Free Erotica EBooks: Free ebook sample of "SCENTED HOLIDAY" by Jacqueline Turner Banks

Dedication

This short story is dedicated to my Sunday critique

group, Shakiri, Juanita, Ethel, Geri and Pat. Maggie I know you

would be here if you could. And to the best fan and friend, an author could every have

Aletha Ann Metcalf I promise you, Ann, I will introduce you to Fox as soon

as he reveals himself.

Love you all,

Jackie

SCENTED HOLIDAY

The woman, who was born in Sub Sahara Africa, had cold feet. The chill that ran through her body all the way to her feet wasn’t fear; nerves were rarely her concern. The freeze, that she prayed wouldn’t soon claim a few toes, was from the unseasonably cold England December. She was wearing two pairs of socks and a pair of mens leather boots, but it felt as if each foot was encased in a block of ice.

In the three nights that she’d been tracking him, it was his third trip to the London zoo. Each day he waited until well after closing before he entered. The first time she saw his covert entry, she was surprised to see that she wasn’t the only one who knew how to get inside after hours. It was her first indication that this one was different.

Trying her best to parallel each of his loud crunchy, snowy, steps she forged ahead whenever he moved. He was approaching Goat Hill. She sighed. As cold as she was, she preferred standing in new snow over the iced animal waste her boots found her first night on that hill. Just thinking about the effort it took to eliminate the stain and smell her boots left on her new wool rug made her shudder.

Adama Drame’ wondered what made this man so compelling. Man, she thought about the word as she carefully ducked behind a tall bush. He wasn’t a man, certainly not a human man. Her mind briefly flashed on how she imagined he might look under his clothes. The strong arms and shoulders she produced in fantasy made her smile, but she couldn’t get an image everywhere; there was nothing there where it counted. When she tried to visualize the area below his belly button the lower half of a child’s rag doll flashed in her mind.

As if he’d heard her insult, the tall pale figure stopped walking. He paused for a beat or two, but he didn’t look around. In her immediate fantasy, she visualized him turning to face her, slowly unzipping, and magnificently proving himself.

What’s wrong with me? she asked herself. Adama was beginning to realize that as her loneliness set deeper her imagination was becoming more active.

When he began walking again, she noticed his movements were slow and graceful. Adama thought, had she been a distant onlooker, she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he was a ballet dancer. She could almost hear her boss, The Pale Fox, telling her to stop wasting time with her fanciful thoughts.

She knew he didn’t dance, not ballet nor probably anything else, but she thought his gracefulness would support such a notion. She thought about the sex lives of the Beings she hunted. Adama wondered how the symmetry in his movements would translate to lovemaking. She always believed good dancers were good in bed, but it was just a theory.

Again he stopped and his long lean body didn’t move for several seconds. This time he cocked his head to the left. Adama had seen that expression before and she wondered if he was mentally communicating with someone. If they were like Hunters, the person with which he was silently speaking would have to be nearby. She looked all around the darken area, trying to spot his possible contact. The only sounds and sights were the animals; the ones living there and the ones working in other parts of the zoo.

A cold breeze wafted across her face and, with it, so many animal scents she was glad her nose was slightly frozen too. She pulled the modified Norfork jacket closer and adjusted the belt. It was a man’s jacket, but it worked for her line of work. Clothes designed for women tended to be restrictive, making it difficult for her to run and fight. She was wearing breeches tucked into her boots for the same reason.

She heard the faint sound of Christmas music. The carols seemed to be everywhere she went and it didn’t surprise her that somewhere in the park employees were celebrating. Merry Christmas to me.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, a voice from her past said in his usual scratchy delivery.

The Sangsue seemed reluctant to look up, but when he did his focus appeared to be her face. It was as if he looked right at her, eye-to-eye. Adama knew he couldn’t see her, but that didn’t stop her heart from skipping a beat. He shook his head slowly before he turned around and continued his walk. She wondered what his head movement meant. Was he signaling somebody behind her? Adama closed her eyes and let her mind’s eye search the space–nothing came forward. Next she used her actual eyes to do the same thing, still nothing.

She loved the zoo and, like him, she preferred to visit it after closing. There was still a substantial level of melanin in her chameleon skin. A Dogon-Hunter’s skin change was very gradual; hers was no exception. Few would guess that she was born in Africa, but many would place a grandparent or parent’s birth there. Even in 1928, there were people in “sophisticated” London that thought it was amusing to suggest the she, a brown woman, should be a zoo exhibit rather than a visitor.

The last man who said it immediately lost his sense of humor when she responded by tossing him into an enclosure that could’ve rendered him fresh meat. He was saved when The Pale Fox popped in, stopped time, rescued the man, and reprimanded Adama. It was two minutes she would never recover or forget. Since that day the Hunter had arranged her drop-ins to come outside of regular visiting hours.

Adama suspected the zoo hadn’t been very busy that day. It was December 22 and the London streets were crowded with shoppers. The zoo was less than two miles from the center of town but during the holidays animals weren’t on the mind of most city dwellers.

It was going to be her second Christmas in England. She didn’t celebrate the holiday, but, with the seasonal emphasize on love and family, she wasn’t looking forward to the upcoming lonely weeks. It took months to recover from that first Christmas, that came soon after her European arrival. Nothing could have prepared her for the difference something as simple as her skin color could make in her day-to-day treatment.

The Sangsue she was following seemed to enjoy the birds. That was where they parted ways. Adama was fond of furry animals. She wondered if his interest in birds wasn’t at least faintly rooted in vampire legend. It was fanciful thin-king, she knew that, but she wondered if he thought about flight because so many believed his kind could change into bats?

Adama could almost hear Fox asking, “how does that kind of speculation help you eliminate our enemies?” She sighed. Even when he was no where to be found, Fox dominated her thoughts. There was the Pale Fox, her exacting temperamental boss, and then there was Ogo Fox, the lower-case god she’d loved since she was a toddler.

Her hearing was superior to humans, but she couldn’t risk getting close enough to the cages to hear what he was saying. She figured the animated way he bobbed his head meant he was enjoying his one way conversation. I wish I could hear you, I could use a good laugh too. But then again, she told herself, who said he was amusing them? The birds hadn’t reported back.

A chill that wasn’t weather related ran down her back. Pay attention to your surroundings. This time the imagined voice from the past was her teacher’s. It was the warning Adama gave herself whenever she realized her mind wasn’t on her work. She carefully did a 360 degree check before she allowed her focus to settle on her subject again.

It was the same thing each night. He would spend at least a half hour talking to the birds. Just before leaving, he would reach into his pocket and extract a small bag. Upon seeing the bag, the birds were all aflutter. The Sangsue threw a handful of something to the right of the enclosure. He watched the birds swoop to that corner. He threw back his head and from his movements, she assumed he laughed. He then repeated the action with a toss to the left.

She was watching him from behind as his head bopped up and down. Fascinating, she thought, I’ve never seen one of them laugh. Again, she thought about this particular Sangsue. He was so different. Just the fact that he was traveling alone was different. In all her centuries as a Hunter, Adama had never encountered a single Sangsue except briefly right after she’d eliminated its partner.

Again, she questioned why this Sangsue was still alive. It was not like her to deviate from her proven methods. One of them was enjoying a third day of bonus life. Since the Sangsue rarely offered much resistance, he was most likely the lucky one.

And it feels like I can’t do it tonight. Why am I being so charitable with this one? she asked herself. She didn’t have an answer. Killing was not a task she enjoyed, but she understood the necessity.

She knew that the cold weather was effecting her timing and instincts. It was her first relocation to a place with such diverse seasons. Asking for a transfer was not Adama’s style. Nobody could call her soft.

He was beginning his walk home. If he stuck with his previous days’ pattern, he would briefly check on all the animals he passed along the way. She could see by the pep in his walk that his time with the birds had pleased him.

He paused near the primates enclosure. Adama wondered why he stopped, but she didn’t get the opportunity to ponder it. From behind her, she heard the faint snowy crunch of footsteps. Most people would have turned, but Adama was a trained warrior–she squatted. Once down as low as possible, she turned.

The last thing she remembered seeing was the black pants covered legs of a man about three feet behind her.

* * *

“Are you really awake this time?”

She felt the heat before any logical thoughts cleared her mind. The room’s ceiling was high and painted in a sky blue color that made her first think she was outside, but the next thought was ‘that’s fireplace heat.’

A very pleasant looking face was peering down at her. She studied the face and found it was attached to a body, a long slim body. Sangsue--it was a word in her head, but she couldn’t remember what it meant.

Kill it.

He’s smiling at me. No, the idea of killing makes no sense.

Adama tried to sit up. She felt her stomach muscles engage and pull, but before she could use them to their fullest and actually sit all the way up the pleasant face and body was perched on the bed next to her.

“No, don’t try to sit up so fast.” He gently helped her back down.

She saw the fireplace over his shoulder and to his right. “It’s fireplace heat,” she said.

The man turned slightly to look where she looked. “Yes, I have a fireplace.” He considered her comment strange, but he expected as much from a person with a mild concussion. He tried to see it with her eyes, but he found nothing remarkable about his fireplace or its heat.

The last time he’d heard an outside temperature it was .02˚C and that was earlier in the day with the sun out. He had so little body fat he was always a little cold, he had no way of knowing about heavier or “normal” sized people. He wanted to ask her was she warm enough, but in the split second he looked away Adama fell asleep again.

The next time her eyes opened the ceiling didn’t fool her into thinking sky. She sat up and looked around the room. It was the home of a wealthy person, but not any place she recognized. She was in a bedroom, a man’s bedroom was her guess. The bed she was in had a big headboard made from a dark wood she didn’t recognize. It wasn’t a wood she’d seen in the African countries were she lived. The four poster frame was the same wood. She noticed a few spots of blood on the white linen pillow case. Instinctively she touched her head and immediately snatched back her hand. Pain throbbed at the place she touched and there was a spot of blood on her finger.

“You’re awake again.” He cringed when he heard himself stating the obvious, but she had no way of knowing that’s what his odd facial expression meant.

Adama couldn’t respond. She recognized the speaker as Sangsue, the one she’d been tracking. She lowered her feet to the floor and stood. Instinctively she adopted her fighting stance, but she couldn’t maintain it. Dizziness swept her body, but she tried to hide it. Mentally, she called out to Fox. Now’s the time, I’m in trouble. When she couldn’t stop her swaying, Adama lowered herself back down. She balanced herself on the edge of the bed.

“If you’re trying to summon The Pale Fox, he can’t sense you here.”

“Am I no longer on Earth?”

He smiled, she didn’t know they could do that. His mouth was closed and she wondered if he had fangs.

“You’re still on Earth, but my walls are protected.” He reached out with a bag he’d was holding. “I got you food. I hope it’s what you people eat. ”

She realized she was hungry, but she had questions that needed to be satisfied first. “Where am I?” She looked around the room again. This time she noticed little touches that told her that each piece of furniture and material was chosen with care and thought, but not necessarily a concern for price. It was the home of a person she would expect to have a title before his name.

He set up her food on the night stand while he spoke. “You’re in my home. You can call me Alex.”

“Is that your name?”

“No, but you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.”

Somewhere, behind the bump on her head, there was an arrogance that resented his answer. A come-back quip about what she could and couldn’t pronounce tried to break through, but the pain blocked it. “What happened to me?”she finally asked.

He drew in a short breath and held it before he carefully answered, “what do you remember?” He handed her a mug of chicken soup.

Her eyes squinted, as if she was viewing her recent past on the wall behind his head. She saw herself at the zoo. She remembered looking up Goat Hill, but she had no memory of climbing it. The next thing that came to mind was his high blue ceiling.

“My memories make no sense,” she said.

When she tried to bring a spoonful of soup to her mouth, she found her hand was shaking. She put the spoon down and drank the soup.

“You’re not frightened, are you?” he asked.

She thought about the question. Fear was not usually a problem for her. How did she know that? It was, in fact, so rare a feeling that she had to still herself to see if it was what she was feeling–it wasn’t.

His reason for asking was clear and she answered. “No, I’m not afraid of you!” She didn’t mean to speak with so much attitude, it just came out. “I don’t know why my hand was shaking like that.” She paused and added, “my name is Adama.”She hoped there was some kindness in the voice that provided her name.

He nodded as if he already knew her name. “Adama, your hand was probably shaking because of the weakness from your injury, that’s not uncommon. You were hit on the head. I think you might have hit it a second time when you fell. There’s two bumps. I think that one on the side is the worst. It bled quite a bit.”

She wondered how had he, a blood sucker, dealt with seeing the fresh blood. “Who hit me?”

“It doesn’t matter, I. . . took care of him before I brought you here.” The thought of the zoo employee who hit her made Alex grind his back teeth. The man was a pig, with Alex’s apologies to swine everywhere. He hit her because he thought he was hitting a trespassing black man. When the employee saw that she was a woman, he got other ideas.

Alex was looking down as he spoke about her attack; he was unwrapping a sandwich. He handed her a plate with the sandwich on it. His eye color changed with his answer, they were darker. Eyes were her weakness, the lighter the better, but she found especially dark eyes attractive too.

His answer reminded her of something Fox would say. It was delivered in a matter-of-fact way that most humans would have considered cold. Did it mean he killed her attacker, as it would have meant had Fox said it? There were so many questions. “Why did you bring me here?”

Alex stood and walked across the room. He lifted a heavy-looking wooden armchair with an upholstered seat and brought it closer to the bed . She thought his movements were swift and deliberate and they spoke to his strength. He sat down like he expected to be there for a while. “I couldn’t leave you there and I didn’t know where to take you.”

Adama nodded. She was fighting a mental battle about whether or not to thank him. An African proverb kept running through her mind, do not tell the man carrying you that he stinks. She decided to remain silent.

Adama understood what he meant when he said she couldn’t summon Fox in his house, but she wondered why her hero hadn’t come to her at the moment she was hit. Fox had said more than once that he couldn’t come to his Hunters if they didn’t let him know he was needed, but he’d popped in on her life at times she was sure she hadn’t thought about him. How could I’ve been hit and not called out for him?

“Eat, Adama!”

They both felt a bit of embarrassment over the tone of familiarity in his request and they both chose to ignore it.

She tried the sandwich, it was grilled cheese. “How long have I been here?”

“Almost 24 hours now.” He saw the shock on her face. “You’re going to be all right, Adama.”

“How do you know?”

“When I lived with my congregation, I was their doctor.”

Adama had never heard the word ‘congregation’ associated with them. She knew they often lived in groups with humans, that the Hunters called cows. She wondered if he was saying he’d been trained as a doctor. If that was true, she realized there was much she didn’t know about these Beings.

She studied his face. His eyes were back to his normal color, a beautiful but unusual gray with just a hint of teal. He was pale, even among the English, but she noticed he had a little more color than any other Sangsue she’d ever seen. His long wavy hair was a deep brown. As much as she didn’t want to hear herself think it, she thought he was handsome. There was a kindness in his eyes that she prayed was absent in the eyes of the ones she’d killed. Just thinking about her past encounters made her stomach reel.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Surely you’re not still interested in killing me?” He gave her a strangely self-conscious half grin after he spoke.

She found his expression more disconcerting than his question. “Are you mocking me, Bloodsucker?”

His handsome face became serious. “No, not at all. I’m just trying to be pleasant. That was suppose to be my charming smile, it usually works well with the ladies.” He did it again this time engaging his whole mouth.

“Why are you trying to be pleasant, Alex? You know I’m a Hunter, are you planning to kill me?”

He gave her a look that reminded her of an expression she hadn’t seen in centuries–her mother’s look of disappointment.

“I know what Hunters think of us, but most of it is ridiculous. We aren’t a violent race.”

“Except for the fact that you feed on humans,” she said sarcastically.

“No, we survive on blood. I don’t kill while feeding and most of the time I don’t feed from people. Unlike humans none of us eat flesh!”

She saw the honesty in his eyes, but she knew there was more to the story. “Maybe that’s true of you, Alex, but you’re talking to a woman who’s seen the handiwork of many Sangsue and all of you don’t leave your victims alive. And if you don’t eat flesh you might as well, I’ve seen throats ripped to shreds.”

He shuddered, a reaction that surprised her. He nodded as he answered, “I know what you’re saying is true, but trust me it’s not true of me. I’ve never knowingly hurt anyone while feeding. It’s not necessary. There has always been young women and even some men who are more than eager to accommodate us. They get as much if not more out of it than the Albican, which is what we call ourselves. I apologize if that sounds indelicate.”

Adama closed her eyes to make him think she was falling asleep again. She needed to think, she needed to take the time to think about an encounter she never expected to have.

“Adama, are you really finding it difficult to remain conscious? If you are, maybe we should face this storm and try to get you to the hospital. If you’re saying you want to stop talking, that’s fine too, but I need to ask you a few health related questions.”

She opened her eyes. “What questions?”

Alex held two fingers up. “How many fingers?”

“You appear to have all of them, but only two standing up,” she said with a grin.

He tried to keep his professional face straight. “Follow my two fingers with just your eyes.” He went to the left to the right and then left again. Adama followed his fingers without difficulty. “Do you have any nausea or feel as if you could vomit?”

Adama looked at him and wondered again if he was a doctor. She also wondered why was he making that grossly underused area between her legs tingle. It was confusing, her body didn’t often betray her.

“By that I mean do you feel odd in your stomach or like you want to throw-up?”

The hair on her arms stood up. I am Dogon, she reminded herself. Dogons are known for their politeness, especially to those offering hospitality.

But the hunter had lived too many lifetimes away from her homeland, she had to tell him. “I know you’ve gone out of your way to help me. At this point I don’t understand it, but I will continue to believe it’s well-meaning until I have reason to believe otherwise. But Alex, I’m aware that you look at me and think you know something about my intelligence–that is the world in which we live. But I will not take kindly to anymore indications of your questioning my intelligence.”

He froze. She saw shock on his face.

“You think I defined my words because your skin is. . . that beautiful brown?”

She rolled her eyes and made her grunt of disbelief. She hated when they denied it after confrontation. “That is exactly what I think!”

He laughed and she was able to see that he did not have fangs showing. Her jaws locked and she found herself mentally asking for patience. She began counting to ten in her native tongue. Had she been just a little lighter, he would have seen the anger burning in her cheeks.

He dropped the smile from his face. Alex patted at the air in front of him in a way that she supposed meant he was trying to calm her down. Adama notice that his fingers were long and graceful with clean square cut fingernails.

Alex saw her studying his involuntary hand movement. He used the opportunity to reach out and take one of her hands. Looking at the hand he held, he said, “please, believe me. I think your skin is the most beautiful color I’ve ever seen. When you hesitated after I spoke, I was thinking there might be a language barrier. I can tell by your accent you haven’t been here long.”

“No, I haven’t been here long, but I speak fluent English.” His explanation shamed her, even as the background voice of her inner Hunter cautioned.

“Please accept my apology. I said your skin was brown, but while you slept I had a chance to figure out the exact color.”

He didn’t ask a question, but she knew he wanted her to respond. Adama raised her left eyebrow, it was as much as she was willing to give.

“I decided it’s golden chestnut, Adama.”

She knew his tone was intended to make her think the named color was the best combination he could imagine. She was not immune to a flirting man, but the fact that he was her natural enemy was creating a confusion in her unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

She had no way of knowing, but he was enjoying her taciturn act. And he did believe it was an act. He had no way of knowing the first lesson she learned as a Hunter was how to kill without remorse.

The women he was used to being around were all hooked on the chemical high they got from being bitten. They would do anything to become a group home favorite. His nocturnal life meant that he rarely interacted with anybody that didn’t know exactly what he was and was out to use him as much as he used her.

When she looked down and realized she’d finished her sandwich, she was surprised. “Thank you for the food. I’m somewhat surprised I finished it all.”

“Why? Don’t you have several meals a day?”

She found his question amusing, but she didn’t react. “Yes, I eat at least twice a day, usually three times. But I’m not fond of cheese or any other milk products. Usually they bother my stomach.”

“I couldn’t bring myself to bring you flesh.”

“We call it meat. How often do you feed?”

He cringed and the Dogon in her whispered that, out of respect, she should withdraw the question, but the Hunter knew any information she could get would be valuable to her group--if she survived this encounter.

“No more than twice a week.”

Adama knew she’d made him uncomfortable and it was time to change the subject. She decided to let go of the Hunter and approach him as a woman. He was making his attraction fairly obvious. Chances are it will keep me alive longer. It wasn’t her strongest suit, she knew she was attractive, but she hated the games that society forced women to play.

She tried standing again. Her legs were still wobbly, but she thought she could manage a few steps. “Your home is lovely. Do you live here alone?”

She would have described his expression as sheepish.

“Yes, I do. My. . . friends don’t know about this house. It’s where I come when I want to be alone.”

“I can certainly understand that. How fortunate you are to have those kind of resources.”

He nodded. “Yes, I am.” He gave her a look that sent chills up her spine. “When we become better friends I’ll tell you how I’m able to do that.”

She couldn’t imagine when and why that friendship would form, but that was a conversation she was eager to hear. The economy was terrible and many believed England was heading for a depression. The last she heard, unemployment was at thirteen percent. If he knew a way to make money, she thought that alone was worth a bump on her hard head.

She swayed and he was immediately by her side holding her up with a hand around her waist and the other one under her right arm pit. “Where are you trying to go?”

She was very conscious of his hands on her body and his scent. Adama thought he smelled of an expensive manly soap, maybe musk-scented, and his hands were soft yet firm and warmer than she expected. Looking down at his left hand that was resting on her abdomen and covered by her left hand, she realized she wasn’t wearing her clothes. “What am I wearing?” She stopped and pulled away. Her expression demanded an immediate answer. How such a thing had escaped her notice was alarming.

“It’s one of my dressing gowns. I thought you would be more comfortable. And your clothes were soiled with blood and dirt.”

She frowned because she couldn’t decide how she should feel about him undressing her. Adama decided to take the high road. Thinking had never before been so difficult for her, she was known for thinking on her feet.

“Thank you,” she finally said. Adama rubbed the soft fabric and decided it was silk although her injury was causing her to experience a slight disconnect from her fingertips to her brain. Without looking she knew she was still wearing her underwear underneath.

She wasn’t overly modest. That trait was eliminated centuries earlier when she trained with an all male class. Plus, Adama knew, a man likely to rape a woman was just as likely to rape a fully covered nun as a nearly naked prostitute. It was more about which one he could overpower rather than the victim’s body or her desirability.

“You still haven’t told me where you’re trying to go.”

His words were spoken calmly. She thought he had a voice that would make a pleasing teacher.

“I’m not the kind of person that can stay on my back for long. I just need to walk around.”

“Then let me show you my home, but only if you’ll continue to allow me to act as your support.”

Something about his formality amused her and pleased her at the same time. It was so unlike the language she was used to hearing on the London streets. She didn’t answer but she held on a little tighter.

“There really isn’t much to see it’s not a country home or a stately manor.”

“This room alone is larger than my entire flat,” she offered.

“Yes, you’re right. False modesty is ridiculous is it not?”

“I wasn’t saying that, Alex.”

Supporting her from behind, he couldn’t see her smile but he heard it in her tone and it pleased him. “I like the way you sound saying my name,”

“You mean the name you think I can handle.” It was said with a teasing pout that had served her well with men.

He stopped moving which caused her to pause as well. “Adama, my real name is fourteen letters long in English and there’s only one vowel. I don’t think it’s pronounceable by anybody.”

She laughed and the movement caused her to shift in his arms. He held on tighter.

“Don’t fall, my dear.”

My dear? That was not the way she would have expected a Sangsue to address a Hunter.

“Falling isn’t often my goal, Alex?” She took a few more steps and asked, “why are you being so nice to me?”

His smile cracked his face in a way that he thought felt foreign. They were muscles not often used. He continued to lead her through his house before he spoke again. “As you can see, this is my kitchen, not much, but a completely unnecessary room in one of our homes.”

“You’re not going to answer me?”

“Yes, I’m going to tell you, but I’m ashamed of my reason.” He led her to a wooden bench in the foyer. He sat and then reached for her to sit next to him.

It was a bench made for two, but when one of them had her hips the two had to touch. She was very conscious of his leg against hers. It wasn’t the cold leg of a dead man. There was so much heat generating between them—she decided she had to be the greatest source.

“That first day at the zoo was suppose to be my last day on earth. I’d planned to visit the animals and then come back here to. . . end a very long painful life.” He paused as if he expected her to comment. She did not. “When I sensed your presence, I was pleased because I figured it would give me the opportunity to die with honor.”

Adama cringed. He’d used an expression Hunters used often; hearing it coming from his mouth made her realize its meaninglessness. Dead was dead.

“When you let me walk away that night, I took it as a sign that I wasn’t suppose to die.”

“But you came back two more nights?” Adama really wanted to understand. Every encounter she’d ever had with his race had been negative. Nothing about this was making sense.

“Yes, I did.” He briefly focused his beautiful eyes on her lips and then he looked away. “I came back for you.”

“To kill me?”

He made sure he was looking at her eye-to-eye again before he answered. “No, to meet you.”

“Why?”

“Adama, I’d been unhappy for so long the thought of trying to get happy or even. . .balanced no longer occurred to me. There was no where to begin. I was lost.”

“And I changed that?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but yes, you did.”

He didn’t wait for her answer. She found it interesting that he didn’t seem to need a response of any kind. He stood again and reached for her hand. “Would you like to continue your tour.”

She took his hand and asked, “are you a real doctor?” Her body swayed into him surprising them both.

He caught and held her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Yes, why what’s wrong? Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I have really bad head pain.” It wasn’t an accident that she didn’t call it a headache; somehow it was different. Headache pain was locked within its own enclosure inside the head, her pain was free flowing and it seemed to bounce and ricochet against her skull.

With a move so swift it frightened her, he scooped her into his arms. “I’ll take you back to the bed and get you something for the pain.”

Adama wanted to protest. She wanted to tell him she could certainly get herself to the bed, but it had been over a month since she’d felt a man’s arms around her. That last encounter had been the first time in seven years. She missed the warmth that his arms were generating. Having somebody taking care of her was a new experience.

“I can give you aspirin, but I gave you Demerol when I first brought you here.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a narcotic analgesic. I gave you a little to take the edge off and to allow you to sleep,” he said, but he added in a defensive voice, “but I checked for concussion first.”

“Do I have a concussion?”

“If you do, it’s mild. I watched you all night and I woke you every hour or so.”

She had no memory of any of that. They had reached the bed and she was impressed that he had continued his conversation while walking and carrying her. As far as she could tell he wasn’t winded.

He placed her in the bed as if she was delicate glass. For a brief moment she was alone; she heard noise from above. Adama hadn’t realized he had rooms upstairs, but then before her next thought he was standing beside the bed again. It was hard to believe he’d gone upstairs and back that fast, but she knew he had.

“I believe you should rest. There’s a storm outside. I doubt if you could get back to your flat right now anyway.” He paused as if he wanted her to reply. Alex showed her the small white pill and, when she opened her mouth, he put it on her tongue. There was a glass of water on the night stand, he handed it to her and she took a sip.

She didn’t have to be anywhere. Like Hunters everywhere, she planned her own days and nights, which mostly consisted of tracking and eliminating Sangsue.

The realization surprised her to no end, but she was enjoying his company. There was an honesty and sensitivity in his personality that fascinated her. Honesty was very much a praised virtue in a Hunter’s life, sensitivity was mocked. “All right,” she finally said. At that moment all she wanted to do was put her head down on his soft pillow.

“I’m afraid there isn’t much to do around here. I have some playing cards, but I’m not very good at card games, my mind tends to wander.”

“I’m not either. My mind wanders too, but I call it creativity.”

He grinned. “I’m reading two books right now and I’d be happy to read either one of them aloud to you.”

It had been many years since anybody read to her. “What are you reading?”

“I’m reading Mahatma Gandhi’s autobiography and don’t laugh about this one, but I’m reading Emily's Quest by L.M. Montgomery, it’s a romantic story.”

“Then by all means, read to me from the love story.”

Alex had already read the first two chapters, but he started reading to her from the beginning. She thought the chapter he read was well written and she loved the sound of his voice, but she was unimpressed with the story’s romantic tone. When he read the line “A silk petticoat might be tolerated, being a hidden thing, in spite of its seductive rustle, but silk stockings were immoral,” Adama laughed aloud.

Her sound was so melodic he joined her, but then asked, “why are we laughing?”

“If that author considers the wearing of silk stockings as immoral, this novel is not going to get hot and interesting enough for me to consider it romantic.”

He nodded in agreement. “I’ve got a story for you.”

She could see from his playful expression that he was teasing her. “All right, Alex, let’s hear your romantic story.”

“It’s about a tall pale man that shouldn’t think he has a snowball’s chance in hell with a beautiful golden chestnut brown woman who’s job it is to eliminate his kind. Even though he knows she’s as lonely as he.”

“And how does he know that?”

“He knows because on several occasions while tracking him she was close enough for him to hear her thoughts.” He saw the surprise on her face.

“Is that true of all Hunters and Sangsue?” she asked. Her inquiry was made casually but she considered his response This is information we need to have.

“I’ve never heard of it happening before,” he answered honestly. Alex didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect. Looking at her, he still couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Since being in his home, he hadn’t been able to hear a single thought. He didn’t know if it was because she was guarded and blocking access, because the walls were protected or maybe even her injury.

* * *

A continent away a Being that didn’t have far to go was going a little crazy. The Pale Fox couldn’t sense one of his Hunters. Correction, he couldn’t sense his favorite Hunter–Adama Drame’. He didn’t like playing favorites but he couldn’t help himself, she was number one and every other Hunter was number two.

Fox had known her since she was two years old; several lifetimes had passed since the day they met. He paced the floor as he thought. The last time he saw her was thirty-three days ago and, as often was the case, he left in anger.

They’d slept together–again.

After nearly two hundred years of resisting her allure, he’d succumbed to her considerable charms for the second time. Afterwards she wanted to talk about forever and he had to repeat all the reasons they could never be a couple.

Now she was missing.

He knew she wasn’t dead. Fox figured that out as soon as he realized he couldn’t sense her. After his initial panic lessened, he stilled himself and he could “feel” her–he just couldn’t place her.

She had friends in high places, that had become clear over the years. He had no idea what god from what pantheon had helped her when needed, but whomever it was had powers greater than his.

She’s somewhere trying to teach me a lesson, he decided. He hated it when she tried to play human games with him. He decided he’d give her a few more weeks to cool off before trying to locate her.

* * *

She knew something special was happening. Even with the slight disorientation caused by the bumps on her head, it was simple to see he was a romantic and he was imagining an enchanting first meeting story. She understood what he was doing because it was exactly the kind of thing she’d been doing with Fox for too many years.

Fox would tell her he was coming to visit. By the time he would actually arrive, she would have a whole imaginary scenario worked out that involved the two of them living happily ever after. Fox would arrive and tell her he wanted to transfer her to another city or he would have a new Hunter he wanted to assign as a shadow for a few weeks. More than once his arrival had absolutely nothing to do with her, he just wanted to let her know he planned to be in her town and, if time permitted, they could visit.

She knew she shouldn’t fault Fox for failing to act according to her imaginary script, but that didn’t stop her from blaming him. Blaming him across the centuries.

Adama decided a long time ago that she would never hurt anybody the way Fox repeatedly disappointed her. At the time of that vow, she was thinking about her occasional dates with fellow Hunters–the thought that her affection could be centered on a Sangsue never entered her thoughts.

Adama knew she could never love anyone as much as she loved Fox, but there had always been room in her heart for male companionship. She’d spent many years alone.

She studied the face and body of the man reading to her. He wasn’t a naturally animated person but he was using different voices in his reading–he was doing it for her entertainment. It warmed her in a way she thought no longer possible.

She smiled at him and he smiled back as he continued to read.

“Alex, will you stop for a moment.”

“Certainly, is something wrong?” He looked at the page number and closed the book.

She grinned. “No not at all. I want to ask you something.”

“All right.”

“Why do you have more color than most Sangsue?”

He froze. She thought his expression was priceless. Clearly he was confused, but she didn’t know if it was because she asked or because he didn’t realized he had more color. “You didn’t know?” she asked.

He nodded as he reached out and touched her arm as he answered, “Oh yes, I know I’m darker and I do something to make it so, but I can’t imagine why it would be so pressing as to ask me to stop reading.”

She liked that he was a toucher. With no London friends yet, she didn’t realize how much she’d missed casual touch. “I can’t say it was a pressing matter. I just wanted to give your voice a break from the reading.”

This time he kept the smile he felt inside. He knew he’d been right about her after that first night when he heard her thoughts. Alex hadn’t worked out in advance a plan to meet the woman Hunter and he would have preferred something that didn’t involve her getting hurt, but he wasn’t surprised that they were relating well to each other. He believed in omens, good and bad.

Because of the way she was dressed, the first time he saw her he thought she was a man. The neediness he “heard” in her thoughts confused him. He felt himself reaching out, but he’d never been attracted to men. The notion didn’t offend him, but it did surprise him. When he got a little closer and sensed her gender, it all fell into place. He could tell that she was a person with happiness issues greater than his, he knew they were brought together for a reason.

“That was very kind of you, Adama, but I’m not tired. I could read to you all night.”

Tears were building in her eyes and she didn’t know why. I’m a warrior, she told herself. Hearing the words in her head made no difference–it made the desire to cry even stronger.

She decided it was another side effect of the bump on her head.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

She shook her head. Expecting a barrage of questions, she braced herself.

He didn’t ask anything else. He stood and put the book down on the chair. He climbed onto the bed. Alex pulled her to his lap and hugged her. “I’m sorry, Adama.”

She buried her head in the crook of his neck. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Are you in pain?”

“No, not as long as I don’t touch it.”

“Then what is it, Adama?”

“The last time somebody read to me I was a little girl.” Her parents could not read. She didn’t tell him the Pale Fox had been the reader.

“And my reading reminded you of your parents?”

“No, it’s not that.” She couldn’t say any more. The warrior in her was embarrassed, the woman wanted to let go and cry tears backed-up for years, but the Hunter was fighting that urge.

“It’s all right. Tell me.” He rubbed her back as he spoke. “Whatever it is, it’s all right.”

That was it. Whatever it was--was all right. She saw herself in him and it made her heart ache.

“Alex, you don’t know me.”

“I know I don’t, but I think I have a good idea.”

“I’ve done some terrible things. . .” she paused and looked at him. “Terrible things, Alex.”

“We both have, but not to each other and we won’t. Agreed?”

He was still rubbing her back, she was still on his lap. “No, not to each other.”

She lifted her chin and held his head still with a hand on each side of his face. She lightly kissed his lips. Adama needed his lips to be warm and soft and they were. She pressed harder and allowed him to open her mouth with his tongue.

He felt her body relax.

When they broke, he said, “I’ve wanted to make love to you from the first time I saw you in this bed.” Alex heard himself and added, “that was after the doctor in me knew you were going to be fine.”

The thought that he hadn’t cared for her medical needs first never would have occurred to her. He kissed her neck and licked her ear, something she found a little strange. It seemed that every time he spoke, she was reminded of how caring and different he was from the men in her past–especially one in particular. Adama liked being able to take care of herself, but she hated that the men in her past expected her to do so.

“Do it, Alex, make love to me in this bed.” She froze after she spoke; she waited to feel disgusted with herself, but those feelings didn’t come. They were words she didn’t expect to say to any male except the Pale Fox, but hearing them made her think the idea sound right. She couldn’t produce a thought that pointed to anything being wrong about the two of them together.

“It’s not necessary, Adama. It’s not anything you have to do.”

“When you get to know me, you’ll find that I rarely do what I have to do.”

He grinned. “I can see that already. The woman that thought I was talking down to her told me that.” He leaned in and took a long sniff of her hair. “You smell like lavender. Is it something you put in your hair?”

She tried to remember if she was using anything different. When she trained she was taught not to use scents because other-worldies tended to have strong senses of smell. From her position on his lap she could feel him getting harder with each sniff of her hair. “No, I can’t remember putting anything scented in my hair or on my body.”

“I would think not, but I was able to pick up the faint scent of lavender at the zoo too.”

That information concerned her. She used plain petroleum jelly instead of lotion to avoid a tell-tell scent. If something she was doing was causing her to be traceable, she would have to correct it.

“Oh, that reminds me. The reason I have a little more color is because I drink carrot juice. When I was a doctor, a woman brought in her child because she was afraid he was jaundice, but it turned out she was giving him carrot juice and the juice gave his skin a yellowish/orange tint.”

“You should tell the rest of your tribe,” she said as she kissed his neck. The taste of his skin was sweet.

“I have, they don’t listen to me. Carrot juice doesn’t offer us any nutrition. And I think a lot of them are attracted to the paleness, I’m not.”

She rubbed his hardness with her thigh. “I can tell.” It was not like her to be sexually aggressive, her newly found boldness excited her. She rubbed her hand across that same stiff hot spot.

He looked down at her hand. He placed his hand over hers. Alex guided her down and then up his length. “Did you expect me to be smaller?” he asked.

Her hand stopped moving. She waited until she had eye contact before she spoke. “No, I hadn’t given your size any advance thought. Why would I?” He guided her hand back to his lap.

“Because I’m not coloured.”

She grinned, “ I noticed that about you right away. If that was a problem my hand wouldn’t be here.” She substituted a gentle squeeze for the stroking.

He loved her straight-faced wit. Alex realized he’d smiled more in the past 24 hours than he had in the past year. “I’m not. . .”

“Alex, I don’t care about what you’re not.” Her hand was still again. He regretted that she didn’t seem to be able to rub and talk concurrently. “There are two people in this bed and they are the only two I care about.”

Continue reading this ebook at Smashwords.
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-38 show above.)