Moonspawn (21 page)

Immediately she calmed, melting beneath him, her defeat acknowledged. Now she was free to relish his attention.

With steady drives he sank himself into her womb, making Kira buck with rapture, her long chastity finally broken by this most bizarre of lovers.

Gasping with pleasure she remained trapped beneath him, his body pressing down on her, the fur soft and tickling every portion of her that was exposed to it.

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The creature offered up his wound to her, the thin lines of red that wove from it sparkling with life. Straining forward she could not bring her teeth to bear, but with a stretch her tongue could just skim the surface, letting her taste the untamed power of the lupine. The bliss of such a delicacy was a keen rival to their intercourse, the power of it making her feel invincible – like a goddess.

The rhythm of his stabbing shaft started to increase drastically as he approached climax, and Kira too could feel herself giving in to a matching release. Panting her affirmation she called for him to complete his task, begging for it as she sought to hold on, to deny herself until the moment she felt him fill her womb. It was nearly impossible.

The werewolf threw his head back and unleashed a canine howl that resonated the floor beneath her, shaking the air with its volume and depth. Kira bucked beneath his hold, his hands crushing her wrists in vice holds as she joined his inhuman bray, her mouth stretched impossibly wide, her fangs stained with her lover’s blood, her screech adding a piercing treble to his pounding bass.

Her world flashed with colour, her nervous system beset by a volcanic detonation of bliss.

The last spasmodic drives carried him through his climax, and the beast settled onto her, his limbs draining of power as though he had transferred it to her via his seed.

Slouched on the floor, both of them failed to move for long minutes, enervated and lost in the soothing afterglow of their insane passion. Held beneath him, Kira simply lay with her eyes closed, her womb squeezing to his shaft in fits of gratitude.

With a moan of effort he rolled aside, withdrawing 181

from her. The lupine shed his wolf semblance, withdrawing the fur and fangs, the claws, dragging in the massive frame and retreating into the flesh of what appeared to be no more than an ordinary mortal. The four small holes at his neck were still prevalent, but the bleeding had stopped, as the beast was better equipped than she to heal such damage.

Kira shuddered, and thought of how the pegs and the crops had felt, their wonderful stinging kisses, their long abuse to her skin as she was tormented for the amusement of others.

‘What’s happening to me? I never used to be like this,’

mewled Kira, wondering how such alien appetites had arisen so quickly. She had never before loved such subjugation, never even considered it. Now she relished it like nothing else. Even now the torture of the nuns was a memory to be placed in the treasury of her mind, polished and set on a shelf of most valued mementoes.

‘Don’t fret, I was just like you once,’ replied the lupine, stroking her hair as he lay on his side, Kira still unmoved.

‘In fact, we are probably more alike than you would think.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked softly, smiling at the feel of his fingers running through the strands, her eyes closed to savour the feel of such comfort.

‘We are both exceptions to those around us. We are more powerful, stronger, and that makes us prizes that others want to experience for themselves. You might say we are novelties in this domain.’

‘Because of what they say I am? What is this brood stuff anyway? How come it happened to me? I didn’t do anything special.’

‘No one knows the exact cause. But I’ve heard tale of 182

such things as I’ve sat at the heels of the queen. It’s a random quirk. Some say a throwback to the first vampires, a shadow of their primal power.’

‘So what caused it?’ she asked, propping herself up on her elbows and turning to face him.

‘Vampirism?’

Kira nodded, studying the contours of his face, committing it to memory as he laid back and looked to the ceiling, almost wistfully, as though serenely casting himself back to halcyon and half-forgotten days.

‘The only legend they speak of here is one that begins with a demon lord of the Wyrm possessing one of its shaman. The rituals involved brought more than a mere inhabitation; it fused them, creating a hybrid creature.

The blood of this beast was virulent and malevolent, and mortals who ingested it suffered instant Maleficence. The power in it has dwindled as it was passed down the ages, but if the demon essence meets mortal blood that is akin to that of the first primary host, then it creates a vampire such as was first forged. The other vampires about us have been created using blood passed down through hundreds of others, whereas you, because of your blood, are like one created by that very first ancestral beast.’

‘You believe this?’

‘Why not? I’ve fought the Wyrm and its shamans, I’ve fought the vampire, I’ve seen demons and their hosts. It is reasonable enough.’

‘Don’t you regret anything?’ she asked, and there was a moment’s pause before he frowned and then gave in to a secret smile.

‘Not any more. I fought the seducing will of the queen at first, tried to resist because I was taught to do so by my kind. I had battled the machinations of the undead 183

my entire life; it was my purpose. And to be held by them as a slave? Well, it took awhile to give up and surrender.’

‘Were you always like this, or was it the queen who made you submissive?’ she asked, laying her head on his chest, curling her legs up, the stockings torn by their battle and subsequent savage lovemaking. His hand rose to lay across her, holding her to him.

‘I can’t say. But when I was first in the city I started to feel new appetites welling within me. I resisted at first, told myself that the decadence of the city was trying to infect me, like a shamanistic charm. But then I started to indulge a little – then more. It was during a visit to a professional dominatrix that resulted in my capture. The queen nurtured my growing nature and let me live it, releasing me.’

‘If you had a choice, would you do the same thing again?’

‘I’m not sure. I think so. I love her,’ he stated emphatically, no hint of questioning in his voice.

‘But—’

‘It’s a paradox, I know, because I can never possess her. She is my ruler and I am her slave. But at her feet, as her pet, I am filled with a sense of pride. It’s hard to explain, but I’m helpless to resist it. If I wasn’t here, I think I’d be distraught and would end up trying to find a way to return. There’s no going back.’

‘You think I’ll end up following the same path?’ she asked, responding so quickly because it outraged her.

The fervour in his admission of love had lit a jealous pyre in her mind. The male had won her admiration and craving to know him better. They were so similar, so perfect for each other, but to hear that he loved another 184

made her furious. Her full sentence, if not interrupted, would have angrily accused if their recent deeds had meant nothing to him.

‘It’s up to you, Kira,’ he said, ‘but I can think of far worse things than being a slave here.’

‘But isn’t it sick?’ she wondered, a lingering notion of morality still obstinately grating against her licentious hunger for everything this place had to offer. The stalwart relic also demanded that she flee, find a cure for herself, try and recover her life, go back to being normal.

‘What’s sick? Grinding away with base urges to fulfil a social obligation to pointlessly procreate? Tedious little love rituals and offerings, indoctrinated to be “romantic” by those who profit from their supply? Losing yourself in some banal tedious job that sucks your soul dry before casting you onto a dung heap to fester for a few years before you finally die? Old age and infirmity, a life surrounded by mortals, with their pettiness, their arrogance, their bigotry and hatred of anything different?

Stifled by civilised life, kept quiet and in line, unable to break free and let yourself truly live? Dreaming of so much, but deprived of all—’

‘Or eternal life in splendour, living a life of pure indulgence, surrendering to debauchery, exploring sensation,’ she added gently, knowing that he spoke from what he had seen, and what she faced, not for himself.

He was a werewolf. He lived with his tribe in the wilds, hidden and concealed, fighting their supernatural war without any mortal ever knowing about the grievous conflict raging about them. He had genuine purpose. He wasn’t out to impress fellows or bosses, or to gain a career and wealth and renown. He struggled for a noble cause, to save what he believed in. It was a cause more worthy 185

and more dedicated to than even the most hard-line activist she could conceive of. Yet he had given that up for this, to live for himself above all other considerations.

‘It’s not much of a choice is it, Kira?’

‘I guess not,’ she replied. If he had given up such a free and purposeful existence, then she should not even doubt shedding a life that would have been brief, pointless, and useless in order to become something far better, for all time. ‘I just needed to convince myself I suppose, to throw off those last lingering second thoughts.’

The exit door opened, causing them both to jerk their heads up to see who it was.

‘Well, well, well, isn’t this cute?’ derided Cassandra.

The vampiress was clad in the image of a police officer.

An unmarked cap adorned her head, granting an extra ferocity to her sneer of contempt. A crisp deep blue shirt held her body with a matching tie, the sleeves hanging starched at her biceps. Short leather gloves were clasped about the hilt and shaft of a black crop, the slender stave being wrung in her grasp.

A waspie belt tightened her waist before giving way to a short rubber mini-skirt, stockings that followed the curves of her legs, and knee high plain boots of leather.

‘Seneschal!’ exclaimed Kira’s partner with shock, both of them scrambling to their knees.

‘So, have you been a bad pup, Thanos?’ snapped the woman, stepping in with a bold stride, tapping the crop into her palm as her eyes fixed to both of them with animus.

‘Seneschal, please, I didn’t mean to, I couldn’t help myself,’ he offered, cowering slightly to try and appease her wrath and draw the blame from Kira.

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At least now she had his name, a consideration that had not even occurred to her until this point.

‘Really, slave? So little Kira here was an unwilling partner to your base advances, eh?’

‘Yes, seneschal.’

‘So why is there that piercing hickey on your throat?’

‘She bit me, she fought back, seneschal. Look at the walls, I had to fight to take her.’

‘You lying little shit! After all this time, after all the punishments I’ve given you, you still think you can trifle with me, maggot!’

‘No, seneschal, it was a momentary slip, I lost myself when I was in my full form,’ he protested.

‘Don’t give me your tired excuses,’ she roared, her incensed attitude terrifying. The woman truly hated Thanos and was ready to apply any humiliation, any abuse to ease her choler. ‘You have to be disciplined, Thanos!

So say it! I want to hear your confession before I do!’

‘Seneschal, I have been bad, I lied to you, I need to be punished.’

‘Good. Now maybe this will teach you a more lingering lesson.’

Reversing the crop she thumbed the base, causing a startled cry to slip from Thanos. She grabbed his collar and he dropped back to the floor, kicking his legs as he roared, the metal crackling with arcs of lightning as he was shocked by the seneschal. The woman released the button, letting him go slack, panting on the floor, shaking a little. Walking over she gave Kira a capricious flick, the crop stinging her flank, making her fling herself aside with a hiss of pain, clapping a hand to the stern weal.

‘Out of my way, slave,’ she growled, and continued her route to place a leather boot onto the body of Thanos, 187

digging the heel in to make him wince.

Kira had already tasted Cassandra’s animus. The woman was going to shatter Kira for daring to have gained the queen’s attention, but Thanos was a far more established threat, one she could not tear away from his owner. Instead, she could only make him suffer, and the sheer savagery of her demeanour made Kira fear what would happen to her should the queen actually renew interest in her. Could she cope with such unbridled loathing? Derision to a slave was one thing, it made her feel more servile and truly submissive, but surely such hatred would prompt only resentment and rebellion. But where Thanos had the compensation of being the queen’s regular pet and plaything, she had nothing like it.

‘Are you ready for more, slave?’ the seneschal quizzed, a malevolent smile spread across her lips.

‘Please… please, seneschal, no… no more,’ he rasped, and had his words turned into a squeal of anguish as the woman repeated the shock, leaving her finger in place, making the collar flash with pulses of voltage as the serpentine tongues of energy licked at Thanos.

Stopping her lesson, she let him catch a few breaths, and then stroked the button before his gaze, making sure he could see it. Just as he was about to air words of clemency she applied her punishment again, tearing at him with the terrible blight of the collar, making him thrash and suffer terribly.

‘Seneschal, it wasn’t him – it was me!’ yelled Kira, unable to see this injustice continue. She was partially to blame as well. She could not let him bear the whole ordeal himself.

The woman turned with a surprised look that quickly melted to one of contempt, but she did not release the 188

control switch. ‘Did you say something, slave?’ she spat.

‘Seneschal, please, I’m sorry, but it wasn’t him, it was me, I seduced him!’ she implored, hoping to end Thanos’

abuse.

The woman pondered for a moment, keeping Thanos in purgatory as she thought on Kira’s words. Kira knelt and flicked her stare from the lupine to the vampiress, praying that she stop.

Releasing the control the attack ended, letting Thanos collapse into a stolid ball, quivering, his body wracked with pain and drenched with an icy sweat.