They lay in a big, sexually satisfied heap for a moment. Clara had a satisfied grin on her face, and all she had done was watch. Shamira knew she was supposed to feed them now, just a little bit. It took a moment to exert her will onto her body, as her body felt it had taken enough punishment for one lifetime.
‘This isn’t going to hurt,’ she told herself, ‘and they ask for so little.’ She grabbed a small knife from the nightstand and made small cuts in both her wrists, offering them to each human quickly before the wounds healed. Kira and Arthur’s mouth sought out that blood so eagerly that Shamira again questioned whether or not that these feedings were changing them in a bad way. True, the apparent health benefits of being a Renfield had manifested itself, but are they truly who they were when they first met? For now, she’d trust her comrades and assume that they were.
Kira and Arthur left shortly thereafter, as Kira still had work to do and Arthur needed to do inventory. They were actually going to be having a big signing in a few weeks of some major comic artists, so he wanted everything in top shape. They thanked Shamira profusely (again) and made her promise to call if there was anything at all that they could help with.
“I really like them,” Clara said when they were alone.
“They’re good people. I just hope I didn’t get them too wrapped up in something dangerous.”
“I think they would say that they’re having the time of their lives. Lives they thought were over.”
“Yeah. I guess.” Shamira paused, deciding it was time to talk about Clara’s life. “Listen, maybe you should go find Raul or Monique or someone and play with them tonight. I need to go talk to Shane anyway.”
Clara looked vexed. “Listen, Kira and Arthur aren’t giving up on you, and neither am I. Why are you so anxious to drive people away? Didn’t you just have a good time? I mean –”
“Clara, this isn’t about me feeling sorry for myself. Not entirely. This is ground truth. You have needs that we both know that I can’t meet, and may never be able to meet again.” Shamira hated how uncomfortable Clara was beginning to look. “You get off on being dominant and the pain and everything. I know you have to be missing it, ’cause it’s a huge part of who you are. If you’re going to make me get back in the game, then you have to too.”
Her companion looked less than thrilled. “I’m just so pissed off,” she admitted. “I’m angry because you’re hurt, I’m angry because there doesn’t seem to be anything else I can do to make you better, and a domme who is mad . . . well, I’m not sure I could play my role safely, even if I was interested in anyone else right now.”
“Are you going to be mad for as long as I’m crippled? Clara, you opened my eyes to stuff I’d never imagined. Yeah, Shane may have got the ball rolling, but you made it both special and normal at the same time. I’m having trouble dealing with a lot of things, and I can’t handle it if I’m responsible for screwing up something this important to you.”
“You aren’t,” Clara said, her words trying to catch in her throat. “Hey, it’s not like we don’t share ourselves with other partners anyway, right? I just can’t do it as long as I’m a danger to my sub.”
Clara was lying. She simply had no interest in bondage games at the moment, not with Shamira in the shape she was in. The very thought of enjoying carnal pleasures with others with Shamira nearby repelled her, and she knew she was not the only one. A lot of people in the house were less amorous than usual. She truly believed that things would improve with time, but it was as if everyone was waiting for someone else to break that “taboo” of pleasure in the face of tragedy.
Shamira rolled over and got into her chair. “Just . . . try,” she said. “And thanks for helping with Kira and Arthur.”
“Where are you going?”
“I just need to talk to Shane.”
“Shamira, I need to speak with you, ” came Shane’s voice over the intercom. “Could you please come to my office immediately?”
Shamira’s eyes met Clara’s. “Okay, that’s just creepy,” Clara muttered. Of course she insisted on pushing Shamira to her spontaneous appointment. “I’ll be here if you need me,” she said, having a seat in the waiting room.
Despite her desire for Clara to get on living her life, Shamira was touched by the woman’s actions. She was, however, somewhat concerned about Shane. He looked . . . nervous.
“I just want you to know that this is NOT my fault,” he started, glancing towards the door.
Shamira was already a little on edge, and this was not helping. “What’s wrong? Am I in trouble?”
“No,” Shane said with a grimace, “but I probably am.”
“Shamira?!” came an all-to-familiar voice from somewhere else in the house. “Where the hell is Shamira?”
“Samantha?” Shamira felt suddenly drained. Her sister should not be there. “What the fuck –” she started, looking back to Shane.
“Blame Lord Pritchard,” Shane said, preparing to block any thrown objects that might be headed his way.
“She can’t see me like this,” Shamira said, looking around. If she could reach a light switch, she could jump away —
There was a sound of scuffling outside the door and a recognizable string of phrases that Shamira’s sister only used in the rare situation when her kids were not around and she was really, really pissed off or scared.
“Don’t hurt her!” Shamira said, forgetting her “flee” plan and getting ready to fight if necessary. She need not have bothered. She flung the door open and saw her sister Samantha with two handfuls of Renata’s hair, while Clara, Bunny, Pierre, and Lord Clyde Pritchard from Huntsville were trying to pry her away. They were obviously taking great pains not to hurt the woman, but Samantha was under no such restrictions.
Samantha’s eyes went from wild to tearful when she looked towards the door. She let go of Renata, who started soothing her head and injured roots while Samantha disentangled herself from the others.
“I can explain –” Clyde said, but was forced to dodge as Shamira hurled a potted plant at his head.
“You brought her here?!” she yelled even as her sister knelt beside her and looked her over.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I had asked Clyde if he had heard from you lately because you haven’t answered your phone in a week and he got really evasive. I knew something had to be wrong. I kept pressing him and he wouldn’t answer me –”
“I lost my phone,” was the only thing Shamira could think of to say.
“How did you get hurt?!” her sister shouted, standing up. “Why wouldn’t any of these people let me see you?”
“They’re just making sure you don’t barge in on Shane,” Shamira said, trying to calm her frantic sister. “Shane is my boss, and –”
“You!” Samantha pointed a finger in Shane’s face. “You’re responsible for her then! You’re the guy that made her, right? So–”
“Samantha, Shane isn’t to blame for this. I’m in this chair because I screwed up. I didn’t follow protocol and I got myself into a bad situation. Luckily, Renata . . . the girl whose hair you were pulling . . . showed up to pull my ass out of the fire –”
“Fire? What fire? Tell me what happened and don’t you dare lie to me because I can tell when you’re lying and I always have and don’t try to distract me with anything like ‘Where are the kids’ because they’re at the parents’ after I told them –”
“Samantha, I don’t need to breathe. You do,” Shamira interrupted. She stiffened her shoulders. “Let’s go outside. Can you guys give us a minute?”
The two sisters made their way out to one of the immaculately manicured lawns, and Shamira spilled the story again. She hated telling it, though it was getting a little easier. Yes, she got into a fight and was shot. Yes, she was captured and hurt very badly.
She refused to explain what happened in the garage basement for that twenty-four hour period. Samantha could see in her sister’s eyes that there were things she just did not want to revisit. Shamira emphasized that she was no longer planning on killing herself, and she inquired more about how her sister had come to be here.
Much as Samantha had said earlier, she told how she had gotten a bad vibe after not hearing from Shamira in a while and how evasive Clyde (her sister just called him “Clyde”) had been when she inquired. It had gotten to the point where Samantha had threatened to go public with their existence unless the werewolf came up with some answers and, since he did not want to have to kill the human woman for outing his people, he had confessed that Shamira had been “badly injured” in a fight.
An enormously powerful werewolf had caved before the might of Samantha, a soon-to-be-divorced veterinarian with two kids. Shamira was not too surprised though. Samantha was a ferocious as a mother bear when someone she cared about was threatened.
“Tell me straight,” Samantha asked towards the end, “do they know how long it will be until you walk again? I mean, you’re a super healer and everything, right?”
Shamira lowered her head. “Sam, most everything I can heal should have healed already. We just have to accept that there’s a really . . . really good chance that I’ll never walk again.”
“That’s not . . . what are you going to do?” Samantha asked, looking as helpless as Shamira thought.