Chapter 5
Kuroi
What did a boy wear on the day he moved into his husband’s house? So many options. Going through my closet, it was hard to choose.
“Let’s see,” I said fingering through my clothes. “Stella McCartney, Victoria Beckham? Armani would be a classic.”
When I saw it I knew. Alexander McQueen. Sleek and fierce. A girl had to make an impression on her first day. Would my new husband be there? Word was that he survived his little encounter with the deathies and was planning on heading home.
His new wife should be there to meet him, shouldn’t he? Framed in Alexander McQueen, I’ll greet him at the door, arms wide.
“It’s decided, Alexander McQueen. Pack up the rest,” I instructed my father’s men who insisted on seeing me off.
Choosing a pair of black panties from my drawer, I slipped into it and clad myself in McQueen. Being the diva, I made my makeup Douyin. And completing the look, I chose a selection of feathers for my hair.Staring at myself in the mirror, I wanted him to see me. This look couldn’t be wasted.
How many nights would we be able to share together before he was dead? He almost didn’t last our wedding day. It would have been a shame too considering our kiss.
And let me tell you, that kiss… My tongue has been down a lot of straight men’s throats. None of them made me feel like that. It was enough to give a girl hope.
Wasn’t that how all marriages should start, full of hope and promise. I was a blushing bride, after all. And he, my dear Dante, was my big bad wolf.
Remembering the kiss again, I lost myself in the memory. How had he made me feel what I had? I had kissed him to unnerve him, to throw him off. Instead, I felt something.
Can you imagine me feeling something? Didn’t feelings things go out of fashion in the 80s? Then again, retro chic was all the rage.
With a trunk of my essentials packed, I was loaded into my father’s helicopter and flown to the city. Where did my betrothed live, I wondered? Landing on a downtown rooftop heliport, I was delighted to learn that it was in the city. I would have hated to have to scurry across town to go to my usually spots.
But now that I was a wife, perhaps my life would change. Would I still shut down Manhattan hot spots when I had wifely duties to fulfill? Perhaps instead, I would make him dinner every night losing myself in marital bliss. It would be me and my hubby together taking on the world.
My glorious fantasy ended when I arrived at his building looking like I stepped off a runway and the man at the building’s desk tried to stop me from getting onto the elevator. Did I think about cutting his throat as he droned on about not being on the list? Of course. Why didn’t I? Hello, Alexander McQueen!
Instead, my father’s men broke a few fingers, took his key and ushered me up. The elevator opened to his apartment. Staring at the surprisingly tasteful décor, open space, and the central park view from the wall-length sliding glass doors, I didn’t hate it.
“This will do,” I said instructing the men to deposit my belongings in the living room and be off.
Once alone, I looked around at the place again. Immediately I saw how someone could be thrown from the balcony, deboned with the knives in the kitchen, and suffocated by any of the surprising large selection of throw pillows.
For exits, there was only one way out, the elevator. Buildings like this required a second exit for fire safety purposes. I’d have to figure out where that was.
Now here was the most important question. Did he have security cameras? Everyone under the age of 70 in his situation would. My father, as stuck in the old country as he was, had a camera in every room. Even mine.
When I ripped it down, his men would put it back up.It annoyed me until I discovered how much I enjoyed putting on a show. What made it better was that I didn’t know who was watching or if anyone was watching at all. When I did see someone react differently to me after a particularly vigorous show, I waited until they were alone and marked them.
Nothing dramatic. I just gave them a small vertical cut under their left eye. In a few months, most people would barely notice the scar. But he would know it was there and would never forget. They never ruined my fantasies again after that.
So, did my husband have cameras tossed about? Slowly circling the space, I had to find out. The living room was spacious and cream-colored luxury, but camera free. The kitchen was modern and looked surprisingly used, but still, there was nothing that recorded.
There were three bedrooms to choose from. Two were unoccupied guest rooms with king-sized beds but no cameras. And finally, his bedroom.
I got a little rush walking towards it. What would the bedroom of a man who kissed like that look like?The answer, it looked like sex.
There was a scent in the air. Was it his? It ripped through me raking my insides. A wave of heat billowed around my neck and spiraled down ending in my crotch. I was so hard it hurt.
More than that, there wasn’t a camera in the place. Not just his bedroom, the entire flat. There could be only one reason for that. My hubby did things here that he didn’t want recorded. And, that kiss…
Oh, I was going to fuck him. I would peel back Tom Ford, grab hold of what slithered out and suffocate it with my throat. I would become one of his secrets. Looking around at the space again, there was no question, this would work out quite nicely.
Hearing a chime that drew my attention to the elevator, I nearly choked. He was here. My husband had arrived. There was nothing that made me nervous but hearing it, my legs shook. Look at me, the virgin bride.
Searching for the bathroom, I rushed into it and checked my face. I wanted to look perfect. Well, maybe not perfect, but my makeup had to be flawless. Adjusting the creases on my suit, I gathered myself, walked back to the bedroom’s door and presented myself to him.
I saw him before he saw me. I used the extra time to pose in the doorframe. This would be his first impression. The pose had to be dramatic. It was. And when he turned around and our eyes met, he froze.
It was like the moment before our kiss. I could see into him. He was rage and fire under molten crust. At any moment he could explode. Feeling his fury rubble to the surface, I inhaled trembling and…
“Ugh,” he grunted, turning away bored and heading toward the kitchen.
Wait? Did he just “ugh” me? Anger, lust, and madness exists and he… ignored me?
‘Oh no!’ I thought feeling a crackling in my head.
“Hello, your wife is home,” I informed him giving him a second chance.
He glanced back at me again.
“All I see is a boy dressed up in women’s clothes.”
In an instant, I became blind with rage.
“This is Alexander McQueen!”
“I don’t know who that is. And watch what you touch with all that makeup on. Either that or learn how to use a steam cleaner.”
It was then that my mind floated to another place. It was there that I realized that I hadn’t properly accessorized. I had thought bringing my knives too garish considering my form fitting suit. So, sprinting across the room before my husband could open the fridge, I borrowed one of his from the butcher’s block.
I would like to say that there was a reason I chose the one I did, but I was no longer the one in control. The spider demon had taken over and it seemed that she didn’t feel the way I did about the new man in my life.
With a quick strike, she plunged the paring knife into the back of my husband’s thigh. I didn’t expect to hear him scream. He had to know it was coming, didn’t he? Hadn’t he practically begged for it?
None the less, the poke woke him up. Still, I expected him to be quicker. Before he turned around, she had gotten him again. This time in the side. She did have a soft spot for him though, because she missed his organs. It was more of a Prince Albert entering one side and coming out the other.
It was only then that my hubby reacted. He was surprisingly fast for an old man. With the blade still in him, he reached back grabbing my neck. Bending me first, he tossed me across the room. My hubby was strong.
If that was his plan to stop the spider demon, he had another thing coming. No longer having the knife, she gathered herself and sprung back. Launching herself into the air, she landed on his neck. Holding on as he spun, her grip loosened when he backed her into the fridge.
He was definitely a strong one. And when he did it again with twice as much force, she let go her grip allowing him to take her by the throat, lift her over his head, and slam her onto the couch.
With his hands tightening around her neck, I saw something new in his eyes. He had chosen madness. It was glorious to see. The sight of it ushered the spider demon away and brought me back.
My hubby’s hands were powerful. I was helpless. He could kill me with just the flick of his wrist. Would he?
As the darkness swallowed my sight, I wasn’t sure. And just before my world blinked out, his face changed. Oh my god, my husband was shifting. Never having been with a wolf, I had only imagined what it would look like. Seeing him turn above me was incredible. Hoping to see more, I instead blacked out.
When I came to, things were much calmer. My husband was no longer choking the life out of me and I was no longer trying to kill him. I was instead desperately trying to catch my breath and he was shirtless and putting on his pants. More interesting than that, his spider bites were gone.
“Do you need help with that?” I asked, finding my voice.
“You’re fuckin’ nuts,” he said barely looking at me.
“But honey, I’m your nuts,” I crooned.
“Lucky me,” he huffed sarcastically.
“I think you ruined my makeup,” I admitted not wanting to see myself in the mirror.
“I think you stabbed me in the back.”
“It was a love tap.”
“You call that love.”
“Do you think I couldn’t find an artery?” I asked casually.
My husband paused sobering up.
“I don’t know. Could you have?”
“There are six arteries that when cut would most-likely end in death, even for your kind. In the neck, the chest, the collar, the arm, the pelvis, and oh yeah, four inches down from the bite in your thigh.”
“Shit!” he cooed.
“Like I said, a love tap,” I told him before he got up, headed to his room and locked the door behind him.
This was going to make performing my wifely duties on our wedding night a challenge. It looks like I got ‘the talk’ for nothing.
Holding out hope that he just needed to straighten his room before inviting me in, I got comfortable on the couch and waited for him to return. I stared at his door all night. He never came out. Still there and awake as the sun peeked in through the skyscrapers, I eventually heard his door crack.
Sitting up, I was sure I looked a mess. I should have cleaned myself up. I was wearing yesterday’s makeup and a wrinkled suit. What was I thinking? This was no way to keep a man.
Putting my skank aside, I put my hands in my lap and made myself the vision of elegance. There was no way he would be able to resist this lady, but somehow he did. Exiting his room fully dressed, he barely looked at me. When he did in response to my eagerness, he held up a finger freezing me.
I’ll be honest, I didn’t know how to react to that. By the time I had decided, he was already entering the elevator.
“Would you like me to make you some coffee?” I asked a closing elevator door.
The truth was that I had no idea how to make coffee. Coffee was one of those things that had appeared fully formed in mugs or cups. But it couldn’t be that hard to figure out, could it?
Suspecting my love was gone for the day, I slumped in my seat and lowered my head into my hands. Feeling them slide, I remembered how I looked. Examining my hands, they were caked with foundation. I had to clean myself off.
To do that I considered heading to Dante’s bathroom.I thought better of it. It wasn’t because he didn’t want me there. I just didn’t want to leave it a mess. So, choosing one of the guest bedroom’s bathrooms, I gathered my supplies.
Clean, I next entered the shower. Naked to the world, the reality of my life snuck in. Faced with it, I didn’t like the way it looked. Luckily, the thought didn’t stay long. And exiting the shower without getting dressed. I took another tour of my new home which ended with me crawling into his bed.
It was definitely his musk that I smelled. It was intoxicating. Wrapping my arms around his pillow and pulling it to me, I tried to wrap my legs around it. I needed him to touch me. I yearned to feel his large hand grab my ass and make it his.
Lying there a bitch in heat, there was no relief except sleep. I had been awake all night waiting for him to come to me. He never had. He had to be taught a lesson for that. I was his wife, after all. That was no way to be treated.
However, waking up feeling rested, revenge was no longer on my mind. Was it June Cleaver who said that you catch more flies with honey? Or, did she say that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach?
Either way, I needed to take a different approach. I would be the perfect wife. Wearing pearls and high heels, I would bake a casserole. It couldn’t be that hard, could it? I just had to call the chief, tell them what I wanted, and it was done.
More pressing than the meal was the outfit I would wear. I had the perfect pearls. Unfortunately, they were back at my father’s house. And the idea of leaving this place to get it didn’t sit right with me.
If I left, would I be able to get back in? Of course, I would. I was Dante’s wife, after all. When I returned he would be happy to see me.
Still, entering the elevator felt like a one way trip.
“Yuki, can you do me a favor?” I asked over the phone.
When Yuki arrived, it was with more than just my pearls.
“I have a gift for you,” she said with one of her delicate smiles.
“A wedding gift?” I said taking the box.
Unwrapping it, what I found brought a smile to my face. It was couture and very me.
“I love it!” I told her immediately missing my sister.
“How was your first night?” she asked with sadness in her eyes.
“As a married woman? Everything I dreamed of,” I said continuing the fantasy.
Sitting next to me Yuki put her hand on my thigh.
“Kuroi, I’m sorry Father did this to you.”
“No, it’s okay. I really think this might be a good thing.”
Yuki met my eyes.
“Seriously, Yuki. Things have started off a little rocky, but he might be the one,” I said trying to look past evidence to the contrary.
Yuki slowly scanned the room. All of my stuff still sat just inside the living room. The kitchen looked like the scene of a knife fight. And there were drops of blood on the area rug.
When her gaze returned to me, I lowered my eyes.With an elegance that I could only pretend to have, Yuki straightened her spine and turned to me.
“Do you know why father named you Kuroi?” she asked as if pouring alcohol into an open wound.
“I think everyone knows why he named me that,” I said as my thumb tried one last time to rub the darkness off of me.
“It wasn’t because of your dark skin,” she said to my surprise. “It was to mark you as the dark stain on his honor. Father could not resist your mother’s power of seduction. And you were the price he paid for his moment of weakness.”
I cringed hearing what I had always suspected but had never wanted to hear spoken.
“He lost everything for keeping you. There were those who had told him to toss you into the ocean. Even our brothers had told him this. But he didn’t. He kept you. And he knew for you to survive, you would need to learn your place.
“But you were stubborn. Like petrified bamboo, you would not bend. That is why he made you kagema. It was to teach you your place. It was to help you.”
Yuki’s words cut through me leaving me raw and bare. No one had ever told me, but my father said enough for me to figure what my mother was.
She was a succubus who worked as a prostitute. That made me a half breed. That meant I could inherit my father’s curse or my mother’s powers of seduction. Considering that lovers keep dying, it’s clear which one I got.
“What are you telling me to do?” I asked again becoming the 14-year-old ripped from my home.
“To grow in the field, bamboo must bend.”
“You’re saying I should submit? To who? My husband? Father?”
“You must bend,” my submissive sister repeated.
Was my sister right? In our world, she had certainly thrived. With her gentle demeanor and softened words, she had become Father’s favorite. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. She had our father wrapped around her finger.
Was there power in submission? Could I have that power? Would that power give me Dante? As what? My lover? My love? Could anyone love a black stain like me?
Words between Yuki and I were no longer necessary. Silence overtook us. Instead of arguing with her, I tried something new. I bent. Mostly it was to join her as she picked up after my husband and my knife fight. It wasn’t so bad.
Could I submit to the extent my sister had? Probably not. Yuki had made it an art form. In every way she was a proper Japanese. And what was I?
No matter. It wasn’t what I was. It was what I could become. I would become my sister.
I would lower my eyes when men spoke. I would bow in the presence of my elders. And I would be the perfect wife for a man like Dante Ricci, my husband and superior.