Wild Hyacinthe (Crimson Romance) (17 page)

He shrugged, graciously allowing the chump change comment.

“Two, when I got home from my last tattoo appointment, I found my mother by the fireplace throwing handfuls of cash into it. My savings. All of it. ‘So you can’t leave me to do this alone,’ she said. ‘So I’m with you when you start having your own,’ she said.”

Alarm sprung to life on Asher’s face and he sat up a bit. “She expected you to live the same way?”

My stomach fluttered as anger pushed forth with the memory. “I took my car keys and threw some clothes in a bag and took off. I worked in Chicago for a while, and then in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I had a shot glass from each place—I figured, even if not from other countries, they were still places I visited and memories I made. I ended up here when a waitress in Minneapolis said the tourists up here tip well.”

“I hear the residents of the area aren’t too stingy, either,” he said with a sly grin.

I stretched and smiled at him, trying to keep the mood light through all the ghastly shit I told him. “That they are. And I guess you can imagine why I’m totally okay with my infertility.”

“Yeah, it makes sense. Do you still have your shot glasses, at least?”

“They were in the car, along with the only picture I have of my father. I don’t know who he is.”

“Want me to have Gypsy look into it for you?”

“Would she do that?”

“Sure, if I asked her to.”

Really? What a bonus! “Thank you. It means a lot.” I leaned forward and kissed his chin, delighting in the hint of scruff there. My lips felt hollow when I pulled back. “What about your forty-three dots?”

“I like geometry.”

“Come on, Asher, if we’re going to have a real relationship, you’ve gotta talk to me.”

He grimaced and looked away.

“Does it have to do with your parents?”

He picked absently at a seam in the blanket, refusing to meet my gaze. “I started the tattoo shortly after they died,” he said. “It’s home-done, though. No expensive art here, just Gypsy, a knife and some black powder.”

“Won’t you tell me any more about it?”

He sighed and stroked his hand down the side of my face, brushing back some of my hair. “I want to. But you’ve been through enough pain without the burden of my bullshit on top of you. I’m tough, it’s okay.”

“Isn’t it part of a relationship, though? Helping each other bear the weight of the world?”

“I don’t need help.”

“I fervently disagree, Your Royal Highness of No Penetration.” He needed more help than anyone I’d ever met, but I couldn’t help him if he wouldn’t tell me the problem.

“I’m sorry.” He
did
look sorry. “Can you deal with my keeping secrets? I don’t blame you if you can’t.”

I chewed on my lip for a moment. It hurt that he wouldn’t tell me, yes. But it hurt more to imagine life without him. And I needed time before I told him my secrets, so if he wasn’t ready yet, I could wait. It was the sex I had a hard time waiting for. “I trust you have good reasons for keeping secrets, and I trust you’ll tell me when the time is right.”

“And if the things I tell you are so horrible that you run far away and never call me again?”

“It’s still a part of trust, Asher: trust me. If your secrets are so dark that you think I’ll run away . . . that you need somebody who cares for you in light of them, that person will be me.”

“You sure do know a lot about relationships for a virgin.” He cocked an eyebrow with mock-suspicion.

I laughed. “Maybe you shouldn’t criticize my so-called ‘shit books.’”

“Perhaps I’ll read one of them someday.” He kissed me, and all the heaviness of the conversation lifted as his tongue melted away my fears and masked whatever words he didn’t want to say.

We walked hand in hand, barefoot, back to his apartment so he could put some clothes on. Then, Asher drove me to the impound lot and I found my father’s picture, and a few broken shot glasses not worth salvaging.

Asher shuddered as I climbed out of the wrecked Camry, picking a stray piece of glass off the lace of my sleeve. I felt the depth of concern in his breathless words when he pulled me against him and held me tight.

“I’m so lucky you’re okay.”

At Gypsy’s office, I asked Aria to wait in the lobby after our pat-down. Meeting Jim and John and getting frisked was an uneasy experience for her, so I whispered as she sat in the vast waiting area.

“Gypsy handles exorbitant amounts of money. She has to be careful. Her security is for my protection as much as for hers, so that extends to you, too. It’s okay.”

Aria nodded and shrank into a chair as I walked into my sister’s office.

“So now,” Gypsy began from her vast desk, her tone loaded with accusation, “you sleep with her in a hotel after a public display in the street—discussing sex, no less—and then bring her to my office.”

I clasped my hands behind my back and waited for the question. She rose and stalked over to me, her hips swinging dramatically in her high heels and narrow skirt. She clasped my chin and tilted me from side to side, inspecting my eyes.

“Your control is thinning, Asher. I can see it. When?”

I shook my head free of her grasp. “I don’t know. I don’t want to do it at all. You were right—I’m having trouble swallowing this one.”

She paced a few feet and stopped again. “What are you thinking? If you want this girl you should at least keep her private, like you’ve always done.”

I shrugged, exasperated. “I don’t know what I’m thinking! I can’t resist her, but I know I need to. She’s got some kind of power over me I’ve never experienced before . . . I want her, but I want her badly enough to try . . . to . . . ” I couldn’t finish my sentence. Gypsy wouldn’t see the hope in the situation. She knew too well how easily I snapped around the six-month mark. I doubted she’d have any faith in my ability to pleasure Aria and abstain from my own needs.

“This is not going to be pretty for either of us. Do you need me to have her killed? To get her out of the way and off of your mind?”

“What? No! No need to be wasteful, Gyp.” Gypsy was even more psychotic than usual with my mental health on the line.

“Why have you brought her here, then?”

I produced the small photograph of Aria’s father from my pocket and handed it over. “Her birth-father. She wants to know who he is. Frankly, I’m curious, too.”

My sister frowned and handed the picture back to me. “You don’t know who this is?”

I shook my head, inspecting the picture. The image was a profile shot, with no clear view of his eyes or structure of face, just the angle of his nose and his deeply creased forehead.

“Dorian Nikolaos III. He’s an influential lawyer from Greece. Worked charity cases in the UK for ten years—all for free, all in the United Kingdom. This photograph is a magazine clipping, nothing more. Aria comes from Hazel Hyacinthe, a welfare-abusing, part-time whore from the slums of Milwaukee. Nikolaos cannot be her father.”

“Why can’t he?”

She cracked half a grin. “You would know this shit if you had any interest in anything other than chasing tail, like perhaps some experience in business, Asher.”

“You know my condition prevents that,” I said, suppressing an irritated growl.

She rolled her eyes. “I know. I’m trying to tease you. And I somewhat suck at it.”

I chuckled, relieved, and gestured for Gypsy to continue.

“If Nikolaos were Aria’s father, he would have paid Hazel enough money to ensure her silence about the illegitimate child, or else the woman could have sued him for a ridiculous amount of child support. No, I suspect Hazel has no idea who the father of her child is, and simply clipped a photo to satisfy her poor daughter’s curiosity.”

I stuffed the photograph back into my pocket, crossing my arms. “Any adoption records available in Aria’s immediate family?”

“Aria was an only child, according to my research.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Do you even need to ask that question?” Gypsy retorted. “Of course I’m sure. But if it will satisfy your curiosity, I will dig into more privileged information about Nikolaos’s past.”

“Thank you, Gypsy. Really.”

My sister shrugged.

“There is something else about Aria, Gyp,” I hedged, digging my toe into the hardwood floor of her office. Even as easy as we were with each other, I hated initiating these conversations.
Hey, sister, wanna hear about my girlfriend’s orgasms?
So
not comfortable.

“Oh?”

“She’s a virgin, and I can charge off her when she reaches climax.”

Gypsy’s face iced. She snapped into business-mode, analysis-mode, all jest set aside. “How much? What kind of a dent does it make in your level of need?

I reached within myself and tried to gauge the desperation for sex. “Only a percent or two at a time . . . it’s not much. But it’s
something.
It’s something I’ve never encountered before.”

“But you still cannot reach a climax with her without penetration?” she asked.

I was so grateful Gypsy never showed any of the discomfort I felt at these candid conversations. “No,” I admitted, “I can’t.”

“Therefore you cannot charge entirely and you won’t be able to last forever like this.”

I felt my heart blacken at her blatant airing of the truth. “Correct.”

“At a rate of a percent or two at a time, you won’t hold it off for long. Unless you’re pushing her around the clock, that is, and who knows what that will do to her health in the long run—you’re absorbing her
soul
a percent or two at a time
.
Likewise, the incubus may feel you are taunting him, Asher. He may snap before you notice him surging up, demanding her before you’re ready. We’ve been down to the wire like this before, but it almost ended in disaster last time.”

“I know,” I said, shaking my head. “But if I can charge even a small amount without killing, then within Aria lays the chance I might be able to kill less often. What if I could extend myself to one per year, or even less? Imagine the possibilities!”

She pressed her lips into a grim line. “You’ve picked the wrong damn time to imagine possibilities. You’re running out of time: I can see it in your eyes. You need to kill soon.”

She was right and I knew it, but I wasn’t ready to condemn anyone—not a stranger, not a whore, not Aria. Not yet.

“I think I love her, Gypsy.”

My sister’s voice was protective and angry. “You’ve known her a goddamn week.”

“I know, I know. How else do I describe this feeling, though?”

“I don’t give a shit how you describe it. Stop feeling it. If you fall in love with her, we’re all fucked.” Her voice curled up with panic. She knew how suicidal I’d become after my first kill. She stopped me herself and gave me my first tattoo—the physical pain took the edge off my disgust with myself, and the mark in my flesh reminded me I couldn’t be a coward. A killer, yes, but not a coward.

“Look,” I said, “I’ve never felt like this before. I know it doesn’t make sense . . . maybe it doesn’t have to. She makes me feel like a person rather than a monster.”

“You are both a person
and
a monster,” Gypsy reminded me.

“I know, but does that mean the person within me has no right to happiness or love? If the monster gets his dues at
my
expense, shouldn’t I get some measure of satisfaction, even if only at his expense?”

“You know you’re going to kill her eventually, right?”

“I hope I can avoid that, somehow.”

“If you want to prolong this, I can procure something as a temporary solution for you, to satiate your needs for another six months. You were displeased with your birthday present, so I can make adjustments to the solution I pursue for you.”

I groaned and rubbed the back of my neck, stress pushing a headache forward. “No. Aria has already made her feelings on cheating clear. She’d rather die than be betrayed, sexually.”

“But if she knew you meant
literal dying,
her feelings on the matter might shift, don’t you think?”

“And how do you suppose I go about that conversation? ‘Sorry, Aria, but if I fuck you, you’ll die, like the forty-three other women tattooed on my arm. How do you feel about being number forty-four? Cuz if you’re not keen on that idea, I should just go bang Jane Doe on the corner in Superior.’” I rolled my eyes.

“If you will not stray from her, you’ve already decided to kill her.”

I stared at Gypsy for what felt like an eternity, fighting my nature, determined not to be the monster I’d proven myself to be all along.

“No.”

“How exactly are you going to prevent this? You can’t go longer than six months without killing. We know this.”

“Who says I can’t do better? A few years ago, I couldn’t go six weeks without killing. Before that, I rarely made it
two
weeks. At one point, six months seemed impossible. And I did it, right?”

“Barely.” Gypsy rolled her eyes.

I felt the room tunnel, as though my sister stood far out of my reach. She didn’t understand. How could she? Her fear of losing me was as terrible as mine was of losing her. I wished every speck of my coexistence along the fine line between sex and murder was simply a nightmare that would soon come to an end.

“I have to try, Gypsy,” I whispered.

She only glared at me, so I reached out and took her fingers between mine and her expression softened.

Then her tone changed as she brightened her face with calculated timing. “Oh, the cabin, Asher? What a wonderful idea! She’ll love it there.”

I stammered for a moment, confused, but Gypsy spoke again.

“Aria!” My sister strode to the door of her office. “Sorry. I hope I didn’t give away a surprise.”

I spun, shocked, as Aria stood in the doorway.

“Um, no,” Aria muttered, confused. “I mean, I’m not sure. Cabin, Asher?”

“Yes, Asher was thinking of taking you to his cabin on Wednesday,” Gypsy said matter-of-factly. “Pardon my manners. I’m Gypsy, Asher’s sister. But I suppose you already knew that.”

Aria smiled, surprised, and shook Gypsy’s hand. “Aria Hyacinthe. Asher’s told me a lot about you.”

“Likewise. Though I promise I’m not as bad as he makes me out to be.”