together. She didn’t want to accept this truth especially when, at the core of it, lay some incredible contradiction she could only glimpse. “And when you have children, what then?” she asked.
“Sometimes a couple will live together for years before the woman conceives but it is a joining for convenience. After the woman gives birth and dies, the children are raised by the father with the help of all of us. That has been our way . . . and our curse.” He stood beside her and took her hands. “Until now.”
Though she wanted to hold him, the shame of what she’d done was still too strong in her. Knowing it was foolish, she stood and forced herself into his arms. Once there, she relaxed, rubbing her cheek against his black silk shirt, smelling the melange of scents, all the people he had danced with, all the ones who had brushed against him in the crowded cafe“, the unique musky perfume of his skin . . . and overpowering it all the reek of Philippe’s sweat and semen on her body.
Though he fought his jealousy, the emotion was too new, too strong, and he could not hide it from her. He gripped her arms when, frightened, she tried to push him away, ignored the stab of her nails in his shoulders as he moved down her body. Her shame turned to anger when, exasperated with her struggles, he pulled her down beside him, trapped her body with his mind, and pushed her limp legs apart.
—Stephen, please!—
—Quiet, my love. This is nothing I haven’t tasted before.—
He devoured her shame, her anger, and as her hands clawed the carpet and her back arched and she begged him to stop what he was doing, move up and enter her, she felt him bite—and passion, Philippe’s passion, flowed through her and into him.
And all the while, she heard his challenge in her mind. —Where is apology in this? Why should there be guilt in what you feel, in the passion you can force a mortal to give?—
She almost believed him, almost, but the more he forced her to feel, the closer she came to the truth until, furious, pushed beyond even her new endurance, she broke free of his mental hold, kicked him away, and bolted for the door. At the portal, she turned back to him and screamed the reply, “You make me feel guilt. You!” and ran into the comfort of the darkness.
When she realized he didn’t intend to follow, she slowed her pace to a walk and wandered through the dense woods of the Austra estates, oblivious to her torn and soiled dress, to the blood seeping slowly down her thighs. Though she did not see another of the family, she sensed them around her, knowing she wished privacy and keeping their distance. And inaudibly weaving through it, she heard Laurie’s music as if this place where he did not wish to be had already become his domain.
But not hers. Not yet. And not Stephen’s, not any longer. He only stayed because of her.
She returned to their house and found Stephen standing on the catwalk, looking down at the valley below, waiting for her. “I am sorry,” he began, clearly uncomfortable with this apology. “I don’t understand the emotions inside of me. If I did, I could control them, but, believe me, I have no wish to hurt you.”
“I understand how you feel, Stephen. It’s not even a new feeling to you. No, it’s too akin to when one hunter steals another’s prey.”
“You’re not that to me,” he said so softly she knew he had never considered her that way. >
“No, I am your lover, your almost human lover, and no bloody birth into immortality, no ritual bonding with the family, can change that, not until I have the courage to accept what I have become. I see it clearly now. I understand. In all those years at home I would hear ‘No, Helen’ and ‘Thank you, Helen. You’re so good to us, Helen.’ And then I became ill and crippled and all the restraints that society orders broke down. I could be independent because no man would ever want to make me his possession. I could try to be famous
“Sometimes a couple will live together for years before the woman conceives but it is a joining for convenience. After the woman gives birth and dies, the children are raised by the father with the help of all of us. That has been our way . . . and our curse.” He stood beside her and took her hands. “Until now.”
Though she wanted to hold him, the shame of what she’d done was still too strong in her. Knowing it was foolish, she stood and forced herself into his arms. Once there, she relaxed, rubbing her cheek against his black silk shirt, smelling the melange of scents, all the people he had danced with, all the ones who had brushed against him in the crowded cafe“, the unique musky perfume of his skin . . . and overpowering it all the reek of Philippe’s sweat and semen on her body.
Though he fought his jealousy, the emotion was too new, too strong, and he could not hide it from her. He gripped her arms when, frightened, she tried to push him away, ignored the stab of her nails in his shoulders as he moved down her body. Her shame turned to anger when, exasperated with her struggles, he pulled her down beside him, trapped her body with his mind, and pushed her limp legs apart.
—Stephen, please!—
—Quiet, my love. This is nothing I haven’t tasted before.—
He devoured her shame, her anger, and as her hands clawed the carpet and her back arched and she begged him to stop what he was doing, move up and enter her, she felt him bite—and passion, Philippe’s passion, flowed through her and into him.
And all the while, she heard his challenge in her mind. —Where is apology in this? Why should there be guilt in what you feel, in the passion you can force a mortal to give?—
She almost believed him, almost, but the more he forced her to feel, the closer she came to the truth until, furious, pushed beyond even her new endurance, she broke free of his mental hold, kicked him away, and bolted for the door. At the portal, she turned back to him and screamed the reply, “You make me feel guilt. You!” and ran into the comfort of the darkness.
When she realized he didn’t intend to follow, she slowed her pace to a walk and wandered through the dense woods of the Austra estates, oblivious to her torn and soiled dress, to the blood seeping slowly down her thighs. Though she did not see another of the family, she sensed them around her, knowing she wished privacy and keeping their distance. And inaudibly weaving through it, she heard Laurie’s music as if this place where he did not wish to be had already become his domain.
But not hers. Not yet. And not Stephen’s, not any longer. He only stayed because of her.
She returned to their house and found Stephen standing on the catwalk, looking down at the valley below, waiting for her. “I am sorry,” he began, clearly uncomfortable with this apology. “I don’t understand the emotions inside of me. If I did, I could control them, but, believe me, I have no wish to hurt you.”
“I understand how you feel, Stephen. It’s not even a new feeling to you. No, it’s too akin to when one hunter steals another’s prey.”
“You’re not that to me,” he said so softly she knew he had never considered her that way. >
“No, I am your lover, your almost human lover, and no bloody birth into immortality, no ritual bonding with the family, can change that, not until I have the courage to accept what I have become. I see it clearly now. I understand. In all those years at home I would hear ‘No, Helen’ and ‘Thank you, Helen. You’re so good to us, Helen.’ And then I became ill and crippled and all the restraints that society orders broke down. I could be independent because no man would ever want to make me his possession. I could try to be famous
Similar Books
