Free Frost Moon by Anthony Francis Page A

Satanist card you also get fifty million Bible passages asking God to deliver people from—wait for it—bondage.”
    “Please,” Savannah snapped, “The terms aren’t analogous and you know it. Magical tattooing, on the other hand, is derived in an unbroken chain from ancient religious ritual bloodletting—”
    “Excuse me, vampire bondage queen?”
    “I’m primarily a vegetarian,” Savannah said. “I only drink what I have to survive—”
    “Great. But I don’t care. I’m not here to debate with you, Savannah” I said.
    At the second use of her real name, the tall black vampire and the dog-collared submissive both twitched. Savannah’s hands tightened on her throne, and after a moment Darkrose sighed, stood up and walked out. Doug the Dog flinched, but he was leashed to the throne, and Savannah made no move to free him.
    At no time did the crosses on the wall even so much as shimmer, not even when Darkrose passed them. Normally when a vampire expressed ill will or anger or even got a little cross— ha —in front of a crucifix, it would flare up like magnesium. Even the religious tats on my knuckles tingled sometimes when I faced a pissed-off vampire. But despite Savannah’s scowl—I got nothing. No flares, no tingles, no sign she bore me any ill will.
    Interesting.
    “Your self-control is extraordinary,” I said.
    “I have help,” Savannah replied. “You’re not helping, but I have help.”
    I scowled at her. I knew exactly what she meant—she was saying she was drawing on her Christian faith, on Jesus, to help her handle her hour of trial—me. The whole idea of hearing this from a lesbian vampire in a fetish bondage outfit continued to leave me speechless, and Savannah took the opportunity to deliver a lecture that I’d heard before.
    “Dakota. I am a vampire now,” she said. “I have entered a whole new world, with rules and customs that have evolved over the centuries to keep us civil. Here, we leave our human names behind to protect our loved ones. In this world, I am the Lady Saffron. You are not to use my human name in front of a fellow vampire—”
    “And what name do you still write on your scientific papers?” I asked.
    After a moment, Savannah replied, “Savannah Winters.”
    “And what’s wrong with that?” I asked. “It’s a beautiful name. I loved your name. You could have been Lady Savannah—”
    “It was taken,” Savannah said, a little piqued. She looked at me, hurt maybe. “You think I didn’t try?”
    “Not very hard.” I said. I was starting to wonder what I had seen in her. “Just like you didn’t try very hard to stay human after I begged you not to become a vampire.”
    The side door opened, and the Lady Darkrose appeared, having donned a long, shimmering transparent coat and acquired a small, boxy purse.
    “Excuse me,” she said—speaking directly to me, oddly subdued. Then she leaned in to kiss Savannah’s cheek, and said softly, “I am stepping out.”
    “Oh please don’t,” Savannah said, oddly pleading. “We never have time to play anymore. Dakota and I will be done in a minute—”
    “You two will be arguing for an hour,” Darkrose said, in her odd accent. “I am just going clubbing. And it is not like I am leaving you to your own devices.”
    “Aw, c’mon,” Savannah said, very quietly.
    “You’re not leaving us like this, are you?” Doug asked, whining through his mask. His leg shifted, at which point I noticed that the metal codpiece of his shorts was actually a cage, hiding nothing—at which point I immediately looked away, turning quite red.
    “Please, Brer Rabbit, don’t throw me in the briar patch,” Darkrose responded, touching Savannah’s glorious red hair tenderly. Then, impulsively, she leaned down and kissed her.
    Two lesbians kissing for real is nothing like you see in porno. It’s nothing showy, no flicking tongues or exaggerated heavy breathing. It’s simple and pure and as natural as any man kissing a