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marysuevirus2009-10-05 11:43 pm
The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death
Chapter Thirty Two: Visions From Hell
Fandom: Anita Blake universe
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: graphic sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in.
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of LKH. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators, Ginevra, Dazzledfirestar, Nanaea, SilverFoxChan and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar. all beta work, plot bunny shooting and ass spanking is being done by Gin.
Author's Notes: you should probably go into this a little cautious. i almost squicked Gin with this chapter. so its kind of a little on the grotesque side? or something like that. you have been warned.
The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death - Index Link
Janika frowned at Isis and contemplated just how she was going to get past the lioness. She'd had orders from just about everyone residing at the Circus as to what she could and couldn't do. She could stay in bed. She couldn't move from bed. That was about as extensive as the list got. Asher had given the orders before retiring for the day. Jean Claude had stopped by to give her the same orders. He'd also been the one to leave Isis with her. Minette had popped in somewhere after sunrise but before the day fully got under way and had delivered the same words, more or less. The only person who hadn't come in to boss her around had been Aedan. Come to think of it, she hadn't seen the other woman since her phone call from the police.
"Has anyone heard from Aedan?" she asked, hoping to distract Isis from taking her role as a guard far too seriously.
"Edward brought her back earlier and Jean Claude put her to bed. Minette caught sight of her when she woke up and took her right back out again."
Both Janika and Isis looked up as Nathaniel entered the room. He had a tray in his hands that contained a covered plate and a glass of juice. He offered them each a smile before carrying his load over to the bed. For whatever reason, he was playing nurse maid to her and Janika thought he looked terribly pleased with the fact. Then his words registered and she frowned at him. "Did she look bad?"
The young leopard sighed and she could hear concern in his voice when he next spoke. "I don't know everything that's going on, but its ripping Aedan into pieces. She looked exhausted and pale. Minette is pretty sure she hasn't been eating properly."
"Or at all," Isis snorted. It was plain to hear what she thought of that by the tone of her voice.
"She's under more pressure than she should be. She's literally been made to step into Anita's shoes. So she has to work twice as hard to prove that she can do everything that Anita could do. She has to do it just as well. Possibly better. Just to show that she can do it. She's actually walking in Anita's footsteps. Everyone she comes into contact with expects her to be Anita. As if that isn't enough, she's got to live with whatever happened the night Anita died. She's got to live with the idea that people think there was something more she could have done to save the infamous Anita Blake. When you top that with images of children laying scattered like broken like dolls..." He trailed off and looked at Isis. "She's killing herself in an attempt to be someone she's not."
"But... why?" Janika frowned, trying to puzzle it out. It didn't make a damn bit of sense. Nathaniel turned to her and shrugged one shoulder, as if that was all the answer anyone needed.
"Because everyone expects her to either fail spectacularly or they expect her to be Anita." He finally settled the tray across Janika's legs and offered her a smile that belied the seriousness of their previous conversation. "Don't worry about her right now. Worry about you. You're under orders to rest up. And worrying about Aedan won't help you at all."
"She's my friend, Nathaniel. Of course I'm going to worry about her." Janika scowled at him, crossing her arms over her chest. He shot her a soft smile and nodded his head.
"I know that she's your friend. But trust me when I say that there are far too many people here who aren't going to let her come to harm. So you've got some free time to eat and sleep and build your strength back up. You can worry about her later," he said with a smirk. "This is now officially a no worry zone."
The look on his face brought laughter to the surface and Janika found herself relaxing back into her pillows, her concern for Aedan fading into the background in the presence of his certainty and genuine compassion. Nathaniel watched her for a moment or two more, then nodded his head and reached out to lift the lid off of the tray. There was a small strip steak cooked to juicy perfection on the plate, covered with a steaming pile of mushrooms and onions. The wonderful scent of seasonings teased her nose. A vinaigrette dressing was drizzled over a spinach salad, while a pile of fluffy mashed potatoes rounded out the line up. Her stomach rumbled as the mouth watering aroma hit her nose. Embarrassment stained her cheeks when she looked up and found Nathaniel smirking knowingly at her.
Conversation was light as she happily chewed her way through her meal. Isis spoke on the plans she and Damian had made pertaining to the pride the night before, a look of true contentment softening the lines of her face. It was obvious to see that she and her lioness were both taken with their vampire mate. It was unheard of that a vampire should have a place of power and position within any of the lycanthrope communities and, according to Isis, the word had already started spreading. Nathaniel commented on the fact that it could spell trouble for her pride as other Rexes attempted to overthrow Damian when he wasn't awake to defend himself. The predatory look of anticipation on Isis' face was enough to convince both Janika and Nathaniel that anyone who threatened the pride was taking his or her life into their own hands.
When the food was gone, Nathaniel took the tray and its empty plate away and left the two of them alone. Janika shot a grin at Isis and asked the question that had been burning in her mind for a while now. "So. Damian. What's he like?"
Isis blinked at her a time or two, then the smile she gave was almost shy and Janika thought she detected a hint of a blush staining the woman's cheeks. Silence stretched between them as her friend searched for the right words. "He's not like anyone I've ever met before," she finally replied softly, a faint frown marring her forehead briefly. "He's considerate of my feelings. Which is something I'm still not used to."
The redhead heard something in the lioness' voice that told her there was a story to those words. She decided to keep the question of it to herself. If Isis wanted or needed to talk about it, she would. Janika had no intention of prying into something that she felt was none of her business.
"Well, he has had a few years to learn how to properly treat a woman," Janika replied, a laugh in her voice. "Most modern men are too stupid to figure things like that out. They spend all of their time thinking with their dicks and their lives are far too short to allow that kind of wisdom. I think the extra centuries help."
Isis grinned at that and inclined her head. "So I guess that means Asher knows how to treat you right?"
"Of course he does. Any man who makes it to be over five hundred years old should pick up a few pointers in his life. But this isn't about me and Asher, missy. There will be no changing the subject. You. Damian. That's the topic at hand."
"There's nothing to talk about, really." Isis shrugged, letting Janika know she was uncomfortable with the conversation. Janika didn't care one bit and shamelessly kept at it.
"Of course there is. It was plain to see at the fight last night that you were favoring him over Haven. Even your lioness had already apparently chosen the vampire over the lion. So tell me what he's like. Why did you pick him?"
Isis was silent, a look of deep concentration on her face. Janika remained quiet and gave her time to consider what she was going to say. The more she pushed the subject, the more she came to believe that whatever had happened to Isis before coming to St. Louis had been really bad for the woman. For a moment, a flash of insight that was more to do with her being Daz than being Janika rolled through her. Even though she hadn't heard all of the stories that went with each of their Sues, she was more than positive that each one of them had had very hard lives. That each of them had some story to tell that didn't come with the fairy tale happy ending. Was that a product of the universe they were in or was it for some other reason she couldn't begin to understand?
Almost as soon as the thought came, it was gone and Daz faded back into the shadows while Janika waited patiently for Isis to speak. Finally, the other woman shook her head and gave her friend a look of total confusion. "I don't really know. It just felt right. From the moment he touched me in Anita's basement, everything felt right. As if a piece of myself that had been missing, a piece I didn't know about, had been put back into place. I just knew that he was where I belonged. Even the lioness knew. I swear to you, she paced around inside of me with nervous agitation in the days leading up to Anita's death. Like she knew something was coming and was waiting for it to happen."
Janika smiled. She knew what Isis was talking about. She'd had that feeling the first time she'd spied Asher in Danse Macabre. It had been that bit of intuition that had seen her pestering him until he'd agreed to talk to her. Even now, after having been shot by a raving madman, she wouldn't change a thing. "Its a powerful feeling, isn't it? To find out that you belong."
"It really is. We're still trying to feel our way through some things. He's never had the chance to be with someone in a real relationship. But he's filled with old world charm and manners. He's so sweet and so caring. And he's more than willing to do what he has to in order to be a good Rex."
"Do you love him?" Janika asked quietly. The almost dreamy look on Isis' face had prompted it and she waited impatiently for an answer.
"I... I'm not sure, but I think I do. We haven't known one another for very long, but I really do think I love him," she admitted softly, her gaze distant and unfocused. Janika smiled at her, glad she wasn't the only one who'd already lost her heart. "Its kind of a strange feeling."
"I know," Janika nodded. And she did. Then her smile became a grin and she leaned forward with intent. "So what's he like in bed?"
The question was filled with such mischief, Isis broke into laughter.
Conversation eventually waned and Janika ended up asking Isis if she would be nice enough to fetch the police files from the room Jean Claude had given her. Isis resisted for several minutes until Janika promised that she didn't plan on leaving bed. She simply wanted to do as much work as she possibly could and lying in bed seemed like a perfect time to do it. There was no need to mention that she was bored to tears and would welcome the distraction. The lioness eventually gave in and agreed, then left the room to fetch the requested files. She returned, Nathaniel and Jason behind her, their arms loaded down with thick folders. They piled the stacks on the bed beside her, as well as on the stand next to the big bed. The two men left while Isis once more took up her position as a guard and Janika reached for the first file on the stack.
As she gave herself over to her work, the presence of someone else in the room drifted away from her. Each picture brought vague sensations and images that she made detailed notations about with great care. The files went into different piles when she was finished with them. She had one for the cases that she felt had been committed by Dolph's serial lycanthrope killers, one for cases that had many similarities to the serial killers case but had been committed by someone else, and a pile for cases that bore absolutely no resemblance to the others. Once she worked her way through all of the files and made all of her notes, she would go back and work up profiles for the killers in all of the files that dealt with the lycanthropes. Once she had everything done, she'd take her findings back to Detective Storr.
Eventually, the meds and the heaviness of her meal and the blood loss caught up to her. One minute, she had her nose buried in a file on a dead werewolf stripper and the next, she found herself caught up in the strangest dream she'd ever had.
A voice whispered in the shadows, words of violence and vengeance and of plots most foul. She couldn't see his face but she could feel his anger and the energy pouring off of him. Hunched over the table in the corner, she knew he stared at pictures. But she didn't know of what. Or whom. He never told her anything until he felt it was time. So that she didn't do something stupid, he'd said on more than one occasion.
The walls were hung with silver chains, with crucifixes and shackles that gleamed brightly in the light. Weapons with sharp edges grinned wickedly back at her when she looked at them. They promised pain and suffering. They promised purification. A perverse part of her wanted to touch them, to use them to cleanse herself of her sins. She'd done bad, bad things. He'd forbidden her from touching them.
He was talking to her, telling her of the people that they were going to help. People who needed them to remove the taint from their souls so that they could rest in peace. He wanted her to pay attention, wanted her to focus so that she understood and knew the plan. He asked a question of her. When she didn't answer him right away, he turned to face her and she saw...
Shapes shifted in the shadows, flowed from one darkened corner to another while a sense of fear and pain built on the air. Someone was hunting her, stalking her every move. Bright flashes caught her vision and blinded her. She wanted to run, wanted to fight back, wanted to change and become stronger. But she couldn't. Something stopped her, held her back. She was caught, trapped and in danger.
They melted out of the blackness that clung to the walls around her. Their faces were hidden in deep hoods, cloaked from her sight so that she couldn't even see the looks they wore. They were carrying chains, bright silver chains. And the burn started. At her ankles, slowly creeping up her legs until they were paralyzed and useless. She knew that the ones they held were going to go around her wrists. But there were other things hanging from belts that struck fear into her, made her cry out in anger and frustration.
She couldn't feel him. Her abdomen was suddenly on fire...
Janika woke screaming, her body held securely in Asher's firm embrace while he whispered soft, soothing words of both French and English in her ears. It took her a long time to relax, a damned long time to push the stupid dream away until she could tell Asher truthfully that she was okay.
Even then, the burning pain lingered in her limbs and her belly. As if it were trying to warn her of something.
~*~*~*~*~
Jean Claude stood in a corner, hidden by the shadows that the pair of candles created in the room. One plain white taper was positioned on either side of the victim. Meng Die had decided against using the electric light, which made it easier for him to stay out of sight. Made it easier for him to watch her with the dirty little man.
His first thought had been to kill the disgusting piece of humanity, to simply end his life as he would have ended both Asher's and Janika's lives. But he'd changed his mind when Meng Die had informed him of the reaction the prisoner had had to her. She'd spent much of the night with him, using his body until he'd slumped against his chains in exhaustion. Naturally she'd given her master a full report before she'd gone off to her sleep. The man had responded to her physically time and again despite his aversion to the female vampire. With a great deal of excitement. And Meng Die, vicious and cruel as she was, had taken full advantage of him until he'd been unable to perform for her any longer.
Instead of a slow and painful death, as he'd promised last night, Jean Claude had decided that the man would be forced to live with his ultimate nightmare. An eternity as one of the demons he so willingly fought against. Of course, he'd told Meng Die that it would be her duty to bring him over, that she would be the man's mistress. Despite the prisoner's lack of full sanity, he had enough rational thought left to understand the living hell he'd be made to suffer. Jean Claude rather thought that a slow and painful life was far worse punishment than a slow and painful death. Death was too quick and easy for the likes of him.
He watched as Meng Die circled the little man, who was now chained to a chair, arms caught behind his back while his legs were spread wide. She was naked with exception of a leather cinch pulled tight around her waist. Her breasts were full and heavy, her nipples erect under the droplets of blood that painted them. She carried with her a short, sharp dagger that was stained red from the small, shallow cuts she'd left on his flesh. And no matter what denials fell from his lips, his body clearly begged for more.
The man's desire was thick and heavy on the air.
Meng Die lifted the dagger to her lips, her tongue darting out to lick suggestively at the liquid clinging to the blade. The man's eyes followed her every move, hunger shining in them. His shaft stood up straight and tall, begging for the encompassing prison of her flesh. He wanted her and made no effort to hide his needs.
"Please." His voice rasped softly in the silence of the room. It was a complete change from last night, when he'd so loudly screamed out his pain. When Meng Die had been done with him, he'd been limp and nearly unconscious, an angry looking puncture wound on his throat. The lycanthropes who had guarded him during the day had been under orders to ensure that the man ate all his meals. They'd also been ordered to deny anyone but Jean Claude and Meng Die entrance.
"Please, what?" Meng Die asked quietly, her voice lacking any emotion at all.
"Please, mistress," the man begged. "I need you."
She shot a glance into the shadows where she knew Jean Claude watched. This would be the second night, the second time she would take blood. She would only need to drink once more. Take him to the very edge, where life and death hung in the balance. And push him over. Then the man would die, only to rise as the thing he despised most. Somehow, making him a vampire was more fitting than letting him truly die. He would constantly be at odds with himself. And he would find himself held accountable for every thing he did. If he were to ever step out of line...
Jean Claude nodded to her. He was tempted to fill the room with the arduer, but decided it was unnecessary. Something in the man responded to Meng Die's coldness until he ached for her touch, whether it was sexual or sadistic. The blade she carried clattered noisily to the floor as she climbed into his lap. A sharp intake of breath was the only sound the man made as she sank down over him. Words of filth spewed from his mouth as she rose up and down over his erection, intent on working herself toward her own release.
He watched it all, listened to everything, took the whole act in. In the end, when the dirty little man released himself into her, he condemned her to the deepest pits of Hell. And she paid him back by lunging forward so that she could sink her fangs into his neck. The man's body jerked under her and a hoarse cry rolled up his throat.
His heart beats slowed and his breaths became shallow. Meng Die lifted her head, licking ruby droplets from her lips, and turned to glance at Jean Claude once again. Then she climbed from the man's lap and left him slumped against his chains. She said nothing as she scooped up the robe she'd worn into the room. After belting it on, she left them alone. He simply stared at the man with a blank face.
He was one step closer to death.
It would only take one more night.
~*~*~*~*~
Rhiannon stared at the young man standing outside of her apartment with a faint smile on her face. They'd only just consummated their relationship last night, so she was mildly surprised to find Nathaniel in her doorway. He had a bouquet of flowers in his hand, a mix of soft pink roses, Stargazer lilies in shades of red, white and pink, deep red mini carnations and white pom mums. Misty blue stuck out between the flowers to add a splash of color and the entire thing was surrounded by large, glossy, tropical leaves. Long strands of grass erupted from the center in a chaotic spray of thick blades. The fragrant scent of the lilies wafted toward her.
"Nathaniel? What are you doing here?" she asked him.
He motioned toward her with the bouquet. "I wanted to bring you these," he replied, the tone of his voice suggesting that such a thing should be obvious.
She smiled at him and stepped back, gesturing to the interior of her apartment. "Please. Come in."
He stepped over the threshold, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly as he did so. He turned to look at her, eyes gone wide, as she shut the door behind him. Even before she could open her mouth, he was speaking. "What was that? It felt like I walked through something thick and sticky. It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't really nice, either."
"Those are my wards," she explained, smiling at him. He glanced around her apartment, almost as if he expected to see a physical manifestation of the magic she'd just told him about. Rhiannon couldn't help but laugh at that. "Most witches you meet, Nathaniel, are what people call practitioners. They use tools to call the magic to them. I'm a natural witch. I was born with my magic, like Aedan or Anita. I don't really need the tools to call the magic. Its just there. Because of this, my wards are probably stronger and far more noticeable than you'd find with practitioners. And because you're a creature of magic, you're definitely going to feel it when you cross over the threshold."
"I thought that a ward was meant to keep things out?" he asked curiously.
"It is. The wards are geared to discern good and bad intentions. Anyone who is here to cause harm will find it more difficult to pass through them than a friend will." Rhiannon smiled at him, strolling into the kitchen to find a vase for the flowers. After plucking a crystal vase from the cupboard, she filled it with water, collected a pair of scissors from a drawer and joined him in the living room. Nathaniel brought her the bouquet, standing beside her as she took the colorful wrap off, then began snipping at the stems and dropping the flowers into the vase. She could sense his eyes on her as she slowly worked the bunch into a controlled spray of disarray. When she was finished, Rhiannon settled the flowers on her coffee table and smiled. "Thank you, Nathaniel. They're beautiful. And they smell lovely."
"I thought you might like the touch of color," he told her, one arm slipping around her waist to draw her closer to him. She cast a glance to the walls, painted universal white as all apartments were. She'd put a few pictures on them, mostly oil paintings filled with soothing greens and blues. Ocean scapes, forest scenes and mountain ranges added small touches of colors here and there. She thought they helped make the room feel bigger. Her furniture was a mix of dark wood and pale upholstery. Small bits of color in the form of knick-knacks giving it the homey feel her home had had back in Tennessee. The flowers, though, were exactly what the place had needed.
"I do," she smiled at him. With a look at the couch, he escorted her over to sit down. He settled in beside her, his arm remaining slung across her shoulders. She wasn't sure if it was because he wanted to touch her specifically or if it was because he simply needed the feel of another body against his own. Despite the newness of their relationship, being so close felt good. Right. She settled into the couch, and Nathaniel, with a soft sigh. His hand tightened on her arm for a second, then released. She felt the slight tension in the muscles of the arm behind her and she turned to look at him. "Nathaniel? Is there something wrong?"
He sighed and the faint smile he'd been wearing faded. She felt a small sliver of fear spike into her. She was sure he was going to end it before it even began. Whatever the it they had was. Memories of Jeremy rushed through her and, for a moment, she was back on that road in the dark with him bleeding beside her, dying while she watched. Helpless to do anything about it. The fear and the sorrow rushed through her, pulling her further away from her cozy little apartment. She wanted to curl up into a ball and die.
"Rhia?" The voice was filled with concern. It seemed to come from a long distance. She knew that voice. Her brain struggled to put a name to it. But the memories were so strong, the loss and the grief and the guilt holding her in their clutches, trying to drown her in the past. "Rhiannon, what is it?" A pair of warm hands cupped her cheeks, an anchor in the present. She struggled against the hold her memories had on her. "Rhiannon, come back to me. Come back and tell me what's going on."
The soothing, soft and gentle tone of his voice pushed the last of the memories aside. She blinked and cleared away the last of the clogging emotion. Nathaniel was kneeling on the floor in front of her, his hands cradled her cheeks carefully, as if he was afraid she'd shatter under his touch. He was frowning at her, eyes filled with concern. "Rhia, what happened?"
"Its nothing," she told him, her voice shaking ever so slightly. He obviously didn't believe her, but she just couldn't explain it yet. Not now. It was all still too hard and too rough. And if he was here to tell her that they couldn't have a relationship, it wasn't even important. "Just painful memories. I'm okay now. I promise."
She could see the skepticism in his face. But he said nothing. Instead, he stroked her face with his fingers, then took his seat beside her on the couch again. The seriousness came back quickly and he reached out to take her hand. The fear was back, though it simmered in the background like a tea kettle put on to boil. It wouldn't take much heat to send it bubbling over. "We need to talk, Rhia. Before we can go any further. There are things I need to say."
"What kind of things?" she asked, trying to gear herself up for the worst.
"I need you to know that this is going to be kind of difficult for me. Before Anita, I'd never been in a real relationship before," he told her. She could tell he was trying to pick his words carefully. "In fact, most of my experience before Anita wasn't very healthy. I can see that now, after time to look at it from a distance."
The part of her that was Nan recalled the books and the way Nathaniel had been in the earlier ones. He'd been unable to stand up for himself, unable to prevent the worst kind of harm from being done to himself. Someone had used him until he was utterly submissive and he would allow them to do whatever they wanted to him. His time with Anita had changed him for the better. That much was easy to see. She offered him a smile meant to encourage him. Obviously, this was important to him and she didn't want to interrupt what he had to say.
"Chances are good, without Anita, I would have ended up dead a long time ago. If not for her, I wouldn't be who I am today." He came to a halt then, as if he wasn't sure how to proceed. She squeezed his hand, a silent encouragement to continue. Nathaniel offered her a weak smile and pressed on. "She made me stronger, but that doesn't mean that I'm like Richard. I'm no alpha. I'm not going to ever be an alpha. I'm submissive at times. I won't ever..."
"Nathaniel," she smiled, raising her fingers to his lips in order to stop his speech. He blinked at her. "I don't care. I like you as you are. I don't need a Richard in my life. I just need someone who's going to be happy and content with who I am. I won't ever ask you for anything more."
He leaned forward and pressed a short, soft kiss to her lips. She sighed softly, her body relaxing into his. Before she could lose herself in his touch, he pulled back and once more stroked her hair away from her face. Rhiannon frowned at him. "Who was he, Rhia?" he asked her.
His question startled her. How had he figured it out? Had she given him some kind of sign? When she didn't answer right away, he brushed his knuckles against her cheek and offered her a faint smile. "What did he do to you? I promise you won't I won't ever hurt you like that."
"Oh. Nathaniel," she smiled at him. He was watching her intently, as if he was looking for a lie. Rhiannon shook her head. He had no clue how far off the mark he was.
"I know someone did something, Rhia. I smelled the change in you. There was fear. I don't ever want to hurt you. I won't hurt you. Just tell me what not to do." He looked so earnest, so sincere. She reached out to trace the contour of his cheek, her fingers following the curve down to his chin. He truly wanted to know what not to do. The idea that he wanted to avoid hurting her was almost too hard to grasp hold of. She wanted to reassure him that he could never do anything to hurt her, but she knew better.
Rhiannon drew a breath and let it go on a long, painful sigh. She didn't want to go into the depths of her memories once again. She didn't want to have to think about it. She certainly didn't want to tell him everything. But he had the right to know. If she wanted him to be part of her life, and did she ever want to have him in her life, he needed to know what had happened to her. What it was that had shaped her into the woman she was.
Carefully, with one hand, she brushed the heavy weight of her hair away from her left ear. The light caught and flashed off of a single gem. It made its bed in a twisting vine of thin silver metal that had been wrought into delicate curls. The cuff was handmade, an open thing that hugged the lobe of her ear. In the center of the coiling nest was the reason for the sparks of light. A single diamond had been worked into the weave, a solitary reminder of what she'd once had and lost. "This stone used to be set in a band. It was an engagement ring."
"An engagement ring?" he echoed softly. Rhia nodded. She reached up and carefully pulled the cuff from her lobe and laid it in her hand. She held it out so that he could see it.
"My boyfriend proposed to me the night we both graduated high school. Naturally I said yes. I'd been in love with him almost from the very moment we met. He and I went through a lot. We were driving through the forest. A stag darted out in front of the car. The accident was bad, even though I was barely hurt. Jeremy was killed. He couldn't shift and heal himself. And there was nothing I could do to save him."
He said nothing. She stared, eyes filled with tears, as his lilac gaze watched her closely. Finally, after long minutes of silence, one hand reached out to cover hers, pressing the cuff with its diamond memory into her palm gently. "I won't leave you, Rhia. I promise. I'll be here for you. For as long as you need me. I'll be here."
She sniffled, a single crystalline drop sliding down over her cheek. He offered her a smile and she shook her head. "You can't make a promise like that to me, Nathaniel. You don't know..."
"I know, Rhia," he told her, his voice filled with intensity. The certainty in it made the tears fall in hot, fat drops. They trailed over her cheeks until they came to a rest on her jawline, hanging there before falling to soak into her shirt. And then his lips were pressing against her skin, kissing away the salty tears and the trails they left behind. He pulled back until he could look her in the eyes and she could see the seriousness in his eyes, the expression on his face. "I swear. I'm not going to leave you."
The honest sincerity she saw there was enough to make the tears fall faster and harder. He offered her a soft smile. With it came affection and concern. She wanted to say something, searched for the right words. But she had no time. He leaned in again, slowly, giving her time to make a decision. With a smile, she closed her eyes and allowed him to take her lips with his own. The kiss started soft and gentle, a bare brush of skin against skin. That very slightest of touch, it teased and tantalized and left her aching for more. She reached for him, her fingers finding and curling around the braided length of his hair.
The pressure of his kiss grew stronger. He inched closer until his hands could cup her face. His tongue traced a line against her lower lip, asking for entry. She opened to him, gave him access to her mouth, and he took it in the same manner that a conqueror took the city he'd besieged. His tongue slid in boldly, gliding against her tongue like an old and well known lover. The tip touched every inch of the interior of her mouth, tasting her, memorizing the feel of her. She molded her frame to his until she couldn't quite recall where she ended and he began. That single action brought about a change in him and, suddenly, he was an entirely different person.
His hands dropped away, taking the heat of his flesh from hers. He gave her no time to mourn the loss. One of his arms wrapped around her, held her tight. The other brushed her side. She felt the cushion behind her as it dipped, telling her that he'd planted his hand on the couch behind her. His body nudged hers, drove her back until she found herself laying on the couch, her body caught between his and the furniture beneath her. He settled on top of her, his hips nestled between her thighs in blatant possession and promise. And all of it had happened in quite literally the blink of an eye.
His speed startled her, leaving her momentarily dazed. But she came back to herself quickly as his hands stroked up and down her sides, his fingers teasing the curves of her breasts and hips. A sigh escaped her and he happily, greedily swallowed it down. His mouth fed from hers while their tongues danced with one another. She dragged her fingers down his back until they cupped his ass, squeezing and kneading at the perfectly formed globes. His hips rocked into hers, rubbing the length of his erection into the softness of her flesh through the layers of their clothing. Rhiannon brought a leg up and wrapped it around his waist, silently begging him for more.
Nathaniel's mouth moved slowly, savoring every inch of her lips, her skin, as if he was memorizing the taste of her. Her hands learned the exact curve of his backside, the slight indent of his spine, the graceful dip and swell of muscle as it flexed and relaxed under his skin. He was absolute perfection made flesh, some Greek or Roman statue given life. All physical, masculine hardness combined with a spiritual, feminine softness. He was almost too good to be true. And he was all hers.
That small bit of knowledge opened a door somewhere deep inside. She was suddenly hungry for him, a real ache that flared in the pit of her stomach with such intensity that she thought she'd have doubled over if she'd been upright. She was flooded with need and her hands began pulling at his clothes. Her frenzied actions saw him lifting his head from hers, a gentle smile on his face. She stared up at him, trying to fathom why he'd stopped. He just reached out with one hand to touch her face, once again tracing the lines and contours of its shape. The butterfly soft touch made her eyes flutter shut. "Just relax, Rhia. Let me please you."
His words were a balm, leaving her limp and loose against the cushions. This time, Nathaniel's hands were brought even further into play. He dragged them down her sides to the spot where her shirt met the waist of her jeans. When his fingers slipped under the cottony soft material, her muscles tightened under her skin involuntarily and she drew a sudden breath in surprise. The faint sound of a chuckle reached her ears. She'd barely registered it before the touch of his tongue and lips at her belly button drove it away. She was plunged headlong into a whirlwind of pleasure.
He kissed his way up her belly, following the lower hem of her shirt as his hands pushed it further and further up. When the material was bunched up in her armpits, he drew back far enough to tug it up over her head. She helped him, lifting her shoulders off the couch so that he could remove it completely and with ease. It landed on the floor, forgotten the moment his eyes found her lace encased breasts.
She felt a heat in her cheeks, telling her that a blush had risen. Rhia didn't understand why she should be embarrassed. They'd had sex just the night before, had been naked, skin on skin, as they'd moved against one another. This encounter shouldn't be any different. And yet, it was. Something about this left her feeling as untried as a virgin on her wedding night. She was taken by a strong urge to cross her arms over her chest and cover herself.
"Black lace?" There was amusement in his voice. She blushed harder. "Are you planning on having an illicit affair? Shall I go before your secret liaison arrives?"
Rhiannon said nothing. Her response was purely physical. She allowed her hands to slide down his chest, nails raking slightly at his skin beneath the silky material, until she reached his groin. He shivered as she cupped a hand over the ridge of his erection and gave a gentle squeeze. She watched as his eyes rolled back, his lids fluttering as he fought with himself. It was easy to see the tension in his arms as he held his body suspended over hers. Then she let him go and reached for her jeans. Nathaniel sat back and brushed her hands out of his way. She let her eyes follow his motions, saw the quick, nimble way he undid the button and pulled the zipper down. It didn't take him long to tug the denim off of her.
"The panties match. I like it," he grinned at her. She saw the hint of the predator that lived within him peering out at her from his eyes. It was gone in a flash, leaving her to wonder if she'd actually seen it. "You have such lovely skin, Rhia. The creamy tone of it is only made all the paler by the stark black of your lingerie. I want to lick and suck every inch of it until you're writhing beneath me, begging for more. I want to make you orgasm with just my tongue."
Her body spasmed, a sudden flood of moisture dampening the crotch of her panties. His smile slid into sinful. She lost sight of it when he dipped his head again in order to catch her breast between his teeth. She sighed, her back arching into his mouth, and speared her fingers into the hair lying against his scalp.
His breath was hot and moist against the satin encased mound of her breast, his teeth sharp and hard as they nibbled at her nipple. While he used one hand to hold his full weight off of her, the other hand was caressing and kneading the twin to the breast he was suckling at. Her hands sought his jeans, tried to undo the fly so she could get at his cock. Her actions saw him pulling away and Rhiannon found herself feeling lost and bereft. His eyes caught and held hers, the weight in them pinning her to her spot.
"Slowly, Rhia. Go slow. We have all the time in the world," he whispered to her. She wanted to believe him. She truly did. But some part of her insisted that it was a lie, that something huge and deadly was coming their way. She took a deep breath and pushed that feeling away. She was left with her desire for him. Giving him a nod, she once more relaxed against the cushions. He smiled again, tenderly, then lowered his head to her other breast.
She sighed. Slow was good. Slow was very good.
~*~*~*~*~
His sweet little whore. She was on her knees before him, worshipping him with her mouth. Hot, tight, filthy mouth. She was sucking at him hard, trying to put an end to this. She wanted more from him. He could tell by the way she quivered when he touched her. He wasn't about to give her any thing until he felt she'd earned it.
His hands curled into her hair. "Suck it, bitch." He held her head in place so that he could fuck her mouth. She fought against him, just like she always did. But she would do as he said, lest he treat her to the same type of punishment they handed out to the wicked and unclean. She knew that as well as he did.
His gaze flicked to the still body lying a few feet from them. The woman was still, her eyes open and glassy. Staring at nothing. The sight of the silver buried between her ass cheeks got him harder, excited him. He fucked the mouth wrapped around his cock harder.
I can't control you. You can't control me. I need to feel you...
He was close. The screams of their prey had gotten him just as hard as watching his sister with the whore had. The things they'd done... He grunted and shoved deep, felt himself spill down her throat. She gagged and fought to swallow. When he pulled from her, she gasped for breath. He wasn't done with her yet. Not by a long shot. "Go play with the whore," he ordered. "I want to see you touch her now."
She did as he told her, crawling toward the body on hands and knees. He thought she was a little too eager to do so, but that was no concern of his. All he cared about was that she did as she was instructed. His sweet sister, eager whore, stuffed her fingers into the dead woman's cunt and fucked her, bent her head to the dead whore's tits and sucked them. Growling, still hard and hungry for her sweet pussy, he pounced and shoved his cock deep.
She lifted her head just enough to moan, then applied herself to her given task.
"Now listen to me, whore. Listen to what I have to say," he grunted, fucked her hard and deep. He felt it when she started bleeding. Smiled and fucked even harder. "I've made plans. The task given to us by God isn't making the impact it should. Those poor souls we pick to cleanse aren't noticeable."
She grunted in response.
"We have to set our sights bigger. We have been charged with bringing the impure back to God. I know where to start."
Her pussy clenched around him and he ground against her in reply.
"I have picked two names from the lists of unclean. They're well known. In the public eye. They speak out for their kind, advocate the continued desecration of God's beautiful creations. These are the people we shall seek out to purify and cleanse. A man and a woman. Are you with me, my sweet little whore? Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
"Yes, brother. Harder. Fuck me harder. Make me scream."
He was pleased to know that she'd been listening to him. As a reward, he fucked her harder. He made her scream.
~*~*~*~*~
The shadows were thick around her, clinging to her like a spider's web. Cloaking her. Obscuring her vision. She was stuck in place, unable to move or call out for help. She could see light in the distance, faint and almost watery. If she could just get to the light, she could escape her bonds, could escape the darkness and the thick, foreboding sense of fear that pressed down around her. Choked her. Stole the very breath from her lungs. "Someone help me! Please!" she yelled. "Hello? Is anyone there?"
The only reply she got was the echo of her own voice.
The bonds that held her, invisible but strong, tightened down around her. It felt as if there was a constrictive band around her chest, choking the life out of her. Death was coming, sneaking up on her slowly, intent on stealing her away from her friends and the world of the living. She didn't want to die. Fear blossomed inside of her chest, a burning fire that singed her lungs. Every single nerve ending. It burned at her wrists and her ankles, as if she was held by chains. Why couldn't she move? Why was she here? What was the meaning of this?
The light brightened and she could see figures moving in and out of it. There were two but they were too far away to make out any definite features. She was sure, though, that they were male and female. And they were talking. She could now see enough definition to see that their lips were moving. She couldn't hear them, though. Why couldn't she hear them? What was the point of this if she couldn't hear or see anything?
There was a silvery flash as the pool of light spread across the floor like a growing stain. Then another flash and another. Soon, she could see a wall that was lined with a multitude of implements. None of them looked nice. And there was a growing sound that expanded in time with the light.
It was a low, long sound that she thought might be a moan or groan of pain. She couldn't be sure because she couldn't see who it was coming from. The man and woman stopped and touched one another. Her hands were almost hesitant while his were sure and dominating. He pushed her back when she reached for his head, anger radiating off him in waves of deep, bloody crimson. She was wreathed in the blue of depression and a dark purple that hinted at lust. Faint tendrils of greenish black fingers crept toward them, low to the floor and lacking strength. It told her that someone was hurt, possibly dying.
She struggled to free herself again. She had to help whoever it was that was injured. The bonds that held her would not release her, no matter how hard she struggled. But the pool kept growing, kept exposing the area around her to sight. There was no furniture and she had yet to see any walls, except the one with the devices on it, to let her know if she was in a small room or a large room.
The moans were getting louder. They were filled with such pain and suffering. The part of her that was tied to the Earth Mother, that took power and solace from the magic that lived in every growing thing on the planet, wanted so desperately to help whoever it was that was injured. The desire to heal was filling her, overwhelming her until she felt as if she were drowning under the weight of it. She couldn't protect herself from it, no matter how much she tried.
As the need to do as Goddess bade her grew, so did the view she'd been given of her surroundings. The wall of implements grew longer, extending on each side for what seemed like miles. There were so many things she couldn't put a name to. So many things she didn't want to know the names for or their purposes. She wanted to forget what she'd seen, erase it from her mind. But she knew that would be impossible. She would be seeing those items for a very long time to come.
More silver filled her vision, light reflecting off of it until she thought she was blind. Slowly, the glare died to show her a mirror. It was centered directly in front of her, though she hadn't seen it there before. And she saw no image of herself in its surface. Instead, she was gifted with the view of a body turned slightly to the side. It was naked and very decidedly male, even through the thick coat of blood that covered much of it. And it had been crucified.
The mirror showed her well muscled arms that were stretched out at the man's sides, bright circles of silver visible in the center of his palms. Another silver circle was visible against the tan flesh on the top of his foot. It sat over its partner one, the two of them held in place by that single bit of silver. A crown of silver thorns rested on his head, turning the burnished brown locks under it a deep red from blood brought to the surface by the thorns. He held his head high and she could see hints of his handsomeness behind the mask the blood made. She thought she saw glints of cats eye green staring back at her from the surface of the mirror.
The man and woman stepped up to their prisoner, their faces masks of emotion. There was sorrow on the woman's face, along with a touch of apprehension and guilt. The man's face was filled with anger. And self-hatred. They were talking to the crucified man, the candles flashing off a length of stainless steel that she knew to be a blade. The man held a knife in his hand, his knuckles white from the tight grip he had on it. She could tell by the gleam in his eyes that he planned on using it.
The man shouted, his face going red. Even though she couldn't hear it, she could tell by the way the veins and other things stood out in his neck. The prisoner said nothing, simply stared at them. The man lifted his arm as he prepared to strike. The woman reached up and tried to stop him when he started it forward, but the man never stopped.
The blade bit into the prisoner's skin, dug deep. The man said nothing, simply stared at his captors defiantly. She could see the knife slicing across the man's belly, opening a gap in his flesh. The knife was jerked free and the prisoner's skin split. Ropes of intestines tumbled out and she thought she'd be sick. The screams came again. And then the image was spinning away from her, gone like the agonizing cries that still echoed in her ears.
The room of torture and pain was gone as quickly as it came and she found herself somewhere else. Somewhere foreign and foul.
Sulphur burned her nose, the stink of it thick and cloying on the air. The light here was low and red. Evil. She found herself shivering with cold and fear and carefully wrapped her arms around her in a feeble attempt to ward off the cold, chill air and its feel of wrongness. She took a moment to study her surroundings.
The walls were coated with glistening blood, long lengths of thick, ropey intestines hanging from above. They were looped around meat hooks embedded in the ceiling, trailing down to the ground like wild vines in the middle of a tropical jungle. The light flickered wetly off piles of items she knew to be organs. Hearts, livers, kidneys, lungs and so many others. One corner was filled with tongues. Another held eyes in many shades, all of them staring accusingly at her. All of them blank and empty.
Chanting reached her ears, low and steady. It was in a language she didn't know personally. But she recognized it, had studied it once at her mentor's insistence. So that she would know and understand what she was dealing with if she were to ever come upon it. She swiveled around in all directions, looking for the source of the guttural sounds. She could see nothing. Her only choice was to step forward and follow the voice.
The ground beneath her feet squished noisily, wet and thick with blood. Her feet were sucked down into the fibrous puddles, held there until she was forced to jerk them free. Each one came up with a squelching noise that echoed loudly around the chanting. The ropes of intestines slapped against her face, left her sticky and bloody. They tried to curl around her arms and legs, her throat and her torso, tried to keep her in place. But she fought her way through, forced herself to go on when all she really wanted to do was go back. Hide from the gore.
The forest of intestines opened up on a circular clearing. The floor had a pentagram etched into it, surrounded by a circle. The channels were carved deep, all of them filled with blood. And there was also, carved into the floor and painted a different color, an image of a goat's head. A figure in a black cloak stood near the top, between the two lower points of the star. His face was hidden deep within the folds of a hood but she was sure he was staring at her. A hand reached out, the fingers thin and bony, and gestured into the shadows.
A pair of figures in black robes stepped out into the bloody light, dragging a struggling female with them. She was naked, her skin scratched and bruised. Her hair was dark and curly, snarled and matted from lack of brushing. A silver star within a circle shone at her throat, awash with magic and power. The men holding her forced her down into the middle of the circle, tying her wrists and ankles to wrought iron rings that had been set into the floor just inside of the circle. Her body was posed to mirror each point of the star. The man who had been chanting motioned his helpers away and drew from the depths of his sleeve a blade black with blood. He raised it so that she could fully see it. "This is where you die, witch. This is where you give your blood to bring my servant into this world for good. It will be the only child you ever give birth to. Its a pity you won't be allowed to live and see it."
He knelt beside the bound woman, just at the wrist, and used his knife to slice her skin. The blood that flowed from the wound dripped into the circle. He moved to her other wrist and repeated the action. She could tell that the bound woman would die a slow death. Then the man stepped away and lifted his hands skyward. Drops of fresh blood dripped from the blade, sizzling loudly as it hit the floor. The naked woman pulled at her bonds, trying in vain to escape.
The man began chanting again in that same language, his voice deep and resonating in the gory room. She felt power stir, slowly. Sluggishly. As if it didn't want to respond to the man's call. It was hotter than the fires of hell, stale and stagnant. Foul. Corrupt. Evil. A wind blew through the room, acrid and tainted with the smell of death and brimstone. The man's robe whipped around him, driven by the fury of the howling winds around him. His chanting continued, grew louder in order to be heard over the wind. Anticipation and fright grew with it, the sense that something terrible was about to happen clouding her mind and body.
All of it was shattered by a high pitched scream.
She looked down at the woman bound to the circle. Her body was writhing in painful agony, blood seeping out from under the ropes that held her in place at wrist and ankle. Her back was bowed, spine arched as pain ripped through her. And her belly... Her belly, smooth at the beginning of the man's chant, was suddenly grossly swollen, so big and round that it looked ready to split. Something rippled under the surface, pressing hands and feet and face against the wall of muscle that held it prisoner.
She could see the woman's muscles clenching down as if in child birth, trying desperately to push the foreign body from her own. And still her belly grew until it was distended so grotesquely that there was no way she'd ever be the same if she were to survive this. The woman's screams held both pain and terror. The magic was building, climbing toward a crescendo that would end with the birth of whatever grew inside of her. The man's demon spawn servant. Her child.
The wind howled. The man chanted. The woman screamed. The world stopped turning.
Silence consumed them, held them tight in its embrace. She could see that the man was still chanting. She could see that the woman was still screaming. She could see that the wind still tore at their hair and their clothes. The woman's belly still churned and swelled, the skin stretched taut and thin over the beast trying to free itself from her womb. Lighting flashed across the room, bloody and bright, followed by a huge clap of thunder that shook the very ground beneath her feet. The woman's legs seemed to bend and bow outward, as if someone were pulling on the ropes tied to her ankles.
There was a wet, dark sound as flesh tore. The woman's belly churned and rippled as labor moved into delivery. Something slithered out between her thighs, glistening with blood and fluids. It was a sickly blackish-green. She could see fingers moving, clawing and reaching. They dug into the woman's thigh and drew blood. Grabbed at the floor and left gouges. More tearing, then a second hand appeared. Those fingers sank into the ground and pulled. Hard.
The woman's body jerked, her belly moving in ways that no human's flesh was supposed to move. She was screaming silently, her mouth open and head thrown back as the demon tore itself from her womb. The arms came into view, long and heavy with thick muscles. They were nearly as long as the woman's legs.
She wanted to run and hide from what she was seeing, wanted to wash the images from her mind. But they would stay as a warning or reminder. She couldn't be sure which. She didn't think she wanted to know. And she couldn't run. Her feet were rooted to the spot. She was meant to be here, meant to watch and see. To what purpose, she couldn't be sure. But she knew that she wouldn't be able to leave until she'd seen everything she was supposed to.
A head pulled free of the woman's clinging flesh, elongated and sharp. It reminded her of the head of that creature from the movies, the one with acid for blood. It was the same and yet different. She could see two red eyes, burning like coal in the darkness of its face, as it looked around and saw the man. The man was smiling at it. "That's right, my beautiful servant. Come forth and finish what we've started. Finish being born into this world and take what is rightfully yours."
The woman's body jerked as the demon's hands clawed at the ground and it pulled itself forward. Its torso was emerging, the woman reduced to whimpering sobs even as her body spasmed and arched. The swell in her abdomen hadn't gone down yet, was still rippling and flexing as it worked to expel its burden.
Inch by slow inch, the thing freed itself from its fleshy prison. The woman jerked with each small part that was pulled out of her. The length of a long, thick torso followed the hands and head, heavily muscled and covered by shining, sickly skin. Narrow hips came next, followed by legs that seemed to be twice as long as the rest of it. It took a very long time for the creature to fully extricate itself from the woman's body, the minutes stretching until they felt like long hours.
When the demon had completely dislodged itself from the woman's body, it came to its feet. It was well over ten feet tall and stood on the balls of its feet. The mouth it sported, when opened, was filled with razor sharp teeth. The nose it had was flat, almost completely against the surface of its face, with two nostrils that flared with each breath it took. A shriveled black cord was attached to what appeared to be its belly, low between the saddle of its hips. The length of that cord ran across the floor and disappeared between the woman's thighs. Bits of her flesh hung from the demon in places, blood and other fluids still shining against the leathery looking skin.
"Behold, my servant. Your feast," the man said, then motioned to the woman on the floor. She was barely moving, blood pouring from between her legs in a river that seemed never ending. She should have been dead, but wasn't. The demon turned to look at her, its eyes glowing with hunger. It took a few steps toward her, then fell to its knees between her splayed thighs. Its long, green tongue, forked like a snake's, darted out to lap at the liquid pooled between her legs. A look passed over its face, one that could have been rapture.
The woman shivered slightly when that reptilian tongue licked up the length of the mangled opening it had just crawled from. She begged in a hoarse voice for it to stop, but it paid her no mind. The tongue dug inside, scooping out the remnants of her organs, the fluid that had surrounded it. It kept searching, driving deeper and deeper in a perverse parody of sex. The woman was whimpering. The demon finally drew its tongue out of her, looked down at her face and leered.
"Mother."
The word passed between its non-existent lips a moment before the demon lowered its head and took a bite of the woman's body. The woman screamed and threw her head back. She saw the dead woman's eyes, saw her face and...
Rhiannon woke screaming, fighting the hold of the arms that had encircled her. What she'd seen... She tried to break free of the bonds that held her in place, but they were strong and steel and wouldn't let her go. Gradually, a soft, familiar voice broke through the thick fear. Nathaniel was at her back, holding her close as his hands stroked her body and he whispered words meant to calm in her ear. She relaxed inch by inch into his embrace, her muscles quivering and limbs shaking with fear. She couldn't hear any of what he said but she didn't care.
For the moment, she was safe in his arms.
When she was fully calm, he turned her to look at him. There was deep concern on his face. "Rhia? What happened? You smell of fear and magic. And evil. What was it?"
"A dream, Nathaniel. A very bad dream."
"A dream? Did this dream mean anything? Or was it just a dream?" he asked, stroking one hand through her hair. It was sweaty and matted. She shivered and pressed herself closer to his warmth.
"It was more than a dream. It was a warning," she told him, then hugged him tight. "Bad things are coming, Nathaniel. Bad things. I saw... "
"You saw what?" His hold was firm, his embrace comforting. It gave her the courage to say what she had to.
"I saw danger and doom. I saw my death."
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Excellent work!
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glad you enjoyed it, hon.
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Looks like we're in for some rough times. And I see we've run into our incestuous pair again, this time with a dead body. * shudders * Ew..
That was a good chapter LDF. Nice and descriptive. :)
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possible tough times. that's the thing about visions. they can be a portent of things yet to come or they can be a manner in which to let you know that bad things can happen if you don't take the proper precautions. you'll have to wait and see what this one is.
glad you liked it, hon. weird shit came out of my head. i didn't argue.
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I can't wait to see what merry road this leads us down. =)
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Second - holy shit. That's one hell of chapter. Wow. Not sure what else to say. Yeah, it was a little icky. lol But good. Damn.
And I really hope we don't see that vision of the future come to fruition. Bad, bad, bad.
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once the ideas came to me, they just kind of flowed. and a lot of what ended up in there was kind of a spur of the moment thing. it went places with me that i wasn't expecting.
i'm hoping we don't see that vision of the future, either. only time will tell.
glad you enjoyed, sweetie.