Camino del Monte Sol, Ch. 13 (with OBTS) -- PG-13

[librarian_7]

Author’s Note: This story is a collaboration between OnceBitTwiceShy and myself for Champagne Challenge #128: Reader/Writer II. OBTS provided the idea of Josef visiting Santa Fe in the 1920’s, and running into…well, you’ll have to read the story. The settings are as accurate as I can make them, having been in Santa Fe myself many times, and also using various resources on the City Different, as they call it, and its inhabitants back in the ‘20s. There will be a thread with a set of pictures and links to places, costumes, cars, posted after most chapters. My thanks to OBTS, not only for the idea, but for her encouragement and input as the story progressed. I don’t own Josef, or any of the historical locations and personages mentioned in the story. Any errors or misrepresentations of fact are mine.


Camino del Monte Sol

XIII. Camel Rock

The night was bright, brilliant, the broad expanses of the midnight blue New Mexico sky broken here and there by clouds edged in a soft silver. From the road arrowing north from Santa Fe up a broad desert valley, the moon was not yet visible, but its light could be seen gilding the clouds. To the west, the desert hills were dotted with clumps of mesquite and ocotillo; the high black ridge of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains loomed to the east.

The scenery was almost lost, however, on Dorothea, as she lounged back in the front passenger seat of Stephen’s red Mercedes, one gloved hand holding her hat against the rush of the wind in the open car. In contrast to her carefully chosen outfit of tan with red accents, he’d decided to go casual for the evening, a dark trousers and partially buttoned suit vest over an open-throated black shirt. She’d noted the lack of a tie, with some amusement. Stephen had sensibly decided to go bareheaded, and Dorothea wished she had, too. She was admiring Stephen’s profile. She supposed he wasn’t classically handsome, but she thought his features rather fine. Assurance rode his shoulders like a mantle of power, and there was something unselfconsciously confident about the set of his chin that she found delightful. She wondered if he’d been gawky or shy as a younger man, if he’d been through that awkward phase almost all the boys she knew had suffered. Of course, that would have been a very long time ago for Stephen, she thought. She realized she had no real idea of his actual age. Last winter, when the papers had been full of stories of the discovery of King Tut’s tomb, she’d laughingly asked if the Pharaoh had been a personal friend of his. He’d made a face, and a facetious comment—she believed he’d said, “Tut? Not that punk.” Which wasn’t an answer, really.

Her attention was drawn by a flash of light in a cloud on the western horizon. If it was lightning, it was a long ways away, but she’d already seen storms blow up out of nowhere in this area. They could be in for a downpour, later.

“Where are we going, Stephen?”

He glanced at her, a smile lighting his face. “You’ll see.” Another flash off to the west distracted him. Then he looked back at Dorothea, sparing a hand from the wheel to drag through his wind-ruffled hair. “Worried about the weather, doll? “

“Maybe.”

“I can have the top up in two shakes, if we need it.” He gave the horizon another searching look. “But we won’t.” In a few short weeks, he’d learned something about gauging the weather of this high desert, and he thought it would be some hours before the distant storm caught up to them. Plenty of time.

Finally, he spotted their destination ahead, just west of the road. An oddly lopsided pillar of sandstone reared up next to a mounded pile of rock, and he realized the formation was aptly named. “Camel Rock,” he announced as he pulled off the road and parked.

“And this is where we’re going?” Dorothea asked.

Stephen stepped out of the Mercedes, reaching into the back to grab a red and black Navajo blanket. “I’m assured it’s a very fine spot to watch the moonrise.” He circled the car to her door, and offered her his free hand. “But the terrain looks a little tricky, doll. Let me help you.

“Certainly, Stephen.” She stepped carefully on the loose tan stones that littered the ground, the hem of her pleated wool skirt fluttering around her knees as she slipped and would have stumbled, if not for Stephen’s strong grip. “I’d no idea that French heels would be such a bad choice,” she remarked, breathless.

“But they look good on you.”

“Thanks.”

“Besides, we’re almost there, babe.”

He was right, too. A few more steps, and a scramble, and they gained the base of the camel’s neck. Stephen turned and spread the blanket out with a quick flip, then seated Dorothea and himself.

The view across the valley toward the rise of the Sangre de Cristos was ethereal in the night shadows. They were just far enough above the valley floor to give them a sweeping, panoramic vista. Dorothea pulled her knees up, and wrapped her arms around them for warmth.

“It’s just so beautiful here,” she said. “But I got turned around. Where are we?”

Stephen settled down beside her, adjusting the legs of his dark trousers. “We’re about halfway between Santa Fe and Española. Close to a pueblo called Tesuque, and not far from a couple of even less pronounceable places.” He paused, and consulted the Cartier tank watch on his left wrist. “If the newspaper was correct, we have a little time before the moon crests the mountains.”

“However shall we pass the time?” Dorothea murmured, leaning against him.

“Oh, I think we’ll think of something,” he replied. “For starters, since you’re clearly planning to stay on here—”

“How did you know that?” Dorothea asked, surprised. “I hadn’t told anyone.”

Stephen quirked a wry smile. “When it comes to reading certain signs, babe, I’m very literate. Chalk it up to experience.”

“I was going to tell you, soon.” She sighed. “Stephen, you know I adore you—”

“But it’s time to move on.” He laughed shortly. “Why is it, the reasonable ones are always the hardest to let go of?”

“I’m sorry.” Dorothea looked away. On the far ridge of the mountains, a patch of bright silver seemed to be gilding a segment of the skyline. Perhaps the moon would be up soon.

Stephen shook his head and said briskly, “Don’t be. I was about to ask—before I was interrupted—if you might be interested in managing a n independent art gallery here for me.”

“Really?” Dorothea let out a little squeak of astonishment. “Stephen, that’s—that’s so generous!” She threw her arms around his neck in an enthusiastic hug.

“It’s not that generous, Thea. I do expect you to turn a profit,” he replied drily.

She ignored his tone and kissed him on the cheek. “Do we call it Kostan’s Gallery? Kostan Arts?”

He shifted her so they were side by side. “No, I don’t think so. How about The Three Graces Gallery?”

“Oh, perfect.” She sighed happily. “I do hate to break up the set, but—”

“Later, doll. We’ll work out all the details tomorrow. Moon’s rising.” He settled his back against the sandstone that still retained traces of the sun’s heat, and watched the bright spot on the ridgeline grow more intense.

Beside him, Dorothea snuggled close in his encircling arm. Eyes ahead, she commented, “You know, I’m going to need a lot of help, learning to run a business.”

He nodded without looking at her. “You’ll need to come to L.A. several times a year—for meetings with the owner.”

“I can do that.”

“And I’ll probably be coming here, too. Keeping an eye on my investment.”

“That seems fair.”

Stephen could see the first edge of the great golden orb of the full moon shining through the treetops of the mountain. Dorothea’s eyes, not so acute, saw the glow more indistinctly, but they both watched in silence as the light grew stronger, and the moonlight swept across the desert valley until their surroundings seemed as bright as day.

Dorothea leaned her head against Stephen’s shoulder, and reached up to lay one hand against his cheek. “That was beautiful,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet,” he replied. He turned his head and laid a kiss against the palm of her scarlet kid glove.

She shuddered delicately, at the feel of his mouth moving against her palm through the thin leather.

“You know,” he murmured, “much as I appreciate your choice in fine leather goods, the touch of your hand would be so much more—pleasing—to me, without this glove in the way.”

“I can fix that,” she said, and started to pull her hand away to strip the glove from it.

She didn’t see his hand move, but he caught hers before she even broke contact.

“Allow me,” he said with a quick raise of his eyebrows. He guided her hand down a little ways, cradling her slender fingers in his own larger hand. He began to stroke a finger over the leather covering her palm, sliding it up from time to time to insinuate it into the space between her fingers,the pressure strangely exciting to her. “This is too nice a job to rush.”

A short time before, Dorothea had been focused on the panorama of the scenery, the rolling expanse of the desert, the dark bulk of the mountains rising into the sky. Now, she felt her consciousness narrowing, pulling inward, until the touch of Stephen’s hands on hers, the muted sensations of his caresses to the leather of her glove, consumed all her attention.

He worked his way slowly to the hem of the glove, until he found the tiny, rounded pearl button that fastened it at her wrist. She glanced at his face, and found him smiling, his mouth open in concentration, his canines sharp and slightly elongated even in relaxation, and those white teeth gleaming in the light of the full moon. He circled the glove button with one long finger, as though relishing the difference in texture between the pearl and the butter soft kid.

Dorothea felt every slightest movement of his fingers tingle along her skin from her wrist all the way to her toes. She inhaled carefully, afraid to distract him, although she longed to move, to sway in time to the rhythm of his touch. She had focused his attention so thoroughly on his actions, that when he slipped the button through the tiny slit in the leather with a dexterous twist of his fingers, she gasped in surprise.

Now that it was loosened at the wrist, he turned his attention to the fingers of the glove. Working in turn, he pinched each fingertip lightly, then enveloped the finger with his own to draw the leather forward a scant fraction of an inch at a time, repeating the movement carefully as Dorothea caught and held her breath.

“You know,” he said, his voice low, “I once saw a woman hold a whole room full of vampires mesmerized for an hour, removing her gloves. Granted, she was wearing opera length, and if memory serves, very little else, so she did have a lot to work with. By the time she was done, she could have had her choice of any gentleman in the hall.”

“And she chose you, didn’t she?” Dorothea asked, a little breathlessly.

His eyes twinkled in the rich moonlight. “Of course. You don’t think I’d tell that story if she hadn’t, do you?”

Just then, he pulled the glove forward a bit, and Thea folded her palm to ease the slide of the leather over the wide part of her hand. Stephen stopped, taking the time to caress the back of her hand, then carefully worked one cool finger inside the glove, so that the snug kid held him close against her cupped palm, sharing that most intimate of spaces.

Thea gasped. She felt every touch, every miniscule movement, of his insinuating finger as though he was within her in every way possible. She barely dared to breathe, as though to do so would cause the tension of the moment to snap.

At last, he slid the glove free of her hand, and laid his lips to her palm, the point of one fang grazing along her life line, his tongue lapping at the sensitive skin, sending arrows of arousal shivering through her.

“Stephen, I can’t stand this,” she breathed, and carefully lifted his head, meeting his silver eyes before covering his mouth with hers.

They fell into the kiss like a doorway to an alternate world, forgetting past, future, and the very night around them, exploring, devouring.

Finally, Thea broke away, to gasp for breath. “Are you going to lay me down on this rock?” She asked.

He smiled. “Would you object?” he returned. He kissed down the line of her jaw. “I love your skin in the moonlight.”

In response, she pulled him closer. “Well, at least you brought a blanket.”

The road beyond them had seen little traffic in the time since they’d arrived. It might be the main road leading north from Santa Fe, but only one or two trucks had rumbled past. Caught up in the moonlight, and each other, they’d paid little heed to the approach of another vehicle, until it turned from the road and slid in to a halt beside Stephen’s Mercedes. As the headlights raked across them, before the motor stopped, Stephen and Dorothea froze for a split second.

Then Stephen was on his feet, pulling Thea behind him. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I’ll deal with this.” He faced the intruder, his stance relaxed, but wary, hands curled into fists at his sides. Whoever this was, the interruption was damned poorly timed. A dark figure was approaching, his face shadowed by the moonlight at his back, his hands outspread, empty.

Thea laid her hands on his waist to steady herself. “I love it when you go all dominant male,” she murmured.

Stephen couldn’t help but smile. “Thea, not now.”

“Kostan,” a familiar voice called out. “Kostan, it’s me.”

“Bakos?” he replied. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“I want to talk.”

Thea could feel Stephen’s shoulders tighten. “And you felt the need to come all the way to Camel Rock for that?”

Bakos ignored the question, asking one of his own. “Miss Thea, are you all right?”

Dorothea leaned out from behind Stephen. “I’m fine, Jozef. And I was about to be a lot better, before you interrupted.”

“Thea,” Stephen said quellingly.

“Oh, please. He’s an artist, for God’s sake.” She sat down on the blanket again, taking herself out of the conversation.

Stephen glanced at his watch, pointedly. “And why aren’t you safely at your table in the lounge at La Fonda?”

“I was. But Shuster mentioned he’d lined you in about this place—”

“You five really are joined at the hip, aren’t you?” Stephen commented. “I knew I should have just asked the concierge.” He folded his arms, and took a deep breath. “So, let me tell you why you’re here.”

Bakos looked nervous, but resolute. “Am I wrong?”

“Technically speaking, no. But I’ve got to say I expected better of you.”

“Stephen, what in the world are you two talking about?” Dorothea asked.

He spared her a look. “Your solicitous friend Jozef has a freshly sharpened stake in his back pocket.” He sniffed. “Aspen, if I’m not mistaken. I must say, I’m impressed with your research.”

“I don’t understand,” Dorothea said.

“Well, I expect—and do jump in if I get it wrong, Bakos—that Nash noticed a few odd marks on the three of you. I’d have thought that he’d value the commission, and the patronage, enough to keep quiet about it, but evidently not.”

“He was concerned about Reza,” Bakos put in.

“Was he?” Stephen asked. “Or just jealous?”

Bakos shrugged. “Both, perhaps. He loves her, in his way.”

Stephen looked thoughtful, momentarily. “That may be his tragedy. Regardless, Thea, Nash went to some, or all, of his good friends with his—concerns—”

“He came to me. Me and Mruk. He thought we might have some advice.”

“And you did, didn’t you?”

Bakos shifted uneasily. “Mruk and I—we grew up with certain stories from our families. I’d always thought it was just folklore, but with what I’d seen of you, and what Nash had to tell…it started to be hard not to put credence in the legends. By the way, Mruk was the one who said aspen. He had that from his grandmother.”

“Charming. A family legacy.” Stephen extended one hand. “You want to pass that here, by the way? You aren’t going to be needing it.”

“I’m not sure about that yet.”

“Jozef,” Thea said, “I do appreciate your gallantry. But I’ve been with Stephen for years, very willingly. I couldn’t possibly be safer than I am with him. Please believe me.”

Bakos looked from Stephen, still standing with his hand extended like a schoolmaster confiscating schoolboy contraband, to Dorothea , sitting on the Navajo blanket, the picture of serene composure. He felt like an intruder. A fool. “Damn,” he said. He reached behind him to grab the aspen stake, reversing it in his hand as he brought it forward to lay in Stephen’s outstretched palm. “Tell me, though, Kostan, you really are—”

“A vampire?” Stephen smiled sadly, regarding the pale length of wood in his hand, glistening slightly with exuding sap. The moisture made it cool, slick. “Does it matter that much to you?”

Bakos started to speak, then paused, considering his answer. “I thought it did. But—I’m not so sure now. If you bring no harm to your—companions—then perhaps my greatuncle—”

“And Mruk’s grandmother,” Dorothea interjected.

“And Mruk’s grandmother,” Bakos agreed, “perhaps they didn’t know as much on the topic as we thought.”

Stephen continued to finger the stake. “Tell me this, Bakos,” he said, unconsciously mimicking the artist’s question, “if you thought me so dangerous, why did you come alone?”

Bakos laughed, showing his white teeth in the gloom. “It was simple, my friend. We might have been wrong.”

Stephen laughed along with him. “Artists,” he said with amusement. “Your deal is safe.” He looked down once more at the stake. “Next time you feel the need to make one of these, don’t take off the bark. Fresh-peeled aspen is too slippery to give you a good grip.”

Bakos nodded. “Good point.”

“Not especially.” And with that he threw the stake in a high arc far out into the night, where none of the three of them heard it hit the desert floor.

Stephen heard a distant rumble, and looked up at the sky behind him. The clouds were coming up, maybe faster than he’d supposed earlier. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said to Dorothea, extending his hand to her. “I think we’d better head back to town. We can finish our…discussion…in my suite.”

She put her bare hand in his cool grasp, and stood, smiling. “I’d like that,” she said. She’d lost her glove somewhere in the confusion after Bakos arrived, but she didn’t really care. She could always save its mate as a souvenir. She glanced around at the rock formation, one last time. “It really was a lovely spot for a moonrise.”

[eris]

At least he had the brains not to try and use the stake. Silly human doesn't know how lucky he was.

[LadyAilith]

Bakos was lucky that Stephan was in a good mood. He could have easily ended up dead!

[darkstarrising]

You had me with the opening line

The night was bright, brilliant, the broad expanses of the midnight blue New Mexico sky broken here and there by clouds edged in a soft silver.

Sigh....I could see this and feel myself out in the desert, watching the sky.

So, the three graces are about to be split up. Dorothea has found a place for herself, but Stephen makes the break a lot less painful for both of them with his offer.

I love the way you have Stephen being different from Josef, yet some of the man we would come to know as Josef is already making himself known. During his removal of Thea's glove, an incredibly sensual foreplay, he still has a quick wit

“You know,” he said, his voice low, “I once saw a woman hold a whole room full of vampires mesmerized for an hour, removing her gloves. Granted, she was wearing opera length, and if memory serves, very little else, so she did have a lot to work with. By the time she was done, she could have had her choice of any gentleman in the hall.”

“And she chose you, didn’t she?” Dorothea asked, a little breathlessly.

His eyes twinkled in the rich moonlight. “Of course. You don’t think I’d tell that story if she hadn’t, do you?”

Bakos is indeed a fool, a gallant one, but a fool nonetheless, something he's acutely aware of by the time Stephen is done with him. Somehow, I get the feeling that Nash isn't done interfering.

Wonderful story, Lucky

[francis]

Josef is giving Dorothea a great parting gift, a night alone with her, a new job with the opportunity to meet him again, and a very sensual experience.
I have never thought a man, a woman and a kid glove could make for such a sensual experience, but I felt every shiver and every small movement with the great descriptive voice you have. Thank you!

[librarian_7]

Oh, thanks so much for the comments.

eris and ailith, yes, indeed, Bakos came close to disaster there--challenging a vampire is dangerous enough anytime, but interupting one in mid-seduction....a younger, less controlled vamp might have demonstrated proper staking technique.

dsr, and francis, yes...Dorothea is a fortunate woman. And Josef/Stephen is showing that he has a history of being better (in private) with his freshies than he might let on to the other vamps. I'm so glad the (g)love scene came across as sensually as I intended...I wanted to see if I could write something that would be as sexy as possible, without any graphic stuff.

Lucky

[jen]

Lovely, lovely, lovely in so many different ways.

First, I adore your visuals. No, that isn't right--don't misunderstand me, the visuals are amazing but you convey input from all the senses to create the mood here. I feel like I have walked the sands and dried, cracked earth of that desert floor, felt the crisp cool of the night air as I waited for the moon to rise, rich and golden in the cloudless sky, casting sharp shadows and illuminating the distant mountains.

Sigh.

I also love the easy rapport between Josef, er Stephen and his Graces (Thea here). They know who and what he is, but do not fear him and he handles their trust like the precious thing it is. Jozef is that slightly bewildering combination of a very wise, very foolish and very lucky man. I would have thought the tarpits were surely in his future, but -- lucky.

Thea has made a difficult, but wise choice to remain and run the gallery. I wonder if Reza will choose to replace her.

Wonderful chapter! Thank you!

[cassysj]

I wanted to wait until I had some time to savor this and I'm glad I did. Dorothea is very lucky and as francis said I never saw a glove so sensual before. He was in a good mood that evening. I love the name of the gallery. I always look forward to the next chapter of this series.

[librarian_7]

Well, he had promised Dorothea a moonlight drive, while they were in Santa Fe...and he is a man of his word. (As well as one that knows a good make-out spot when he sees one!)

Thanks so much for reading and commenting.

Lucky

[NightAir]

Stephen's long experience in reading people puts him several steps ahead of the people around him. Bakos lives only because Stephen knows he is a reasonable man.

This idyllic interlude in Santa Fe had to come to an end at some point. Stephen will be heading back to L.A. leaving Thea behind. Although it's not the last they will ever see of one another, I do believe she will cherish that remaining kid glove for the rest of her life.

[allegrita]

Oh, my, Lucky... what an amazingly sensual chapter.

So Thea's making the decision to break away. I think it's better for everyone concerned if it's the freshie making that decision rather than the vamp... and I think it's lovely that Stephen is making arrangements for her to keep a connection to him. Of course, he's benefiting from the arrangement, too. After all, she's the type he would most enjoy staying in touch with... wise, funny, capable, and emotionally mature. He can trust her to run a successful business and to keep an eye on his business and... other... interests in the area.

Bakos is a fascinating character. He and Mruk would be the ones with relatives who told old stories... and of course, Nash would have seen the evidence on the Graces as he painted them. The plot, as they say, thickens. But I'm glad Stephen has made an ally of Jozef B. Things could have gone so horribly wrong in that encounter... I'm relieved at the outcome. And I love that he gave Jozef advice about leaving the bark on the stake--and the "point" joke is perfect Josef-snark!