Byrd's Desire by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy Page A

I could make some dirty rice on the side.”
    “Blackened chicken sounds good,” Byrd said.   Curious, she asked, “So you eat human food?”
    Byrd nodded. “I do.  I never eat when I’m transformed into Thunderbird.”
    “And you don’t mind chicken? It’s poultry so it’s a bird.”
    He laughed aloud. “Not the kind that I am, Celia, so it doesn’t matter.  I like it.”
    Naked as the day she entered life, she stood up. “Then I’d better start cookin’.”  She picked up Angie’s discarded dress and hung it across the back of a chair.  Probably have to get this thing dry-cleaned.   Celia slipped into shorts and a tank top, without any undergarments, and paddled barefooted into the kitchen.  Thirty minutes later, delicious aromas based on the Cajun cook’s trinity—onion, celery, and bell pepper—wafted from the room.  Boneless chicken breasts, coated with a spicy seasoning blend, seared and sizzled in a cast iron skillet on the stove and a pot of dirty rice rested on a rear burner.  Celia filled two plates and carried them to the table.  Byrd had poured the Sauvignon Blanc into a pair of chilled goblets.
    “Sit down,” he said.  Instead of asking a blessing, he raised his glass in a toast. “To forever with my beautiful lady, Celia.”
    They drank the full-bodied wine in a way that reminded her of Communion. This isn’t just a meal, it’s making a pact or sealing a deal.   Byrd tasted the food and nodded his approval.  Celia thought she’d done a fine job.  The spicy chicken dish, paired with the dirty rice and the crusty French loaf she’d sliced, complimented the rest well.   “Delicious,” he said. “Merci, beaucoup.”
    “Avec plaisir,” she replied, then translated in case his French wasn’t as engrained as hers. “With pleasure.  We’re eating—what about the talking?”
    Byrd nodded. “You have questions.  Ask me anything.”
    Where did she begin? Dozens of questions erupted in her mind. Celia reviewed the ones she’d already asked and allowed the first of the new ones to exit her mouth. “So we’ve, uh, been intimate twice but you said after three times…”
    “You’re immortal.  Right. You will be.”
    It sounded simple but she wondered how it could be. “How? Is there a ceremony?”
    He grinned. “Not a formal one, no.  Just me and you, some moonlight, and the act.”
    “What happens then?”
    “Whatever you want, winuhca, we can stay here, eat Cajun food, and fuck.  Or we can go to my home.  We can travel if you like, between storms, or almost anything.”
    So far, so good. “Can I visit my family? I’d like you to meet my mama and Angie when she gets back.”
    He put down his fork and stretched out his hand.  Celia took it, his flesh warm and solid beneath her fingers. “Yes, Celia.  And I would like very much to meet them.  I’ve seen your cousin many times as I passed overhead.  She’s almost as lovely as you are.”
    A warm glow moved upward from her heart. “Most people think Angelique’s prettier.”
    “She’s not.” His tone carried certainty and she smiled. “So when does this happen?”
    “Tonight, if it’s clear.  Are you sure, Celia? There’s no going back and you can’t change your mind.”
    “I am and I won’t.” No doubt existed in her heart, mind, or soul. “I wouldn’t want to, Byrd.”
    “Then tonight,” he said. “It should be clear.  The moon’s full and the sky will be filled with stars.”
    “Outside?”
    He cocked an eyebrow. “Where else?”
    Celia pursed her lips together.  She liked the idea but visions of Chuck illuminating them with his headlights or someone else popping up out of the blue were upsetting.  Her favorite secluded place came to mind. “Can it be at the pond?”
    “The pond’s perfect.”
    “So what do we do until then?” She wanted—no, she needed— to know.  After fretting for days and waiting for Byrd’s return, fatigue dogged Celia. “A nap would be