Page 67 of Princess Claimed

As if thinking, he shakes his head slowly. “I know I love you. That’s different. You’re my brother, my best friend. I would do anything for you.” Grinning, he turns toward me. “Even fuck you, and I have. But with her…” He looks into my eyes. “It’s not only different, it scares the shit out of me.”

I nod, my insides trembling as emotions bubble to the surface from the places I’ve drowned them. “The thought of her leaving us—” The words cut into my heart.

Pain stabs into Flame’s eyes too. “Fucking hell,” he says. “Do we love her?”

“Are you boys in love?” The archivist asks, as she drops ten volumes onto the table next to me.

I was so deep in thoughts and our conversation that I didn’t even hear her come down the stairs.

“We might be.” I shrug.

“Lucky you.” A warm smile washes over her. “My mate and I have been together since I was turned. And for a while before that too.”

“Your mate is your Maker?” Flame asks her. “Or were you two turned together.”

“She’s my Maker.” Everything about the archivist’s face and body changes.

“Tell me about her,” Flame asks. “I need a distraction while Mr. Bookworm devours all that shit.”

“Okay,” she says. “But let’s go somewhere else, so our talking won’t disturb your friend.”

“No,” I say quickly. “I’d like to hear too.” Maybe her experiences will shed some light on what Flame and I have been feeling. We need to get rid of it. My chest tightens.

“What’s your name?” Flame asks, and I realize I was rude not to ask. “I’m Flame, by the way. The ugly one there is Blade.”

She laughs. “I’m Jane, and my love’s name is Amelia.”

“When did you meet her?” I ask. “And how? And how long did you know her before you knew you were in love? How could you tell? Which one of you knew first? And?—”

Jane holds up her hands, laughing. “Maybe one question at a time?” Rounding the table, she sits down facing us. “It was back in the 1960’s, and I was a hippy. Do you guys know what that means?”

I nod yes. I don’t know whether Flame knows about hippies, but it doesn’t seem crucial to her story, and I can fill him in later. Also, I’m shocked to discover that Jane isn’t nearly as ancient as I first thought.

“I was old for a hippy,” she continues. “Most of the others were kids—teens through mid-twenties—but I loved the lifestyle, the sense of free living—and free loving.” She sighs, contentedly.

“Growing up as a lesbian in the forties and fifties…” She shakes her head. “Let’s just say I felt more accepted with those kids than I ever did amongst people my own age.”

“I get that.” I glance at Flame, but he’s fixated on Jane. He’s so good at drawing people out, one of the many things I admire about my brother, and so I don’t want to needlessly draw his attention.

“I lived in a commune,” she says, “in an old Victorian house in San Francisco. Dozens of kids were living there at any one time.” She smiles wistfully. “Being a few decades older, I guess you could say that I fell into a mothering role, but I didn’t mind. Not most of the time. Someone had to clean occasionally, or we would have been overrun by bugs and rodents. Someone had to make sure we consumed something beyond weed and LSD.”

She’s going off topic, but Flame nods encouragingly.

“Some nights, a beautiful woman would visit.” Jane’s eyes brighten and fill with so many emotions it stirs mine too. “The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”

“Amelia,” says Flame.

She nods. “I was infatuated. Amelia was nice to me, but she paid everyone equal attention. Plus, I assumed she was straight. Each time she visited, she’d take one of the boys to a bedroom, and in the morning, she’d be gone. The boys were all in love with her—in lust, anyway. They raved about the sex, bragged about how many times and how long they’d fucked her, although none of them could ever remember her leaving the room, just that they woke up happy and sexually satisfied.”

“A couple of the boys speculated that her pussy juice contained some kind of drug.” Jane chuckles. “Little did they know.” She grins, and we both nod.

It’s obvious that Amelia was a vampire and feeding from these boys. Maybe she was having sex with them first, hopefully not after, but either way the young men would wake in a euphoric haze caused by the venom she used for her feeding. Unable to remember the night, they made up braggadocious stories.

“One night,” Jane continues, “I was washing the dishes, and Amelia came up behind me. She wrapped her arms around me and nuzzled my neck. Her touch was electric, like I’d been struck by a thunderbolt. I was instantly wet. Melting. On fire.” She glances between us. “One touch from her and I knew I needed to be with her.”

“I’ve felt something like that,” Flame says, and then looks at me.

“Me too,” I admit.

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