Breathing Fire

The letter was on old parchment, wax seal and all. “What the hell,” I said, ripping it open. I felt my whole face turn red as I began to read it.

Christian whistled softly from behind my shoulder. He had read it shamelessly from over my shoulder. “Oh boy,” he said, and I could hear the laughter in his voice.

I turned sharply, jabbing a finger hard into his chest. “Don’t even think of breathing a word of this to anyone.”

He shrugged, grinning. “I won’t, if that’s what you want. But, damn, Jilli-”

“And don’t breath a word about it to me, either,” I growled. I was shocked that he actually listened.

Lynn approached me next, looking strange, and worried. Christian gave us a moment of privacy to speak to each other, and I caught her up quickly on all of the messes I’d been making, and attempting to clean up.

She seemed distracted at all of my news, which worried me. Some messy stuff must have been going on with her life if she didn’t so much as blink at the the catastrophe of mine. “What’s going on, Lynn?” I asked her finally. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. That was all. I got a real bad feeling, deep down in my gut.

 My guided tour of the palatial retreat ended at the full-sized bar. It was an impressive room, complete with an actual bartender manning the fully stocked bar. “Is that one of Lynn’s followers, or did you really hire a bartender?” I asked him, running a hand along the grainy pattern on the sandy toned granite that topped every surface in the place.

Christian laughed. “That is a goth, making himself very useful.” He raised his voice so it carried to the bar. “Fix me whiskey straight up, my good man. The stuff in the fancy crystal decanter will do. And the lady will have a glass of room temperature water with a lime. Thank you.”

The kid nodded happily, humming to himself as he followed Christian’s instructions. “He makes a terrible goth,” I whispered in an aside to Christian. “He’s downright chipper.”

We thanked the boy for our drinks and took them to a seating area that could have passed for VIP seating at a club. “Well, what do you think of the place?” Christian asked. I could tell by his eager expression that he wanted me to be impressed with his desert palace. He was so like a kid in some ways.

I smiled at him indulgently. “It’s perfect,” I finally answered him. He beamed at me.

“You gonna share some of your weapon’s stash with us for the necro roast?” I asked him, even though I knew I didn’t have to.

“You know it, girl.” His usual endearment with his faint british accent almost always made me smile. “And Caleb brought us all some nifty gifts. He says I can’t see mine until the necro roast. He seems to think I would waste it before it’s needed. That makes me think it’s some sort of flame thrower. It feels like waiting for christmas.”

I shook my head at him, laughing.

We stayed in the bar room, chatting, and I was surprised to have a packed house before long. Apparently this was the popular hangout spot of the house. I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was a bar.

I was even more surprised about a half an hour later. Two goth girls had just introduced themselves to Christian and I. Mostly to Christian. They both had black hair and brown eyes, with about a pound of black eyeliner on. They were like different sized versions of the same person. It was bizarre. One of them was a short, heavy girl. The other one was of medium height, and was stacked like a playboy model. The pinup girl was named Cherry, and I knew by the way they flirted that Christian had found his bed partner for the night. I rolled my eyes. He was about to take a walk on the goth side. Whatever. And by the looks the other girl, Juliet, was casting at him, he could get a twofer tonight. Barf. I tried to erase the mental image from my head.

“I’m hungry,” I said suddenly, to no one in particular. I didn’t think anyone would pay me any mind. Seemingly out of nowhere, a bag of food from my favorite mexican joint appeared on the table in front of me. Two more bags joined it. Slowly, I looked up and to my left in to black-lined, dark blue eyes half hidden behind curly dark hair that fell into a handsome face as though it had been arranged that way. Luke was staring at me with an intensity that made me feel immediately uncomfortable and embarrassed. “Mistress, I drove back into town and got you your favorite barbacoa bowl for lunch. It has brown rice and all four kinds of salsa, just how you prefer.” In a fluid motion, he sank to sit in a classic submissive pose, his eyes downcast. “Please, Mistress, may I watch you eat your lunch?”

I nearly choked on the water I’d been sipping. Christian started laughing hard. I glared at him. He just laughed harder. He didn’t stop even when tears started running down his face. He was clutching his stomach like he couldn’t keep it in. I kicked my foot sideways, catching him viciously in the shin. His knee bent into his chest, and he clutched his hurt shin, but didn’t stopped laughing.

I turned my glare on Luke. “You may not. Thank you for the lunch, Luke, but please stop this silly game. I’m not your dominant. And while I’m on the subject, what kind of a submissive pursues a dom? Doesn’t that seem a little off to you?” I tried to keep my voice quiet, but I knew the whole room was listening to this mortifying exchange. “I read your letter, and I can say with no hesitation at all that that is never going to happen. So just drop it.” My words fell on deaf ears. All he heard was the unconscious authority I had used.