Saviours of Oestend Oestend 2 (15 page)

Dante didn’t have to go far to figure out what Frances wanted him to see. He stopped short just out the door, staring in shock.
The birds hadn’t left, but they no longer filled the sky. They lay on the ground, unmoving.
“Dead?” Dante asked Frances.
“Every one of them. They just started dropping, one after the other. Didn’t take more than a minute or two, start to finish. I’m surprised you didn’t hear them hitting the ground.”
Dante decided not to point out that he’d been spectacularly distracted up until Frances had burst into the kitchen.
He strode out into the yard. The birds were so thick on the ground, he had to be careful where he stepped, and it was worse as they neared the barn, where so many of them had been concentrated. Dante found himself sliding his feet instead of lifting them, pushing the carcasses ahead of him. It was disturbing, but infinitely better than feeling their lifeless bodies crushed under his boots.
Around the yard, his ranch hands stood, looking unsure of themselves, watching him nervously. Dante wished he had an answer to give them.
Simon came out of the barn, looking grim. “Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said. “The chickens are dead, too. Every last bird on this Saints-forsaken ranch.”
“Any sign of disease?” Dante asked, although he was pretty sure he knew the answer.
Simon shook his head. “Not a thing. It’s like each one of them just fell over dead. Even the chicks.”
“Just like the cows,” Frances said.
“Easier to deal with than the cows, though, thank the Saints,” Dante said. “Cami said she’d be burning the trash in the next day or two anyway. May as well do it now. Let’s pile it up a bit further out past the house, birds and all, and set a torch to them before they start to stink.”
“You got it, boss.”
He left, and Dante found himself alone with Frances. They stood together, both of them staring awkwardly down at their boots.
“Listen,” Frances said at last, “I’m sorry about earlier.”
Dante lifted his gaze to meet the boy’s, because he wanted to be able to focus all his attention on what Frances would say. “I suppose it’s my own fault for getting carried away in the kitchen.”
Frances laughed. “Well, I won’t tell anyone.”
Dante was pretty sure what he really meant was, he wouldn’t tell anyone but Simon. But Simon wouldn’t have told anyone but Frances, and so between the four of them, the secret would be safe. But he still wasn’t sure exactly how much Frances had seen. “Thank you for that. I know Cami will appreciate your silence.”
Frances blushed a bit and looked down to scuff his toe in the dirt. “Tell her I didn’t see anything, all right? I mean, she was mostly covered, and I turned away pretty fast.” He shrugged. “I don’t want her to be embarrassed about anything.”
Dante watched him carefully as he said the words. There was no hesitancy over the pronouns. There wasn’t any hint of laughter or confusion or mockery in his eyes. Frances had never learned to be duplicitous. If he’d been lying or uncomfortable, Dante would have seen it on his face.
The knot of dread in Dante’s gut eased. “I’ll tell her.”
He had nothing to worry about. Cami’s secret was safe.
For the moment, at least.

Dealing with the birds took the rest of the day. Through it all, Dante couldn’t stop thinking about those stolen moments in the kitchen. He found himself looking for Cami, tracking her movements across the yard when she came out of the kitchen for some chore or another. He had the distinct feeling she was avoiding him, although it was hard to say. Maybe she just didn’t want to deal with a pile of dead birds. He couldn’t exactly blame her for that.

They debated plucking the birds in order to make use of the feathers, but in the end, nobody wanted to risk it. The trash combined with the carcasses made a tremendous bonfire past the edge of Dante’s nearest pasture. It stank of singed feathers and cooked meat, and when it was done, Dante felt grimy. He went to the river. Most of his hands were already there, some of them bathing quietly, some of them splashing and dunking each other like kids. He went downstream and stripped and dove into the bracingly cold water to wash himself clean.

When he finally made it back to the house, Cami wrinkled her nose at him. “Your clothes stink. Leave them on the porch and I’ll deal with them tomorrow.”
He stripped, halfway self-conscious, but halfway hoping this was just her way of getting him naked. As it turned out, both feelings were moot. Cami didn’t even look at him as he went past her and up the stairs to put on clean clothes. By the time he came back down, she was busy feeding the hands their supper. It wasn’t until evening, after the generator had been started, that he finally had time with her.
“Have I told you the one about the lost princess and the golden horse?” she asked him from her spot by the lamp.
“No.”
She began the story, and although Dante tried to listen, he barely heard a word. He delighted in watching her every move, and the way the firelight played across her skin. He could tell she was nervous by the slight tremor in her voice, and he was sure she dropped more stitches in her knitting than she ever had before. A soft blush remained high on her cheeks, and she never looked at him directly, but glanced at him sidelong through the thick fall of her hair.
He wanted nothing more than to go to her—to kiss her or hold her or even just to get on his knees in front of her and put his head in her lap—but something about her shyness and the stiffness of her shoulders kept him rooted in his chair.
Finally, when her story was done, he stood up. He went to her and held out his hand. She hesitated, then put her hand in his. He pulled her up from the couch, out of the room, up the stairs. But in the upper hallway, she stopped.
“Dante, I can’t.”
He turned to face her in the dim light. “Why not?”
“You promised when I came here that you wouldn’t force me into your bed.”
The words hurt him a little—was that what she thought he was trying to do?—but he hid it with a smile. “And I won’t.” He reached up to touch her cheek. She closed her eyes at his touch. He didn’t know if that was a good sign or not. “Didn’t occur to me back then at all, but now…” She opened her eyes again, but he could read nothing in them. “Have to admit, I was sort of hoping you’d decide to join me there.”
She smiled. But she also took a step backwards, away from him. “Not tonight.”
“Does that mean some other night you will?” He’d meant it mostly as a jest, but he saw the way she flinched at his words. He was scaring her, and he felt awful for it. “I’m sorry.”
She ducked her head, and he stared at her long dark hair, wondering what he should say. He thought about what had happened in the kitchen that very morning. She’d been so willing. Had he imagined the passion and the abandon?
“I thought I didn’t scare you,” he said at last.
She raised her head a bit, glancing at him through her lashes. “I think I lied.”
Women. He’d never understand them.
He reached out and took her hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed the back of it. He was happy to see her smile at the gesture. He decided to quit while he was ahead.
“Goodnight,” he said.
He didn’t know if what he saw in her eyes was disappointment or relief.

It was the dead of night when he heard his bedroom door creak open. He opened his eyes and listened to the light fall of her feet as she entered. He’d been asleep, but only barely. He tracked her paces into the room. Only a few steps, then she stopped. He turned over. He could barely make her out, standing near the wall.

“Did you change your mind?” he asked.
A heartbeat of silence, then, “I can’t decide.”
Holy Saints, women made things so much more difficult than they needed to be. Yet for

She took a step forward, and in doing so, she came a bit more into the shallow moonlight that fell through the window. What he saw took his breath away. She was only halfway dressed—her feet and calves were bare, her legs hidden from the knee up by the linen shift that probably usually resided under her skirt. Above it, she was naked, except for the loose black sweater she seemed to favour. She held it tight around her chest, but it was short, and her midriff was uncovered and unbelievably sexy.

He sat up on the edge of the bed. He resisted the urge to move any closer, lest he scare her away. “
Please
tell me I’m allowed to convince you.”
She laughed—not her normal, happy laugh, but a laugh that spoke of nerves and fear.
He held his hand out to her. Slowly, so slowly he thought it would kill him, she put her hand in his, but when he tried to pull her forward, she resisted.
“I don’t know what this means,” she said.
He tried not to be frustrated. He wanted very much to be as patient as she needed him to be. But seeing her smooth flat stomach, knowing what was underneath her long, loose shift, he was finding patience very hard to come by. “What
what
means?”
She didn’t answer, but she moved closer. She came forward and stopped in front of him, and when he reached up to touch her bare stomach with his hand, she didn’t back away.
Her seeming acceptance made him bolder. He practically held his breath as he moved his hand down to caress her hip through her shift. When she still didn’t object, he pulled her closer. He put his lips against the smooth, soft skin of her stomach. She was so perfectly lean and supple and beautiful. It was all he could do to keep from grabbing her and throwing her down into his bed.
She cupped his cheek in her hand, and he looked up into her eyes, although the light was too low for him to see anything in them but shadow. She no longer held the sweater tight around her. It hung open, revealing the flatness of her chest, although her nipples were still covered. He wanted nothing more than to reach up and push the thing from her shoulders, but he waited, because he sensed she had something she needed to say.
“I’ve had men want me as a woman, but then they’re appalled when they find what’s under my skirt.”
He shook his head. “I’m not one of them.”
“I’ve had men who wanted me as a man, too,” she said. “But they never want anything to do with me the next day, when I put the dress back on.”
He let his lips caress her stomach. He tasted her skin. “I’m not one of them, either.” He kissed her again, teasing the hollow above her navel with his tongue.
“There were men who bought me at The Chalice, but they wouldn’t ever have faced me otherwise. They couldn’t ever respect me as a woman. In the light of day, they wouldn’t even have taken my hand to help me from the carriage.”
The thought of them might have stirred the horrible rage that dwelled within him, but it was tamed by his need to soothe her. “I’d go back and kill every damn one of them if I could.”
“Which do you want me to be?”
“I want you to be you.”
She didn’t answer. She took her hand away from his cheek, but she didn’t move away. He looked up at her again, and found that she’d covered her face with her hands.
“Cami?”
She sniffled, confirming the worst of his suspicions. She pulled her hands down just enough to peek at him over her long fingers. “I don’t understand how you can want me the way I am.”
“Because you’re beautiful.” He kissed her smooth flesh again. “And perfect. And sexy as hell.”
“I’m not a man or a woman,” she said, and her voice caught on her tears.
“You’re both.”
“I’m a freak.”
The word was horrible. He hated it. It sparked that terrible, dark anger in him. “No!” he said, gripping her hips tight and shaking her. “Don’t you ever say that word to me again!”
She covered her face again and ducked her head, and although he still hated the word just as much, he recognised that his anger wasn’t what she needed. What she needed was reassurance.
He stood up, and she dropped her hands from her face and watched him as he went to the dresser and turned up the lamp, filling the small room with a bit of light. Not enough to be glaring, but enough that he could truly appreciate her long, slim body. Enough that he could see the fear in her dark eyes as he approached.
She was stiff and tense, but she let him step close. He cupped her face in his hands and tilted her head back, forcing her to face him.
“I think you’re perfect just how you are. You don’t have to pick one or the other. You’re both to me.”
She started to shake her head, but he didn’t give her time to protest. He kissed her instead.
He was careful. He touched her neck and her cheek and her hair, but nothing more. Although it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, he didn’t let his hands stray. He did his best not to push. He just held her and kissed her until she sighed and put her arms around his neck. She finally relaxed and began to truly kiss him back. Only then did he put his arms around her waist and pull her body tight against him.
“I like the dresses,” he said quietly against her lips, “and I like what’s under them, too. If I had the money, I’d cover you in velvet and silk. I’d put jewels on your fingers and flowers in your hair, just like one of those princesses in your stories. And at the end of the day, I’d bring you here and strip you bare and worship at your feet.” He smiled as he thought about her bare feet and then thought about what was at the
other
end of her long legs. “Or anywhere else you’d let me.”
She smiled back. A real smile this time, her eyes sparkling and flirtatious. “You’re just trying to get me into bed.”
“Yes,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean it’s a lie.”
She laughed, and he recognised the sound for what it was—a surrender. This time, she came to him willingly, as she had in the kitchen that morning, and he let go of his restraint. He wanted to touch every inch of her. She sighed as he caressed her bare back, and her side. She whimpered when he finally slid his hand up her stomach, under her open sweater to touch her chest. She didn’t protest as he unbuttoned her cotton shift and pushed it off her hips, letting it fall to the floor. She let him lay her down on the bed, and then he lost himself in her—the long, lean lines of her neck and her wiry body arching against his, the feel of her nipples on his thumb, the sounds she made as he kissed his way between her ribs, down her stomach, past her navel.
And he had to stop there to catch his breath.
Her cock was smaller than average, lying erect in a patch of pitch black hair, the tip peeking from the folds of her foreskin and crowned with a drop of white. Her scrotum was small and tight to her body, and he lowered his face to it and breathed deep, grinding himself against the bed as he did. He tasted it with his tongue, and she moaned, a deep masculine sound that almost made him come undone.
He loved the way she smelt. More than anything, the thick musk of her groin gave her away as not entirely female. Not the cloying scent he associated with women, but a deeper, darker aroma that made him ache.
“Dante!” It sounded like a command, but he didn’t know if she was telling him to stop or go.
He teased his tongue up the side of her scrotum, along the line where it met the inside of her leg, and she made an impatient, hissing sound that almost made him laugh. He longed to touch her cock, to taste it, but he didn’t know what the rules were.
She solved his dilemma by grabbing a handful of his hair and guiding him to the end of it. “Dante!” she said again, and this time he understood.
He’d never actually sucked a cock before. He’d seen it done once as he’d watched through a window, but that incident was a distant memory, completely overshadowed by his desire to know every inch of her. In past sexual encounters, he’d wanted only to slake his own lust, but now, his own desire meant nothing. He wanted nothing more than to please her, to make her forget her fears, to erase any ounce of doubt.
He put his lips over the head of her cock and tasted the pearly drop that clung there. It was salty and earth, yet somehow intoxicating, and he moaned as he moved to explore further. He slid his tongue under her foreskin, circling her tip, thrilled by the hint of moisture he found in the soft pocket of flesh.
She twined her fingers into his hair, pushing gently, and he obliged her, sucking her length into his mouth. The sound she made this time was more than a moan. It was a cry, so utterly feminine, and yet, as she did, she drove her hips forward, pushing deeper into his mouth. So utterly male.
He rose to taste her tip again, longing to draw more from her. He gripped her hips and began to move his mouth up and down on her length. It was easy to swallow her entire cock at once. It was easy to go faster and faster, her ragged cries spurring him along. He ground his erection on the bed as he sucked her, moaning against her cock, practically begging her to come.
And when she did, it was amazing. The sounds she made, and the way she gripped his head and filled his mouth with her seed. He’d never had that experience before, and he found it crazily erotic. It was a wonderful, secret bit of her that nobody else would have. He swallowed fast, sucking hard, wanting more of her, and she gave it. She arched into him again, and it sent him over the edge. He spent himself on his mattress as she came.
“Holy Saints, Dante,” she breathed. “I’m glad I let you convince me.”
He smiled. He kissed the soft skin of her stomach. He felt unbelievably at peace. Not since those stolen moments in the barn had he known such pure innocent pleasure. Every other sexual experience of his adult life had left him feeling tainted or ashamed or inadequate. He felt none of that with her. For the first time in his life he was with exactly the right person at exactly the right time.
He lay his head on her stomach and stroked her hip with his hand. He wondered how he could possibly love her as much as he did at that moment. How had she gone from being the strange woman who shared his house to the person he loved most in the world? How could this much emotion have grown in him without him seeing it coming, the way he saw the storms moving across the plain?
He covered her fading erection with his hand. “You’re not a freak. You’re perfect.”
She put her hand on the back of his head, twining her fingers in his hair. “You’re the only one who could think that.”
He kissed her stomach again. “I guess that means you’ll have to stay with me forever.”
A tremor ran through her at his words. He could practically feel the weight of her misgivings as she finally let them go. He moved up the bed and pulled her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he held while she cried. He stroked her hair and made soft, soothing sounds in her ear. It wasn’t the same as when she’d cried before. These tears weren’t about fear, or her hatred of herself. These were a form of release and relief. These weren’t about falling, but about finding that she’d landed safely after all.
“Please stay with me forever,” he whispered.
She didn’t say yes.
But she didn’t say no, either.