Chapter Twenty-Nine
TWENTY-NINE
Eleonore was dozing on the couch when the door opened. She came awake instantly, rising to a seated position.
Ben stood in the doorway, looking exhausted. A streak of dirt crossed his forehead, and his clothes were rumpled.
“How was it?” she asked. She’d been nervous, wondering if her werewolf care bag would actually be helpful.
To her relief, Ben smiled, though the expression was a tired one. “I filled up on venison and didn’t eat a single woodland creature.” He shucked off his coat, hanging it up before tossing his keys and wallet in the bowl. “I did chase a few, but that was more for the fun of it.”
Eleonore clapped her hands. “Excellent. How are your carnal urges?”
He laughed, running a hand over his face and smudging the dirt further, then gestured at his bulging crotch. “Very present.”
She’d sensed the lingering wildness under the surface, tinged with lust. As he stared at her, the lust grew stronger. “Good,” she said. “I’m going to bite you now.”
She had him pinned to the wall in a flash, one hand at his shoulder and one in his hair. Her stomach cramped and her fangs lengthened. She was thirsty, and she couldn’t wait to have his delectable blood coursing through her.
Ben grunted and cupped her ass, then hoisted her into the air. Eleonore wrapped her legs around his waist, then tipped his head to the side, licked the vein throbbing in his neck, and plunged her fangs into it.
Hot, decadent bliss.
Ben’s blood roared through her in a wave of pulsing energy. She swallowed eagerly, moaning at the taste. Chocolate and spice lingered under the rich, coppery top notes. It was like drinking electricity, bright and invigorating.
“That’s it,” Ben said roughly, tipping his head back against the door. “Take whatever you need.”
It was an order, but not one she could be angry at. Not one issued consciously either, she’d wager. She clutched Ben closer, vampiric instincts telling her to keep her prey immobilized. Arousal pumped through her in time with her pulse. Their pulse now, because her bite had put their hearts in time. His pumped fast and strong as he gave, and hers matched its pace as she took.
When she was sated, she disengaged and licked his neck to help seal the punctures. Then she grabbed his face and kissed him, traces of blood lingering on her tongue.
Ben moaned, meeting her kiss lick for lick. He pushed off the wall and carried her to the couch, where he tipped her on her back. Then he was on top of her, rolling his hips to drag his cock over her cunt.
Someday Eleonore would have to get them naked before she bit him, because neither of them could stop long enough to strip now. Her climax was building fast, and her nerves sang with sensation everywhere they touched.
She cried out as the orgasm pulsed through her. Heat sparkled from her belly out to her fingers and toes as she clenched again and again, her body seeking what only he could provide.
Ben came with a great, groaning shudder, and the psychic energy of his orgasm sank into her. It was like drinking from a golden chalice filled with liquid starlight, each moment of his pleasure intensifying her own.
When they were both finished, Eleonore felt like she might melt into the couch. Her limbs were loose and heavy, and she was so sated physically and mentally she might never move again, even if Ben’s weight was nearly crushing her.
He groaned, then slowly shifted off her and stood, swaying. “Fuck,” he said. “You’re going to make me like the moonshift after all.”
Eleonore grinned, pushing herself upright with trembling arms. “Think you’ll sleep well?”
He gave her a speaking look. “It’ll be a miracle if I make it three steps without passing out.” He reached out a hand to help her up. “I’ll shower some of this dirt off, and then we can go to bed.”
Eleonore let him help her up, though he seemed about as shaky as she was. “Are you going to the Emporium in the morning?” Gigi had another rally planned for the next evening, but it would be nice if he could sleep in with her.
“Not a chance in hell,” he said with a crooked grin. “I’m turning off my alarm.”
“Good,” she said, pride suffusing her. She’d discovered one excellent way to protect Ben Rosewood from himself.
Eleonore kept a wary eye on the guests at Gigi’s rally. The election was less than a week away, and this would be a prime moment for someone to cause a scene. The polls showed a close race, and Cynthia Cunnington would not like that.
Eleonore was amazed how quickly time seemed to be moving. Gigi had announced her candidacy last-minute for such things, having launched her campaign in August for an early November election, but it felt like so much had happened. When Eleonore thought of how she’d first arrived in Ben’s living room—hissing and defensive, ready to rip out his throat—it felt like she’d been a different person then.
Not that she didn’t hiss anymore, of course. She still bared her fangs and reached for her knives when startled. She hadn’t yet adapted to the hugging habits or casual trust that Ben’s friend group employed. And the flash of a black cloak in her peripheral vision—of which there were more than a few in Glimmer Falls, especially around Halloween—would set her heart racing as rage suffused her. But it was never actually the Witch in the Woods, and the more time passed, the quicker Eleonore was able to regain control over that anger.
She still didn’t fully believe everything would be all right in the end, because historically it hadn’t. But for the first time, she was allowing for the possibility.
Once she found the witch and severed her head, of course.
The rally was being hosted by the Human-Centaur Polo League at their barn. The motto of this unusual sporting organization was Twice the torsos, twice the fun , which reminded Eleonore of something her Great-Great-Uncle Dragoslav might have said while showing off his skeleton collection. He had been beheaded in the vampire wars a decade before Eleonore’s father, but she had fond memories of playing knucklebones while he regaled her with the history of each victim in his collection.
The barn was spacious and clean, smelling pleasantly of hay and lemon wood polish. Strings of festive lights hung from the rafters, and the walls contained racks of polo equipment.
Ben’s Plant Emporium was catering the event, and the room was lined with tables piled high with food that appealed to the tastes of multiple species. Gigi had tried to pay for the spread, but Ben had refused, saying this time would be his treat.
It was the sort of generous gesture to be expected from him, but Eleonore couldn’t help but think of Rani’s warning: He runs himself ragged trying to help everyone . Ben was happy to donate time and money to help his sister, but Eleonore would need to keep an eye on him. Make sure he didn’t push himself so far he—or the Emporium—collapsed.
The barn doors were open to the chilly late October night, but Mariel, Calladia, and a few other witches and warlocks had summoned glowing orbs that circulated through the crowd, giving off heat. One passed over Eleonore and she tipped her head back, letting the warmth spill over her face before she resumed her bodyguard duties of looking for trouble.
A flicker of movement outside the barn doors made her stiffen, but she relaxed when a centaur galloped through, blowing a kazoo. On his back was a human waving a pink Howling for Change flag. They galloped up and down the center of the barn while people clapped, howled, cheered, pranced, or undulated with delight.
How marvelous this time was that people should interact so freely and give of themselves so openly. Riding centaurs was strictly forbidden without consent, of course, but Eleonore had known some who would rather have galloped over a cliff than allow a human on their back even in dire emergency. This group simply liked playing a game together.
The centaur was followed by Gigi herself, who strolled into the barn in a tailored gray suit that screamed of Astaroth’s influence. “Welcome!” Gigi called as she stepped onto a makeshift stage. Her shoes, as always, were pink. “I’m so glad you could make it out tonight.”
A cheer went up.
“I started this journey with nothing but strong opinions, hope, and the assurance of the election board’s scryer that I am not, in fact, an agent of pure evil,” she continued. Chuckles followed this. “So it’s astounded me that in little more than two months, we’ve built this community. It’s all thanks to you—both the people gathered here tonight and those who couldn’t make it but have been helping in other ways.” She grinned. “It takes a village to raise a mayoral candidate. So thank you for your help, large and small—the people who donated money or advertising space, who canvassed door-to-door, who called their friends or bought campaign merchandise or, hell, even gave me a smile on a day I needed it. When we win—and we will —you will be the real heroes of this story.”
It was a good speech, but Eleonore was used to that by now. Gigi was charismatic and warm, and people loved her. Eleonore wasn’t here to listen to pretty words, though—she was more interested in how Cynthia Cunnington might sabotage the event.
Nothing had been as dramatic as the assault on Gigi’s first rally, but Cynthia’s touch had been evident in more subtle ways since then. Conservative websites had denounced Gigi for being unable to protect people at her rallies—“Are Our Children Safe from Explosions with Gigi Rosewood?” had been a notably overwrought headline—and nasty ads aired on the TV and radio. The complaints were varied: Gigi was too young and inexperienced for office; Gigi would tear down the magical legacy Cynthia had worked so hard to protect; Gigi would be a liability as a werewolf since public service couldn’t take a break for the full moon. As if Cynthia Cunnington never stepped away from her desk to eat or sleep or shit.
Eleonore studied the shifting crowd and exit points. Across the barn, Ben was doing the same. He looked rather ferocious, having traded his sweater vest for a long-sleeved black shirt that highlighted his muscles and the breadth of his shoulders. If she hadn’t been on duty, Eleonore would have spent quality time ogling him.
Her skin prickled, which meant her intuition had picked up on a shift in the environment. She looked harder, trying to determine what had changed.
The barn doors that had been open a minute before were now closed.
It could have been done by someone wanting to keep the heat in, but Eleonore would rather be paranoid than caught off guard. She made her way along the wall, fingers hovering over the sheathed knives at her thighs.
Ben, always attuned to her, mirrored her movements. “What is it?” he asked when they met past the last row of spectators. “Did you see something?”
“The door is shut.” Then, realizing the folly of having both of them investigating the same thing at the same time, Eleonore pointed toward Gigi. “You should stay near her.”
He nodded and slipped away.
The barn doors had a gap beneath them—not large, but enough for something small to wriggle through. Eleonore crouched—and saw the flash of black scales. A narrow, pointed face emerged, no wider than two of her fingers put together. Its red eyes were slit-pupiled, and smoke rose in twin wisps from its nostrils.
A smoke adder. Known for the burning pain of its bite—which was usually not fatal, unless an excessive amount of venom was delivered—and its tendency to conceal itself in clouds of smoke. At the sight of her, it startled, and smoke began billowing from it in earnest.
Though the snake might be five feet long at most, it could fill the entire barn with black, acrid smoke in under a minute. People would panic, and with only one exit, the stampede could turn deadly.
Eleonore didn’t make a habit of handling reptiles, but she knew the basics: grab the snake behind the head so it couldn’t bite. She took a deep breath, then regretted it when she started coughing. The peppery smoke burned, and tears flooded her eyes.
She couldn’t see the snake anymore. Within seconds, the smoke had thickened and spread. It was now climbing the walls and reaching dark fingers toward the interior of the barn. Behind her came the first scream of “Fire!”
Usually not fatal , Eleonore reminded herself, gritting her teeth. Then she plunged her hand into the smoke. Hot scales met her fingertips, the texture rough and soft at once. Eleonore wrapped her hand around the snake, hoping she was in roughly the right place.
She was not.
A shriek tore from her throat when a pair of sharp fangs sank into her forearm. God’s throbbing knob, that hurt. The first spurt of venom pumped inside her arm, and it felt like being stabbed by a hot poker.
At least if the snake was biting her, it couldn’t bite anyone else. She fumbled for the barn doors with her free hand, cursing under her breath. Finally, one swung open, and she staggered into the cool night.
How to get this thing off her? Chopping the snake in half wouldn’t be enough—it bit down in its death throes, and its fangs would remain sunk in her arm for gods knew how long. Besides, it hadn’t bitten her out of malice, only because it felt threatened. The one thing she knew could stop an enraged smoke adder was dumping it in cold water, which would put it into a torpor and release the bite.
Eleonore’s head spun as the poison sent alternating waves of fire and ice through her body. She shuddered, then hissed when the pain intensified further.
There was a small pond down the hill she could jump into…but would she make it before the snake delivered enough venom to kill her?