The Forest Bull (The Fearless) Read online

  “See you later. I’ll tell Suma you stopped by.” Her blissful lack of awareness gave me a pang of regret for something that had not happened, but could not be avoided. I finished my tea and left, my thoughts making the end of my meal far less pleasant than the beginning.

  Wally stood brandishing a phone at me as I closed the door to my truck. Her face was a mix of anger and curiosity, never good on anyone but particularly worrisome on her. I took the proffered phone, wondering what disaster this particular call might bring.

  “Ring, Deb Broward here. Jim would’ve called, but he’s gotten himself worked up and had to use his inhaler, so I’ll do the talking for the next few minutes.” She was speaking hurriedly, with a hint of anger.

  “I take it this isn’t a quality control call about the truck?” I knew better.

  “I wish, but we know we’ve got your business. Why waste the call? We just had a visitor asking some questions. He flounced in here, asking for you, said he was willing to triple whatever we paid for the jewelry you were selling us. Sound familiar?”

  Did it ever. “What name did he use?” I was betting on Joseph. His arrogance was boundless.

  “Joseph Lamarck. Said he worked for a buyer who knew you, and that they were very interested in buying any and every piece you’ve sold us over the past year. I’m not even going to ask how he found us; I imagine you’ll tie up that loose end. But, as a friend, let me tell you something: whoever he represents has more money than God. I can smell it, and they don’t give a shit about anything other than what they want. I’ve met his type before; he was so assured, oily, smug. He made my skin crawl, and that takes a heluva lot with me working in this business, you know?” She sounded worried.

  Oh, Suma. “Deb, there is no loose end, I have it under control. I wanted my little side job to be-- discovered, let’s say.” I lied, as smoothly as I could. “You’re not at any risk. The hole will be closed this Friday, and you’ll never hear from him again. They think I have a larger collection. I don’t. But that misconception works for me, so we’ll just let that ride, okay?”

  Jim and Deb were no amateurs. I knew that they would be fine. Her next sentence proved it. “Oh, we caught on quickly. We told young Joseph that we didn’t have any other jewelry from you but that we’d be happy to sell him the gold coins you’d liquidated, at a mere four hundred percent markup. He said he’d think about it and left. Very polite, that one.”

  I laughed heartily. They were slick. My concern about how those two horse traders could handle a fishing expedition was unwarranted, even if the pole was being cast by a seasoned dandy like Joseph. I said my goodbye and thought ahead to my upcoming time with Delphine. I didn’t have multiple pieces of the Baron’s jewelry, as Joseph had inferred, and probably still believed.

  This made it the perfect time for me to begin bluffing, and I had a clear idea how I was going to do it.

  “I’m telling you we should remain distant; let’s keep this under wraps until we know which direction we’re going to go with Suma, the Baron. Everything.” Risa was adamant. As usual, she was also right, which made arguing senseless. I could tell by the obstinate set of Wally’s lip that she was in agreement, and that meant no contact with the Baron, even for chitchat. It was Friday morning, and the sun was pouring in the house to announce that today was a day for romance. My date with Delphine had arrived.

  Joseph called, announcing that a driver would pick me up, and no, he didn’t need our address, thank you, as a professional, it was his place to know his Mistress’ clients and . . . the rest, I tuned out, liking him even less if that were possible. I packed a simple bag. I don’t own a tuxedo, despite Wally’s enthusiasm for the orchestra. First, I packed the only two things that I truly needed: my knife and the necklace. Both were keys to bringing us closer to Elizabeth, and, hopefully, some sort of peace.

  Risa was in a foul mood. “That bitch has neatly cut us out of the picture. She’s smart. A boat we can’t get on, where we can’t watch you, help you. We don’t even know how many staff will be onboard or if they’re all immortals. Or, even worse, Helpers who want to let blood merely to please their mistress.” She stewed in her anger.

  Wally was fidgety, a sure sign that she was unhappy about these developments. I grasped both their shoulders gently. “I know she’s getting me alone. That’s fine, we knew that would happen, so let’s not obsess on possibilities. Let’s plan for realities. I go in, drop the hint that there is more loot, maybe she gives me the royal treatment or maybe not. Either way, I’m on board a vessel owned by someone who knows and competes with Elizabeth. That’s a win in my book.”

  I was right, but they didn’t have to like it. A knock at the door broke the tension of the room, and Wally opened up to a driver in black livery, wearing an expression of competence and professionalism. I had expected nothing less.

  “Mr. Hardigan? I’m Crow Hop, your driver for the afternoon. May I take your bag?” He smiled at me with even, white teeth that stood out from his ebony skin. He was in his late twenties, six feet tall, athletically built, and had an intelligent, friendly face. I was expecting a cadaverous relic in moth-eaten tails. Crow Hop, along with his name, was a complete surprise.

  “Thank you, Crow Hop. Goodbye for now, roomies. I’ll be back tomorrow.” I let the charade speak for itself, handing my bag to Crow Hop and stepping outside. A Rolls Royce Silver Ghost sat idling silently, magnificent and shining with the care properly accorded a classic. Approving, I went through the open door into an interior that made clouds seem like flypaper by comparison. I slid smoothly across the leather as Crow Hop pulled away from my home, pointing the nose of the Ghost towards the water and Delphine. The necklace rested cool against my chest and my knife was cinched perfectly in the small of my back. I was ready.

  “How did you acquire such an unusual name?” I asked across the distance to the front.

  “It’s actually a fairly mundane reason. I was a running back in college, and I tended to hop side to side when I was in traffic. My high school team mascot was a crow, so there you have it. No mystical family history, no heroic deeds. Just me, hopping side to side and trying not to get crushed by guys who looked like elephants wearing helmets.” He smiled as he delivered the story of his name. It was a good one, and I told him so as we pulled into the parking area adjutant to the Inquisitor’s slip. He opened the door in a smooth motion and gathered my bag from the trunk while I stood, sizing up the ostentatious yacht. It was a bit much for my tastes, but I would do my best to make do. I’m a trooper when it comes to roughing it.

  The gangway was polished aluminum, bright and scuffed from countless feet ringing the grooves with heels and luggage. At the top of the stairs stood my nemesis, Joseph, resplendent with his unique arrogance. It could be no one else, and, when he spoke, I knew I was right.

  “Mister Hardigan, we are delighted to have you aboard for holiday,” he began, in a vaguely southern accent with European syntax that was as off putting as his cologne. I gritted my teeth and shook his hand. I hate it when Americans drop words in an attempt to be continental. It’s phony, but, for all I knew, he was a continental. Perhaps I was just spoiling for a fight with him. I walked aboard without further offense, and Crow Hop said goodbye, unobtrusively vanishing in an instant. Good help, there.

  “Would you care for a cocktail before your shower?” Joseph asked, poised like a raptor as his eyes furtively searched me for evidence of the necklace. Bad form, Joseph. Far too obvious.

  I decided to go all in, right away. “Here, Joseph.” I handed the necklace over after making a show of removing it from my neck. “This one is for the lady as payment for this weekend.”

  He didn’t miss a trick. “This one?” His eyes glittered with greed. Or something even more repugnant. “You mean that there may be other opportunities for you to spend time with Miss Delphine?” I loved his vernacular. It implied I was being canonized by fucking his mistress. I can appreciate that type of adroit language, especially on the fly.
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br />   “Yep. I just figured we would see how it went and all, you know, this being my first time in a long time with a lady, if you know what I mean.” He both did and did not know, but he presented a knowing, conspiratorial face to me, just two guys enjoying a joke about potentially mind-bending sex with an immortal hooker. You know, everyday stuff. I glanced down, gathering myself for a question, the picture of an awed plebe.

  “Joseph, what does she look like? I never even thought to ask.” Oh, how shy I could be. It made prying information free and setting a mood much easier, especially when dealing with my supposed betters. Joseph did not disappoint me.

  “Miss Delphine is hard to describe. Her beauty is timely, and timeless. She is actually smaller than one would think, given her considerable presence. She is womanly, flawless, but nothing of her body harkens to the days when steatopygia was all the rage. A phase that has thankfully passed.” Joseph delivered this opinion assuming I would be ignorant or cowed by the topic. As a veteran of multiple art history classes in which I only occasionally slept, I decided to fire back.

  “I always envisioned Venusian women with antennae rather than ponderous breasts, but I’m a dreamer.” I indicated with my hand that he should precede me to wherever we were going. I didn’t trust him, regardless of his fluttering hands and pomposity.

  After a long hallway vanished behind us, we arrived at a set of doors suited for a mansion. They swung inward silently. I admit it; the stench of wealth was everywhere, and I found the aroma agreeable.

  “This is your personal shower room. You’ll dress elsewhere, just through there” he glanced at a second door, equally as impressive, “to prepare for cocktail hour. Then, we’ll dress you accordingly for dinner when Miss Delphine calls.” He finished with a sniff that implied I would be fortunate to emerge from this room attired to be a ship’s mechanic, let alone a companion of his mistress.

  “That will be all, Joseph” a voice carried from behind us. There stood Delphine, in the flesh. She dismissed him with a squint, an expression that invited no discussion, but was clothed with a sweet smile that softened her tone--but only just. He inclined his head in a near bow and silently walked past me, closing the doors with a muffled thump. We were alone, and I felt myself being measured so thoroughly that any disguise on my part was futile. Delphine would know.

  She was five feet three, or four, and her hair was waist-length blonde of a hue that hinted at short summers and rocky coastlines. A simple robe covered part of her womanly shape, the remainder of her toned body visible beneath the hem. Legs that were athletic but sculpted ended where the fabric began in a taunt that was impossible to ignore. She was bronzed, by what sun I couldn’t guess, because there was not a flaw on her body that I could see. Full pink lips were drawn back in a smile that radiated predation and bubbling laughter, an unsettling blend of contrasts that many men had doubtless found endlessly thrilling. But her eyes, locked on to me with warmth and caring that was too intent to be feigned, the eyes were beyond anything I was prepared for. Blue, but shot with greys, and containing a depth that should have been frigid, drawing me to her just as she raised her fine-boned arms and offered me an embrace that I knew was the edge of a hole. A pit with a long, silent fall, full of pleasure and forgetting, crowded with the bones of men before me. Before I could muster a stand, I felt the heft of her breasts against my abdomen, and her smell crowded my senses in a short but decisive seduction. I willingly lost to her sensuality if I even fought at all. Her mouth was on mine, briefly, and she exhaled against my skin softly, a whispering caress. My body reacted so swiftly, I actually blushed. I was in deep water and tiring fast.

  “To the shower. I’ll wash you myself, and then we’ll drink and eat, and you can have me in every way imaginable. And some you can’t.” Her honeyed voice was muffled in my shirt, but I felt every vibration of her mouth against me like a tuning fork wired to my libido.

  I went with her. What else could I do?

  I was disrobed slowly, expertly. Her awareness was keen, every touch or gesture measured. The consummate professional in a business that bridged pleasure and sexual power, she was even more erotic in the rising steam filling the cavernous shower. Stone walls surrounded us, a spatter of oranges and whites, with crystalline counterpoints that danced in the mist.

  As I sat on a tiled bench, she knelt before me, removing my shoes and socks. I should have felt in command, but I didn’t. Her subtle smile robbed me of even the hint of control. Down, boy. You’ve got all night.

  “What are these walls? It looks like a meteor was cut into slices and mortared in place.” I was frankly admiring.

  She looked up with pleasure at my cognition of her tastes. “It’s a base stone from the opal mines of Coober Pedy, Australia. Dreadfully hot there, I’m told. I had it shipped in and cut on site. I rather enjoy the irregularities; they frame the remaining opal quite nicely.” Gems as tile. The mark of truly limitless money.

  Rising, I shrugged out of my button-down shirt before she could continue with her exploration of my body. My knife made no sound, safely wrapped in the cotton fabric as it dropped to the floor. Thankfully, Delphine made no move to retrieve it. I hoped Joseph wouldn’t be acting as my valet, at least until I could attempt to secret the blade somewhere else. I had had the foresight to wear slacks that she unzipped and dropped without ever taking her eyes from mine. Her robe slid from her shoulders, revealing round breasts with pink aureoles, attendant to my presence. Those shadowed a flat stomach ending in a secretive mound of soft curls, shy as a maiden’s smile. We stepped into the spray together.

  “The necklace is beautiful. Alive. Let me ask, Ring, do you think that I am worth the price?” Her fingers traced the line of my arm as she spoke.

  “Yes. I think that you would be worth as much gold as I could carry here on my back, if need be, but I don’t think you care.” Her touch had unleashed the philosopher in me, which was incongruous with my erection. She didn’t seem to mind.

  “Quite right. I don’t care about how much. Quantity over quality is rarely satisfying, unless every . . . single . . . experience is flawless.” She punctuated the words with her hands, pulling me to her in an invitation that was not to be denied. I lifted her small frame and drove upward into flesh and heat, her shoulders slapping against the tile brought all the way from Australia to act as the backstop for my fuck of the century. I could not do anything she had not seen before, nor would I try. I checked my ego at the door and concentrated on the incredibly close quarters of her, wrapped against my length while her heels dug into my thighs with complete disregard for my health. The abandon was total. I ignored her needs with each lunge higher, higher into her, higher into the confusion and distant betrayal that I felt, but that fleeting second was a lie, driven away when she clenched down on me and I released, her tongue in my mouth without mercy. We sank against the wall into a sitting position, me still pulsing in her with the memories of every woman I had ever know, discarded now after wilting under her sun.

  “Yesss. Shhhh. Again, in a moment, you’ll be ready.” Her optimism was accompanied with a kiss that drew me out and reignited my want, even though I was already in her to the hilt. It wasn’t far enough.

  “What about dinner?” I was only halfhearted in my hunger. I knew she had drawn from me, ever the predator, even as I took my pleasure, but it had not been much because I was alert. I began moving her up and down slowly, no part of me leaving her warmth.

  “Dessert first.” She held my face with her hands, kissing me with lips that seared and cooled. I did not argue.

  To me, Delphine was a teacher, her disciplines being Flesh and Want. The next hours were a catharsis in which I was given lessons in craving and how to act upon that desire with her endlessly inventive sexuality. Her brand of intimacy stretched my definition of the word. Pervasive eroticism in her every move turned the mundane into acts of secrecy and lust from the completion of our shower. I saw, up close, exactly what real power could do.

  “Jose
ph, my things. I will ready here for dinner” she said to the air, her voice even and pleasant. I heard footfalls before her order was complete, and, a moment later, a bustling Joseph knocked and entered the sauna-like conditions of my bathroom with two leather cases, which he began to distribute with robotic efficiency. Makeup, a hand mirror, perfume. A fine powder in a lapis lazuli crock, smelling of delicacy and summer. She looked at Joseph not once as he finished his work and exited. Delphine presented her back to me, a gift for my hands.

  “Dry me, Ring?” It was less than an order, but more than a suggestion. I began to towel her, working towards her breasts and stomach as she purred, stretching her arms skyward with childish joy. “Very nice. You can be quite gentle when asked.”

  She watched me in the mirror, which had cleared enough for me to savor her form. “Tell me, lover, will you be as gentle when you use the knife you wrapped in your shirt? It’s quite an unusual blade, very old. Knives are so personal. You must be made of sterner stuff than the average suitor who has sought me out through the years.”

  Despite my surprise, I kept both hands moving. I was inwardly impressed with her staff, her awareness. Her savvy. After her performance in the shower, I should not have been. This was a woman with few weaknesses, least of all being threatened by my cumbersome attempt to smuggle a threat on my person.

  “I promise to leave the knife on the floor if you’ll still have me. For dinner.” Her discovery was an opening gambit, nothing more. I was determined to stay, if not for the sex, than at least for any chance to glean something of use from our experiences. At least that’s what I would tell the girls.

  “Hm. Dinner. Of course. Powder me?” She turned to face me, handing over a small carved brush, electric blue. It was smoothed by time and small hands. Tilting her head back slightly, she guided my hand in long, shallow strokes across her breasts, her neck, and one playful swipe circling her navel. I began to see the value in her approach, as the intimacy of our moment was overwhelming. It was humanizing her without my consent, binding me tighter to her after only two short hours. We were pairing off, becoming bonded not just from the physical contact but from the view into her feminine sanctum, where she rebuilt herself from a post-coital glow into the polished beauty she presented to the world. I was transfixed. When we left my dressing room, I was clothed in more than her choice of wardrobe. I wore the possessiveness of a mate, with discomfort, although her arm through mine quieted my tongue. In a moment, we were seated at a table overlooking the deck and the bustle of the waterway. That place on the other side of the smoked glass seemed a different planet. I was glad for the feeling and reveled in the proximity of her aura.