leather pants. He pushes my legs open with one of his and presses his thigh against my heat.
“Yes,” I hiss and open my legs wider.
Straightening with me in his arms, he shoves his hands under my ass and pushes me against a tree. I wrap my legs around his waist and he drops one hand to press it into my swollen center. Press. Release. Press. Release. Deepening the kiss, he swirls his tongue around mine in a delicious rhythm that matches the one he’s using against my clit. My legs tighten around him as the orgasm builds.
He breaks the kiss and growls, “Come for me.”
My head flies back, exposing my neck, and he falls on it.
I freeze.
The orgasm is lost, swallowed in a wave of fear and panic.
Vasily pulls back, then helps me stand on shaky legs, his brows furrowed. “What happened?”
I press my hand against the side of my neck, then pull back to look at it. Nothing wet. No blood that I can see. “I thought you were going to bite me.”
He takes a step back. “I would never do that without your permission.”
Though relief is pouring through me, sweet, sweet air moving in my lungs again, I can’t help but be confused. “But I gave you permission before we . . .” I wave my hand between us.
“That doesn’t mean I was going to keep going when your body recan
ted said permission. I would never—” He looks away and clears his throat. “Apologies. I merely wanted to give you an orgasm, not scare you.”
The air between us rushes in as he steps farther away.
I take a step toward him, reaching out. “It’s fine, I misunderstood. Can we pretend it didn’t happen?”
His eyes darken. “Whatever you wish.” His voice is clipped. “I’ll take your backpack back to the house for you.” He picks it up and turns away.
My hand, still in the air, falls to my side. The silence between us is as loud as a thunderclap on a blustery, storm-filled night.
Door Ajar?
“I have something I need to do right now. Do you think you can handle untacking Sequoia?” Vasily’s already moving away, down a path toward the house.
Gulp. “Um, sure. Can you point me to the tack room? I assume everything I’ll need is there? The towels, brushes, currycomb, et cetera? And where do I hang the gear?”
“I’ll see to it that someone’s there to show you everything.” He turns back. “Do you know your way back to the stable from here?”
I nod.
“Good. Thank you. I’ll see you back at the house.” Turning away, he leaves.
What just happened? One minute we were all wound up together like the string around a spinning top, and the next minute I’m toppled in the dirt, no string in sight. He doesn’t actually like me. So, what was the orgasm supposed to be? A bribe or a consolation prize?
I lead his horse back to the stables, but my mood is foul. When I drop the reins at the hitching post out front, Sequoia keeps plodding right along into the barn and into a large room across from his stall. Rather than argue with the beast, I follow right behind, kicking up dirt with the toe of my boot. Turns out he’s smarter than me and has brought me into the tack room.
I peek my head around the doorway. “Hello?” I call out, but there’s no answer. I know I should wait for whoever is supposed to show me how to untack, but I’m antsy and a little glum. I manage to remove the saddle and hang it up but I can’t get the bridle out of his mouth. I pull the reins over his head, after balancing precariously on a stool, and stand in front of him. Yanking does no good; he bites down and tosses his head, which sends me flying into the dust. Standing up, I brush off the dirt and try again.
“Need some help?” a familiar voice asks from over the stall door.
That doesn’t sound like Bodhi or Arch. It sounds like . . . “Forrest?” I spin around and there he is, wearing a huge grin, those violet eyes twinkling with mischief. My mood immediately lifts. “What are you doing here?”
“Showing you how to untack Sequoia.” His lovely eyes crinkle with his broad smile. Opening the door to the stall, he crosses to the horse. “
“But why are you here?” I motion around the stall with my hands.
“Ahh, they didn’t tell you.”
I cock my head.
“I live here.”
“Of course you do. You’re the stable boy. Hot.”
His laughter echoes off the metal walls. “I live in the house with my brothers.” His eyes sparkle as he takes the reins. Then he unhooks the latches on the bridle slowly so I can see how it’s done and gently removes the bit from the horse’s mouth.
“You’re one of the Stetler brothers?”
“Yes.” At least he has the good grace to look chagrined at the admission.
“Then you’re not a vampire.”
He wilts even further. “No.”
“So you were sent to Ichor to, what, keep an eye on me?”
He pets Sequoia’s mane tenderly, then moves past me and out of the stall to hang up the tack. Reentering, he nods and hands me a currycomb, using another to show me how to clean the sweat from the mount. I follow his movements, letting him fall silent and sinking into the welcome calm of the motions. I’d forgotten how centered working with horses could make me feel. Something I’m sorely in need of after whatever just happened with Vasily. He walks away because I can’t “perform,” but he sends his friends to watch over me?
When we switch to brushing, he speaks.
“I apologize for not telling you last night, but I wanted you to know me for who I am, not as just a vassal of Vasily’s.”
Vassal? What an odd word to use to describe their friendship.
“I feared that if you knew who I was, you wouldn’t see me as an individual.”
“Huh?” I stop brushing and face him. “I don’t understand what you mean. How could I see you as anything else, even knowing you’re one of the brothers?”
“Can you tell me that you wouldn’t have had any preconceived notions?”
I look away. “No you’re right, I would have. But by not telling me . . .”
“You don’t trust me now?”
“I don’t know, Forrest.” I sigh and continue to work on the horse. “Did you use any magic on me? Have any of you?”
He snorts. “Our magic hasn’t worked in quite some time, so that would be a no.”
“It doesn’t work? Why?”
“There’s something we need—more than one thing, actually. And without them, we’re just like every other human in the world.”
“Just like me?”
He stops brushing and places his hands on my shoulders. “No, not like you. You’re special.”
I laugh. “Yeah right.”
“You were born here, right?”
I roll my eyes. I know what he’s getting at—the rumor that, sometimes, humans born in the Edge gain magical powers. But it’s just that, a rumor. Probably started by humans desperate to believe in a better future than the one the Edge hands them. “I was, but believe me, I have no magical anything.”
Forrest’s eyes trip over my face. “Those rumors exist for a reason, Amaya.”
“Why hasn’t anyone come forward then?”
He huffs. “Would you? It’s one thing to be Signum and quite something else to be an unknown quantity. You wouldn’t be accepted among the humans anymore or among the Signum.”
“It’s not like I’ve got the most active social life anyway. Where do I sign up?” I joke.
“No need, you’re already one of the lucky ones. You have powers, Amaya, and if you let us, we can help you access them.”
The brush in my hand freezes, then shakes a little. “You’re freaking me out right now.”
Forrest and I walk back to the house together in silence. Despite his ridiculous insistence that I’m hiding some sort of magical power, I take comfort in his presence. I’m not about to let him know how much, though.
The front of the house—mansion, really—is so serene when we approach that I’m a little disappointed not to see Bodhi sitting in his full lotus on the lawn. Forrest continues up the walk but I remain outside.
“Are you coming in?” he asks from the front door.
“You go ahead, I’ll be in shortly.”
He throws me one of his heartthrob smiles, swishes his long white hair over a shoulder and disappears inside.
I plop down on the same spot I saw Bodhi use, under the same Japanese maple. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply, holding it for a count of five before exhaling. When I was ten, Mom taught me how to meditate. I don’t do it regularly, but today, I think I need it. The way my mind and lungs expand, reminding me that I’m alive, trapped in this physical body, has a way of pushing away the mental tumult of the last few days.
I’m so tuned into my breathing that I don’t notice the soft rustling next to me at first. It’s not until the scent of lilacs hits my nose that I realize I’m not alone. Without opening my eyes, I sigh, long and deep.
“How long have you been watching me?”
“I’m not watching you, I’m meditating with you.” Vasily’s voice settles low in my belly, warm and comforting.
“I thought only Bodhi meditated.”
“Oh, I’m here too.”
My eyes fly open. Vasily is sitting on my right, in half lotus, while Bodhi sits in full on my left. I c
an’t help but laugh.
“You’ve got your meditation skills down pat,” says Bodhi.
“You didn’t hear either of us approach and sit next you,” adds Vasily. “Not the best skill for protecting yourself but that’s what we’re here for.”
“Oh really?” What an odd thing to say. I turn to him, cocking a brow. “Is that right?”
Vasily grins at me, an impish twinkle in his eye.
The sound of tiny laughter filters down from the tree above us. Vasily shifts, his eyes enlarging, his head swiveling.
“What is that?” I ask.
“You heard it too?”
“I did. It sounded like—” I stop and rub my forehead.
“What?” Bodhi asks. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“What did it sound like to you?” Vasily asks.
“It’s stupid. I don’t even want to say because I’ll sound like a complete idiot.”
“Never,” says Vasily, Bodhi echoing him. “Tell us, we’d never judge.”
“It sounded like the fae from my dream,” I blurt.
Bodhi leans forward, past me, eyes wide at Vasily. He just gives Bodhi a tight headshake.
“From your dream,” Vasily says, an odd emphasis on the last word.
“I told you it was stupid.”
“Not at all. Will you tell us about it?”
“You want to hear about my dream?”
“We do,” says Bodhi.
Their intensity is palpable. I shrug and tell them everything I can remember. Thankfully, they remain still next to me, listening, not judging or laughing at the strange things my subconscious likes to cook up. When I’m finished, Vasily nods.
“Tara? Are you sure?” Bodhi asks me.
“I’m sure.”
He exchanges another loaded glance with Vasily.
“You two know you’re not being sly with those looks, right?” I say.
Bodhi heaves a sigh. “Can’t we just tell her?”
“You know the rules,” Vasily says.