Chapter 21
Twenty-One
In the days that follow, Kate works me to exhaustion with rehearsals.
She chooses a scarlet gown for me out of Lucrezia’s wardrobe and alters it with a clever pocket above my left breast, where we’ll hide a sheep’s bladder filled with blood on the night of our performance.
An actor’s trick, she says, to make my “murder” look more convincing.
She also carves two sharp teeth out of the ivory handle of a serving spoon and attaches them to my own with gum arabic.
The false teeth are uncomfortable but effective.
Their sharp points are menacing. Wickedly realistic.
I’ve grown more comfortable with my vampire persona.
When we rehearse, I growl and slink and roll my eyes.
But I never become quite comfortable with Ezra Winthrop, my would-be slayer.
It’s uncanny, how much Kate transforms within his role.
Everything, from the way she walks to the contemptuous sneer she takes on as Winthrop, fills me with dread .
. . and an undeniable frisson of sensual attraction.
Winthrop is dangerous, cunning, and coolly intelligent—like a snake coiled to strike.
But there’s an appeal to his salaciousness all the same.
One that sends my heart tripping over itself when I feel his arms go around me, his breath on my neck.
Kate has made me fall in love with every one of her characters. Even this one. They’re all a part of who she is. Her darkness and her light.
We rehearse my death scene again, though the afternoon heat in our rehearsal room has grown feverish.
Winthrop stalks toward me, a sharp oakwood stake in one hand, a mallet in the other.
I crouch and growl, like a cornered wildcat, rolling my eyes dramatically.
Winthrop tackles me, dragging me to the center of the room, his arm hooked around my neck.
I struggle in his arms, but he holds me fast. My heartbeat races.
“Fight all you like, little one,” he sneers. “Your fate is sealed.”
He wrestles me to the ground and crouches over me, the stake held high.
He plunges it downward, and I instinctively flinch.
Even though we’ve rehearsed this scene countless times, my trust is still tenuous.
The stake is real—twelve inches of solid wood Kate has honed to a point sharp enough to kill.
But our props, our costumes, this final act, must be thoroughly convincing.
Winthrop hovers the stake a hairbreadth from my bosom, then brings the mallet down. This too requires trust. Because the stake must be driven with enough force to penetrate my clothing, then pierce the sheep’s bladder, without piercing me in the process.
I cry out, thrash in place for a moment, and then still.
With a shout of triumph, Winthrop stands over me, then nudges me with his foot, rolling me over to face the audience.
It’s imperative that I stare blankly ahead, without blinking, during this part, so that the onlookers will believe I’m truly dead.
Winthrop then bends, lifts my “lifeless” body, and carries me to the chaise, which will be a wagon at the real event.
The whole thing would be humorous if not for the gravitas and grim sense of purpose Kate brings to her role.
“Excellent.” The fearsome Winthrop departs, and my Kate returns. She brings me to my feet, kisses me, and spins me around. “You were spectacular. That moan of despair as I hammered the stake home! Absolutely perfect, my darling girl.”
“It wasn’t too much?” I ask, glowing in the light of Kate’s praise.
“Heavens no. After those lurid comics, the more moaning the better.”
“Oh, stop. Did you send the letter to the papers announcing Winthrop’s arrival?”
“Yesterday.”
I sink onto the chaise, my good humor fading. Everything is suddenly all too real. “Kate, what if we do this, and he still doesn’t stop? What if this murderer is more animal than human? Our performance won’t matter then, will it?”
“Think, sweetling. All of the victims have been young white women. Most of them, apart from the first, wealthy. An animal predator wouldn’t discriminate. No. This monster is fully human. I’d be willing to bet my life on it.”
“Please don’t tempt fate,” I say, looking up at her.
“He’s going to know it’s all an act. Don’t you worry that he might seek revenge?
I worry, Kate. I’m no vampire, and much as you relish playing him, you’re no Winthrop.
We’re both just women, like all the other victims. What if he comes after us next? ”
“He won’t.” She kneels at my feet, taking my hands and bringing them to her lips. “If it makes you feel better, I won’t go out again as Varina until we’ve forced this killer to cease his rampage. And we will, mark my words. It’s almost over.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes, sweetling. And then we’ll be on our way to England, where I’ll take the Strand by storm. Now, let’s go over things again. More thrashing and moaning this time. They’ll want to see a fight.”
I groan. “You exhaust me.”
“You’re getting good, Lil. We don’t want to impede your progress, do we?
I’ll reward you later.” She pulls me to my feet, binds my wrists behind my back (loosely, as part of the excitement for the audience is me breaking free from my bonds), and tugs me back to the center of the room, where we run through the scene.
Again. And again. Until my body aches, sweat pools beneath my breasts, and hunger claws my belly.
That night, after Kate treats me to a hearty supper, I sleep heavily, and dream once more of my sister.
She’s older in my dream, inexplicably—closer to our mother’s age, her copper curls streaked with gray.
She hums to herself as she dresses her dolls, lining them up on her bed.
There are four altogether. One of them is the faceless doll from my previous dream, two smaller dolls for the twins, and Rebecca’s doll, with its coiled ringlets.
“Don’t they all look pretty, all lined up in a row? ” Rebecca croons.
“Why can’t you rest, Rebecca?”
She sighs, turning to face me. It’s disconcerting, seeing her older, knowing that she’ll never be this age in real life. “Because I worry about you.”
“Worry?”
“Do you trust her?”
“Who?”
She only smiles wistfully.
“Who, Rebecca?”
“You know who I’m talking about.” That same wistful smile. “Love has made you a fool, sister.” She strokes the faceless doll’s brown hair. “Open your eyes.”
I startle awake, my heart pounding. I catch my breath, staring up at the canopy.
Kate sleeps next to me, breathing steadily.
My vision adjusts to the dim light filtering through the curtains, as I study my lover in her sleep.
She is beautiful, yes. It’s undeniable, with her long, dark lashes at rest on her cheeks, her full lips slightly parted.
She could be male, or female, or a sexless archangel in repose.
How quickly she’s become my world. How gamely I’ve offered myself to her.
Do you trust her?
Do I? Because of course Rebecca was talking about Kate. Who else would it be?
I think of her passionate dominance over my body, her coy, flirtatious machinations. Kate would never hurt me. Or anyone else. Would she?
I sit up, suddenly in need of fresh air.
Everything feels too close. Though it’s only late springtime, the humidity is already suffocating.
But when I swing my legs over the side, Kate stirs.
“Where do you think you’re going?” She grasps my waist from behind, pulling me to her.
Her hands wander over my body, squeezing, groping.
Desire blooms low in my belly, as it always does at Kate’s touch. “God, you’re so soft. So warm.”
She burrows her face against the nape of my neck, and I go limp and weak as she lifts my nightgown and works her way down the length of my body, trailing kisses along my bare spine.
She hoists me up onto my knees and, with a low groan, sets to her hungry work, sending all my thoughts of leaving our bed into flight.
In moments, she has me shaking, then suddenly ceases her ministrations, tumbling me onto my back.
She straddles me, looking down at me with a wicked grin.
I arch my hips upward, eager for more. “I would have you, sweetling,” she says.
“Completely.” She takes one of my nipples in her mouth, still encased in the thin cambric gown, and pulls with her teeth.
I whimper as pain and pleasure knot together in a tangle.
“Please,” I say, gasping. The ache between my legs is a torrent of want. I reach down, touch myself.
“No, I don’t think so.” She tugs my gown over my head, and twists it around my arms, binding me.
“I’m going to give you what you want. But you must be a good girl and wait.
” She leaves my side, opens a drawer in her bureau.
I hear rustling, the sound of something being buckled, though the shadows hide her actions.
“I have a surprise for you, my pet. Something I had made, just for you.” Her voice has shifted, grown darker.
More masculine. I tense, my nerves quaking. She’s transforming. Changing.
Kate turns back to me. My eyes widen. Through the dim, I see a thick phallus between her legs, harnessed at her waist, its length curved slightly upward. She strokes it, as if the device is part of her body, her eyes locking with mine. She’s become Winthrop. Completely.
Fear and desire and fear and desire wrestle with one another. I cannot find words. I pull at my bonds, testing them. They hold fast.
“Look at you,” Winthrop growls. “How you tremble for me. How your body beckons.”
And god help me, he’s right. I want him.
Just as much as I wanted Kate only moments ago.
I’m unsure of what it will feel like to be claimed by him, to surrender completely to a man, and that alone is as tantalizing as it is frightening—the good kind of fear, like jumping into a cold spring on a summer day.
There might be rocks beneath the surface, unseen, but all the same, you jump, the exhilaration of having survived the fall the reward.
Winthrop runs his palms over my breasts, and my body responds .
. . eager for his touch. He lowers his face to kiss, suckle, and tug at my skin with his teeth.
I arch upward as his fingers find my sex, as he teases me open and strokes me.
“Are you afraid, sweet Lillian? Do you want me to stop?” he asks, biting the tender flesh of my belly.
“No,” I say, sighing. And I mean it, because in this moment, I’ve never felt more alive. “Please.”
“Good,” he murmurs. “Do you want me here, inside you?” he asks. His fingers move deeper. Testing me. Readying me.
“Yes,” I say, though a quiver of fear runs through me, remembering the girth of the phallus. Its length. Can my body withstand it?
I groan as his fingers retreat, leaving me empty, longing, aching to be filled once more.
“I’m going to take you now, my darling,” he says, settling over me. “You’re more than ready.”
My heartbeat ratchets higher as I feel the phallus prodding against my nether lips. Suddenly, its flared head slides into me in one deft, smooth motion. I gasp at the momentary pain of my claiming.
“There now,” Winthrop says, chuckling low. “You fit me so well. My tight little sheath. My sweet, wet cunny.”
He begins to slide in and out of me, in a slow, steady rhythm, rocking me out of pain into pleasure as I wrap my legs around him, eagerly meeting his thrusts.
He whispers filthy, decadent things in my ear as he brings me nearer and nearer to the edge, as his pumping increases in urgency, shaking the bed.
My nightgown untwists, freeing my hands from their bondage.
I tangle them in his hair instead, rising up to kiss him.
As our lips meet, he scoops me up onto his lap, still inside me, and drives into me with a pistonlike fervor as I grip his shoulders and cry out, my crisis breaking over me.
To my surprise, his breath quickens in concert with my own, and with a loud groan, he grasps my waist and buries himself to the hilt inside me.
I smile, knowing what that deep groan means, and trace my tongue along my lover’s throat, tasting the salty sweetness of sweat.
Knowing my love, my darling, has reached the same heights as I have is the greatest pleasure of all.
Winthrop departs, and my Kate returns. She lays me down and holds me as I recover, gently kneading my belly as the waves of pleasure subside. “Did you like that?” she asks.
“Yes. It was thrilling, and a little terrifying, all at once. Did you? Like it?”
“Oh, yes. Couldn’t you tell? I’m eager to do it again.
” She chuckles, propping herself up with her elbow and looking down at me.
She’s satisfied with her artful mastery of my body, as she should be.
She traces lazy circles over my bare skin with her fingertips.
If I were a cat, I’d be purring. “Winthrop has utterly ruined you, though, I’m afraid. ”
A pleasant soreness between my legs lingers, as a reminder of what just happened. “Being ruined isn’t so bad. I liked your surprise.”
“Came all the way from France,” Kate says.
“And worth every pretty penny I spent. I knew you secretly wanted Winthrop to ravish you. I could see it in your eyes when we were acting. And then there’s Alex.
I’d imagine he’s a more tender lover, but no less enthusiastic.
Perhaps he’ll visit you next. Or sweet Varina.
Who knows what new delights we might conjure? ”
“How could I resist such a delightful selection of lovers? But you’re my favorite, Kate. Never forget that.”
“My god, Lillian.” She strokes my face, her eyes soft. “We’re perfect together, aren’t we? How lucky am I, to have something so beautiful.”
No one has ever called me beautiful. No one before Kate.
I’ve never been wanted like this. Desired.
I kiss her again, then lie back on the pillow with a contented sigh.
My disturbing dream of Rebecca—and her warnings—fades from memory as the soft morning light caresses Kate’s long limbs.
She wraps herself around me. “Don’t you dare leave me, Lil,” I hear her whisper as I drift back to sleep. “Never again.”