The thought of not being able to provide for my lover did not sit well. Knowing I had the means but not the memory to do so was maddening.
“Magic?” she asked. “What kind of magic? Like David Copperfield slight of hand or Harry Potter?” Turning to face the safe door, she dramatically waved her hand at it and said, “Alohomora.” When nothing happened, she snickered, “Well, I never got my acceptance letter into Hogwarts when I turned eleven, so I’m not all that surprised.”
“I do not understand,” I grunted, trying and failing to rip the door from its hinges. I must have had it spelled against that very type of intrusion.
“Join the club,” she mumbled. “So what does magic smell like? And who would’ve done it? You? You said something before about being able to erase memories, so is magic some sort of thing all vampires can do? Like how you can fly?”
I paused, trying and failing yet again to find the words to adequately describe the scent, eventually ending with, “smells like magic. I cannot explain it any better than that. As for who would’ve performed the spell, it would have been a witch. Vampires are not able to perform magic.”
“Witches are real?” she asked incredulously. “Right now, Broom Hilda is out there flying around on her Nimbus 2000 looking for a Quidditch match to play in?”
Answering the only part of her question I understood, I replied, “Yes. Witches are real. Just like Weres, shifters, demons, elves, and fairies.”
My attention was drawn away from the safe when I felt her body go numb and I turned in time to see her drop down into the chair by the desk as she asked, “Did you say fairies?”
Her face had paled considerably and I dropped to my knees in front of her asking, “What is wrong, lover?” I had felt her hunger growing as the night wore on and thinking that was the cause for her sudden weakness, I said, “Let us go and get you some food.”
“Fairies are real,” was her only response.
Her numbness faded away leaving her feeling a maelstrom of emotions. Shock and awe. Anger and gratitude. But above it all was rationality fighting against overwhelming disbelief.
“What causes you to feel this way, lover?”
“I’m a fucking Tinkerbelle!” she exclaimed while throwing her hands up in the air.
“I do not understand.” Again.
“Me neither,” she sighed. Closing her eyes, she ran her hands through her hair and pulled at the ends until they stood straight out from the roots as she growled, “I think I’m a fucking fairy.”
My fangs snapped down of their own accord and I felt simultaneously angry and turned on.
But I did not know why.
As I struggled to understand both her declaration and my own reactions, I found myself leaning forward and taking her hand in my own. My instincts had me inhaling her skin up her arm, along her neckline, and back down her opposite limb. Despite feeling the truthfulness she felt in making her proclamation, I made my own declaration, saying, “No. You are not.”
“Really?” she asked, both wanting to argue against me and feeling relieved at the same time. “How can you tell?”
“I do not know,” I replied truthfully. “But I do know if you were a fairy I would have likely already drained you.”
Just the mere mention of a fairy made my mouth salivate. I could not recall the taste of fairy blood, but I could recall having had hers the night before and I knew she could not be one of them.
And I was thankful for it.
I somehow knew I would’ve killed her long ago had she been.
“Why do you believe you are a fairy?” I asked.
Another jolt went through her body. This one filled with emotional turmoil and a healthy dose of embarrassment before she finally began to tell me of her childhood. Of her parents’ early and unexpected demise. Of going to live with her grandmother and being visited each night by her fairy godmother Claudine. Of the stories this woman told my lover of her heritage and how she helped her learn to cope with her own fantastical ability.
“You are a telepath?” I asked, more dumbfounded by that revelation than the possibility my lover was a fairy hybrid. Again, trying and failing to recall if I had ever come across a true mind reader.
A psychic? Perhaps? Once?
“Yes,” she whispered in reply. When I did not respond, she asked, “Are you angry?”
No. Not angry.
Was that the cause for her ardent stance on keeping herself at arm’s length? Had she heard my previous thoughts and knew the man I was with my memories truly wanted nothing to do with her?
“You’re angry,” she sighed and slumped down even further in the chair.
“No, I’m…what did you hear from my thoughts before? Did I know then what you were? Had it made me angry then?” The questions came out in a rapid fire. I suddenly wanted to remember and yet I didn’t, afraid of what those memories would contain.
“Not a single thing,” she smiled softly. “I was all sorts of cocky walking into your office, sure as all get out that I would get the answers the FBI wanted straight from your head. But I can’t hear a damn thing from you, I assume because of what you are. It only happened one time before then and a few others since I met you. I couldn’t hear Callaghan either. But despite that fucked up night, it’s nice. Being able to be around someone and not having to concentrate on not hearing them.”
I could feel the truth of her words as she spoke them and her earlier wants suddenly made more sense.
“Your gift is the reason why you want to return to the casino to listen in.”
I thought her naïve to believe anyone who may have had a hand in erasing my memories would speak aloud of their misdeeds within earshot of her, but now I understood why.
Recalling my own thoughts on whom could be responsible, I offered, “And what if it was a vampire?”
“What if it’s not?” she shrugged.
She had shared what I considered an intensely personal secret with me. Trusted me with her confidence when I had given her no reason to trust me at all. I had abandoned her and yet she still made good on her promise to see me cleared of all wrong doing.
I could not betray her yet again.
Standing, I pulled her up from the chair and took the seat before pulling her back down into my lap. Wrapping my arms around her, both needing her close and to keep her from fleeing, I finally asked, “What if I did it?”
“What?” she asked as she struggled to turn in my lap to look at me. “Why would you erase your own memories?”
“To get you back,” I admitted. “You are kind and loving and abundantly forgiving. What if I made myself completely vulnerable and put myself in your path so that you would be forced to stay with me? To help me? Knowing you as I do now, even at your angriest I doubt you would leave me to fend for myself in the state I am in.”
“That’s hookie talk,” she laughed. At my questioning gaze, she explained, “Eric. You can feel my emotions. I missed you before you ever took off from the docks. I missed you the whole time I was in the hospital. All I wanted was for things to be right between us. For you to forgive me. So you would’ve felt that. All you would’ve had to do was walk through the door and crook your finger at me. I have no willpower where you’re concerned. I would’ve trailed right after your pied piper.”
Again I felt nothing but sincerity coming from her. She would have gladly gone back to being with me despite of how I had unfairly treated her.
I didn’t deserve her.
And yet I could not let her go.
But her confession also brought with it another realization.
My hand slid up her back to hold her head in place as my lips attacked her own. She froze for all of two seconds before she gave in.
And she gave with gusto.
Needing to feel more of her, I lifted us from the chair and laid her down on the desk with my body covering her own. Her legs wrapped around my waist while my hands slid under her shirt with her body arching into my palms. When I had no choice but to allow her to breathe, I moved on to her neck with my fangs lightly scraping against her skin as she breathed out, “Wha…what are you doing?”
“Seeing if it’s true you have no willpower against me.”
Her answering snort at my truthful confession turned into a gasp as I thrust my hips against hers and she reciprocated the movement before tilting her head and asking, “Are you hungry?”
Suddenly I was ravenous.
Her own hunger was still prevalent, but I had serious doubts I could let go of her long enough to go and acquire her a proper meal. My need for her overpowered every other emotion I felt for her, so I gave in to my greedy nature and asked, “Are you offering?”
“Willpower or no, it’s the least I can do,” she sighed and pushed herself further against my lips. “You saved me from an ass whoopin’ by a telephone pole.”
Just as surely as she had saved me.
I didn’t have the fortitude to argue with her. Nor did I have the want to, but I did want her to get as much enjoyment from the experience as I knew I would. With that thought in mind I slowly slid one hand down her body while my tongue prepared her neck for my bite. She was either too lost in the sensation or she had given up trying to deny her own body’s desire because she made no move to stop me when my hand slipped down into the front of her pants. She gasped yet again as slick wet heat met my fingertips and I wasted no time in going straight for her clit. Her hands fisted into my hair as she ripped my head back to hers, attacking my lips with her own and cutting off her own snarl in the process. Her whole body vibrated underneath mine and the room filled with the scent of her arousal, only making my own desire ratchet up. When I felt her body stiffen like a tightly pulled wire, I moved my lips back to her neck and as my fangs pierced her skin, so did I pierce her body as I slid two fingers inside of her. When her blood hit my tongue, my name was the only thing that could be formed by hers.
She had described my silent presence as her own personal nirvana. The same could be said of her not so silent company. Consuming her. Surrounding her as she surrounded me. Feeling her climax forced my own and I couldn’t think. I couldn’t act. All I could do was react.
It felt like heaven.
I continued to gorge myself on everything my lover deigned to give me until I knew I had to stop. She was already weak from her injuries and her hunger, so I stemmed the flow of blood from her neck before piercing my tongue and healing the marks.
She gave herself to me in pristine condition and I would do no less than return her to the same state.
My lips returned to hers in a lazy kiss while we both descended from our mutual high and when I could finally find the strength, I pulled away in order to look down at her and say, “Thank you lover.”
My words were inadequate for all that she had given me, but the sentiment was the same.
“Oh,” she softly laughed through half-lidded eyes, “I think I should be the one thanking you.”
“You can,” I offered, unable to resist nuzzling against her now flushed skin. “In the shower. We’re both in need of another one.”
My offer was met with another round of giggle-snorts before she pushed at my chest and said, “Sorry buddy. My legs are jelly, so you’ll have to wash off your pants full of peanut butter all by yourself.”
She cried out my name again, in shock this time, when I suddenly had her in my arms and pressed against the bathroom door as I offered, “I will hold you.”
“God you’re quick!” she gasped out.
“For you I can go very slow. It can take all night long if you wish.”
It had been a tight fit with only two of my fingers. I could only imagine how that would feel against my cock.
And I was imagining it a lot.
I could feel her emotions warring within her and knew before she ever said the words she would deny us both yet again. But at least I now knew I had a fighting chance of convincing her otherwise.
Her power over her legs made a miraculous recovery after I had set her down on top of the vanity and stripped my clothes off. She’d jumped from the countertop like her ass was on fire and took off through the door cackling, “Tip off a girl when you’re about to whip out your tip!”
Why would I do that when this way was so much more fun?
My shower was both lonely and short, but she’d managed to beat me when I found her in a new set of clothes and no longer smelling of our activities.
It only made me want to rinse and repeat our actions like the directions on the shampoo bottle prescribed.
My expression must have given me away because she held up a single hand and said, “Nuh uh. You got to eat, so now it’s my turn.” I felt like a gluttonous ass as soon as she said the words, so I could only watch as she stood up and grabbed her purse, asking, “Do you want to come with me or wait here? We passed a little store on the way here, so hopefully they’re still open. I’ll only be gone for a few minutes.”
“No, I’ll come.” I had no doubts she would return to me, but the thought of letting her go alone was abhorrent.
Or maybe it was more the thought of spending any amount of time away from her that was abhorrent.
Either way, what I did know for certain was that her mode of transportation was absolutely abhorrent. Before she could climb into her rusted death trap, I grabbed onto her hand and led her to a building adjacent to the house. I could smell the oil and gasoline from the yard and I was delighted to find it housed many more pleasing options.
“I shouldn’t be surprised and yet I am,” she snickered from my side.
“Pick one,” I offered, holding my arm out towards the row upon row of sleek automobiles.
“Oh no,” she laughed. “This is your candy store. You pick.”
I was drawn to one in particular. A McLaren mp4-12C according to the markings. Its name meant as much to me as the Nimbus 2000 she’d spoken of earlier, but whatever it was.
It was sexy.
A fitting ride for my lover and I.
“This is inconspicuous,” she snickered and then asked as I was opening the door, “Do you remember how to drive?”
I’d watched her do it the night before. It didn’t appear difficult and while I could not recall driving in the past, I could fly so something as simple as maneuvering a metal box with the aid of a wheel should be easy.
“I’m sure I can manage.”
It turned out I’d greatly overestimated my driving prowess and my lover took great joy in letting me know she found it hilarious. She laughed with every jerky stop we were forced to make when the engine stalled. She wheezed out her explanation of how to work the clutch and gas pedals in conjunction with one another to make the car go. She made weeping declarations of suffering from something called whiplash when her directions made no sense to my feet. She then made apologies to the inanimate object we sat in with every ear splitting grind it made in protest until I finally had no choice but to switch places with her and allow her to drive.
And drive she did.
She worked the gears as fluidly as she was able to work my body and I no longer cared about learning to drive the car. I wanted to drive her.
However she had other ideas and within moments of setting out we were already arriving at our destination. I followed her through the small store and held the basket she filled with food for herself and again felt inadequate when I had no choice but to let her pay for the items.
“We could sell the cars for money,” I offered when we were on our way back to the house.
“No we can’t,” she replied just as easily.
“Why not?” I asked. We would probably have to pay someone to take hers away, but the others were surely worth a good sum of money.
“Because we don’t need to. I told you I have some money saved and you already have a mountain of your own. There’s no need.”
By that time we were already back at the house, but when she attempted to take the shopping bags from my hand, I held onto them firmly and said, “You still want to return to New Orleans.”
“Of course I do,” she replied. “Don’t you?”
She merely harrumphed in my direction and took the bags I finally let go of. Following her back down the stairs into the underground portion of the house, she asked, “Don’t you want to know who did this to you? Why they did this to you? Whoever it was, I doubt they had good intentions. You deserve to know and they deserve an ass whoopin’.”
Her words made sense, but I was still fearful of the unknown. Not of the who or the why I was the way I was. But of what might happen between my lover and I, if and when my memories returned.
I stood silent and watched her put together a meal of meat and bread before taking the seat beside her on the couch. While she ate her food I chewed over her words. A part of me did want vengeance against whoever had erased my memories. I felt an instinctual need to fight for what was mine and against anyone who dared to try and take what wasn’t theirs. But along with that was my need to keep the now sated little blond at my side.
Could I find a way to somehow manage to have both?