Rutger

by Cari Silverwood

  “Open.” His hand scrunched in her hair.

  She parted her lips and stuck her ass higher, curving her back, feeling Vargr penetrate her cunt with his thumb.

  They both entered her, slowly, filling her until the world was a blissful abyss. She was joined to them and they to her. In that moment she would’ve volunteered for this forever.

  Rutger halted partway into her mouth. Her lips were stretched as far as they could go. He tapped her nose, and she slowly looked up at him, strung out on the bliss of two cocks in her at once.

  “Never forget you’re ours. Even if the asshole back there has gone mad.” His eyes were fierce. She nodded. His cock made it impossible to do more than mumble. “And stop making him want to hurt you.”

  What? She opened her eyes wider and burbled an unintelligible reply. Okay… maybe she had. Maybe—

  The fucking commenced in earnest. Whether Vargr’s cock had changed or not, she did not know, but she came once while he was thrusting into her back there, and Rutger had to pause and hurriedly pull out due to her biting him. Head down, panting, heartbeat galloping, she was recovering when they pulled her more upright but still on her knees.

  Rutger possessed the chain, directed her with it, and she eyed the heavy thing, feeling the tug of momentum. The chain to her collar and Rutger holding it… she sucked in her bottom lip and eyed the magnificent beaster who loomed over her.

  Until Vargr stuck himself into her full-length in one drive and ran his hand over her clit. He began toying with her, pressing, squeezing. Too soon. Far too soon. The touch on her clit was agonizing, and she squeaked.

  Her attempts to evade his hand came to nothing. “Sit fucking still.” He jammed himself into her again.

  Rutger moved up and kept tension on her neck, his hand full of chain as he mouthed her breast. He walked up it in bites that made her squeal and writhe.

  The chain at her neck was now in Vargr’s hands, she found, and though she clutched at it she could do nothing. Laughing at her predicament, he trapped her wrists again then pistoned his cock, in and out, with her on her knees and her back against him. Hard, long body-jarring drives.

  The position meant he was deep within her and stayed deep, each drive only rammed him up into her to the very limits.

  “You’re wetting my balls,” he said to her, then he took a bite from her neck, and readjusted his hold on her wrists.

  “Your fault,” she blurted. Cyn tested the strength of his grip. Nothing gave. His hands were rocks.

  She tried to see where Rutger licked and sucked at her, but the chain stopped her. All she could see was the top of his horns. He grasped one breast in a stranglehold and nipped her belly, then slid his tongue upward from her navel. When he found her nipple and sucked, she squealed, arched.

  It was so sensitive, and Vargr played her clit, massaging relentlessly, and she tensed and pressed up, going higher on her heels, higher, her thighs tensing, flexing as pleasure accumulated. “Oh. Oh.” She’d shut her eyes. Another thrust of cock from Vargr burst into her cunt, stretched her, and blew her into a second mind-rending orgasm.

  She came down from the high, feeling and hearing her wetness on his cock as he fucked her, so much of it was there that her ankles slipped on her butt.

  “Mouth or cunt?” Vargr asked, sounding distraught. “Fuck!” He’d released her hands, so she caved forward, palms to the floor, swaying and trying to remember how to use her muscles.

  “Ass. Let me guess where you’re going.”

  “Only so many holes to choose.”

  She roused, put up her head. There? Vargr had looked… bigger as well as red with nanites, but Rutger was huge.

  They gave her no choice and turned her, drew her to her feet. Bare soles pattered on cold floor. After he sat on the bench again, she was lifted onto Vargr’s lap. He made her spread her legs over him and pushed her down, letting his cock slowly sink in. The throb was immense. Sensitivity plus, considering she’d just come, twice.

  “Fuck!” she spluttered, opened her hands on his thighs, sure she’d felt his cock expand inside as if to fit tighter into her pussy.

  “Ohhh, lord. Seeing her take your cock is damn hot,” Rutger rasped. “Fuck-ing hot.”

  She felt him run a wetted finger or two to her asshole while Vargr kept screwing her slow, his big hand wrapped over her neck. Rutger pushed, wormed those fingers in, using her own moisture to lubricate them. The double sensation warped her mind. It always did.

  Rutger switched them out and pushed cock at her instead. After a minute or two of determined shoving, he breached the muscle circle. Her mouth fell open and she clutched at Vargr, fingernails digging into his muscles. Her pussy clamped tighter onto him, she whined at the pain, and her clit… her clit throbbed madly.

  “Damn!” Vargr said. “You in? I feel you, for sure.”

  “In.” He pushed again and invaded her ass, cock slowly travelling deeper. “Not far. Fuck it. Girl is too tight. Next time… dildos,” he gasped.

  She smiled and wanted to cheer them on, but also wanted to just feel.

  However far he managed to penetrate, the two of them in her was nirvana personified.

  They fucked her remorselessly, and the double occupation of her holes swelled sensation through her that nothing else had ever surpassed. Hands clutched at her. Hot breath poured over her skin. Males pressed her to them, held her, shoved their cocks deep, made her take them both and she cried out at pain, pleasure and the need… to be theirs.

  After Vargr’s last immense thrust by Vargr and spilling of his seed, Rutger followed, roaring as his cock erupted, expanded into spikes, and spurted come, jetting into her. It spilled from her as they moved, and thrust in one more time. Both fully in her.

  She stayed in their great and sweaty embrace, listening to their and her gasping, the slickness of sweat and come on her, dripping, the sweat trailing beads down her back.

  And Rutger swiped at her skin, wiping away that sweat, and he withdrew. Slowly he pulled out, so as not to hurt her, she assumed.

  She laid her forehead on Vargr’s chest, listening to the flutter of his wings, as he rearranged them.

  “When you’re ready,” Rutger said, and he must have wiped at his face from the sound, “I did find a good room. There’s water too. Better than this car yard. You can clean her butt of that blood too.” He drifted his fingertips over her ass.

  Oh yes. Blood. The sting from the wires was a small background whisper compared to everything else she was feeling.

  “After that we can rest,” Rutger added as he picked up clothes.

  “Tomorrow we need to go help Willow read those papers. I want to find out what you are, Cyn.”

  She looked up and nodded, her chin rubbing on his skin. He was still inside her, and she wasn’t ready to speak. Vargr was sounding more normal. Then she let her tongue lick a trail up his chest, and she smiled at him. She didn’t mind him, crazy or not. He tasted good.

  Chapter 25

  Maura came to them toward dusk, the flashlight she held illuminating the corridor. She was distraught and babbling. At first Cyn was more concerned that Locke wasn’t with her, that maybe something had happened to him, but then Vincent hove into view behind Maura, and she realized he too looked distressed.

  “It’s Willow,” he told them, and he gestured at Maura.

  The woman took a breath and this time her words made sense. Willow was missing and there were dead beasters in her apartment. Blood everywhere.

  Her stomach, the floor, everything sank from beneath her, leaving Cyn feeling as if she floated on dread.

  No. This could not be. She dressed on the way, drawing on shirt but only holding her leggings with Rutger and Vargr alongside. Though Maura kept up, Vincent was slower. He’d catch up.

  She’d slept in her underwear curled up with her guys. It had been bliss. But not now.

  They had weapons drawn and ready as they eased into the apartment Willow had claimed. A foot-soldier lay in his own blood
in the hallway, having cut his own throat.

  “The Lure,” Rutger said, not taking his eyes off the area ahead where more bodies were visible, more blood.

  “No.” She gulped. “None apart from the normal background. But I can smell skinsuits.”

  “They must be gone then. Because everything, everyone, ahead looks dead.” Vargr said what she feared.

  He walked forward, gingerly, with his rifle leading.

  He was right, though, Cyn saw as she passed the end of the corridor. The kitchen to the left had been empty, the hallway too, but this larger living space was filled with bodies. Three more lay dead by their own hands from appearances. Blood came from throat wounds.

  Maura was weeping, and she collapsed to the floor. “I looked then ran for you.”

  The last few rooms were another bedroom, a bathroom and a study with a desk that she could see partly through an open door. The windows in here were fake and led nowhere.

  “How?” Vargr asked, weapon drooping. “There’s the one entry. Where is Willow?”

  “Gone. I told you.” Maura banged her head against the wall behind her. “I was scared but I looked.”

  If Willow was gone, maybe she’d escaped?

  “Did she run out? Maura?”

  “I don’t think so.” Her eyes were filled with grief. “I think whatever it was grabbed her, took her. You see the trail of rot?”

  As if unsure of their deaths, Rutger was kneeling by each body and checking for a pulse. “The study, Vargr? No body there?”

  “None.”

  “Wait here.” He ran back toward the entry door and passed her.

  “Wait. Rutger! You need me. You can’t control the Lure.”

  They both exited onto the roadway, brushing past Vincent who was only just arriving. They set off at a brisk trot. The trail led in a straight line toward the edge of War Quarter. She kept pace with Rutger then looked back and saw Vargr at the door. He was staying but that was fine.

  If she could not stop this, no one could.

  “Gun ready,” she told Rutger.

  “Of course.”

  A smeared track of rotted flesh lay under her feet and led onward. A shoe she knew was Willow’s lay at one spot, then its partner sat on the floor further along. Devastating evidence. They ran for ten minutes or more, until they could see the end of the quarter, the edge. The trail kept going and the glass door ahead, where a footbridge spanned the gap, it was smashed open. Glass glittered on the path.

  They jogged to a stop, recovering, panting, knowing this was hours old.

  Reality closed in and it was an awful thing to contemplate.

  She went to one knee and bowed her head, staring along the floor where the glass had fallen like sharp unwelcome rain, seeing the bits of darkness there too, and the splashes of fresh blood. For a second she imagined the screams from Willow, her struggles, then she shut that down.

  No.

  The stench of skinsuits was strong here, as if the bad flesh had gone more rancid over time. Outside, the sun glanced off the intact glass walls, washing them with odd-shaped shadows. There must be clouds above, with the sunlight coming down through a cloudy sky. Perhaps a storm was brewing. She rose, stuffing her gun into its holster, listening to her heart beats, and she vowed never to take another day for granted.

  It might rain on Willow.

  She swallowed, said a quiet swear word.

  Opposite was yet another quarter of unknown name. Her eyes registered the shape of signs plastered on the edge of that quarter but she didn’t bother to really see them. Willow was gone.

  “The blood on the soldiers was clotted, cold.” Rutger straightened, inhaled. “We never had a chance. Let’s return.”

  “Yes.”

  The jog back was a terrible and lonely one. Ghoul Lords had taken the one person they needed most.

  It was not Cyn; it was Willow.

  At the door to the apartment, Rutger stuck his arm in the way before she could enter. Pieces had been knocked from the frame and fallen to the floor. From the color of the marks on the wall, Vincent had forced his way in. “Can we get her back, somehow? Assemble soldiers and go up? Is it possible?”

  “After knowing what happens on Top? How they devour us. How many there are… no, not without a proper force of us, all of us able to resist the Lure. I am not enough.” She frowned at him, bereft with anguish and her own inability.

  “Fuck!” He punched the door frame. “Come. Let’s see what they found out.”

  Like maybe there were miracles written on the walls? A last scrawled message from Willow?

  No. there would not be. But she trudged after him.

  When Maura looked to them from where she sat next to Vincent on the bed of the innermost bedroom, Cyn shook her head. Vincent laid his arm around her in a gentle hug, and the bed creaked and dipped even further in the middle.

  “No. I’m sorry. She’s gone. We are only down the road a way. Would have heard shouts if they had any chance to resist.” The explanation was as much for her as for Maura. She was trying to understand what had happened. “The Lure must’ve got them fast.”

  It might have been several skinsuits.

  “They should have kept me as a guard, or one of us rockmen,” Vincent said miserably.

  The truth in that only made her feel worse. “Or me. Hindsight never achieves much.”

  She’d been too busy having sex. There were many better decisions that could have added up to Willow and these beasters surviving. Next time. Next time they’d know better. Do better.

  She wanted to go punch walls, like Rutger did when he was angry.

  “This was planned. A strategic strike.” Rutger sat down on the other side of Maura.

  That bed was going to explode under the weight.

  Surprisingly, Maura had a gleam in her eyes when she raised her head.

  “There’s something important. Something… big. I told Willow I might inject myself with nanites, but she refused, told me I should wait until I knew what was best. Until we knew if it was safe.” She inhaled, exhaled. “Before they took her, Willow was reading a paper that says what you are. Go in and see Vargr. He has the notes.”

  The fire in her words was courageous, considering what they faced. Maura was a good woman but never this.

  Rocked by her certainty, wondering what Maura had found, Cyn entered the study where Vargr was vacating the chair of the desk.

  “Read,” he said, gesturing at the desk to her and Rutger. “You need to see the words yourself.” Then he went to the wall and leaned on it, watching greedily as she approached the opened folder.

  Cyn sat, pulled in the chair, and Rutger leaned over her. She found it difficult to focus at first, to understand anything beyond the pain in her chest and the tears that threatened to fall.

  “Okay, here goes,” she murmured, and she opened the folder.

  Rutger pressed his hand to the top of her head.

  Together they read. This wasn’t even in code but must have been buried among the many papers.

  It was page sixty-two that was bookmarked.

  PROJECT MAELSTROM & PROJECT BEAST HORDE

  Details of the DNA attached to the nanomachines, in summary. This was as recovered from the bodies found at the archaeological excavation in New Zealand (precise site location redacted).

  BEAST HORDE DNA, probable origins:

  #1 Gargoyle – subject alterations range from increased bulk, horns, nodules on and hardening of the skin, increased strength, claws, wings etc. Lure resistance. Curiously, also a possessive attachment to the buildings they are stationed on has manifested.

  #2 Dwarf – decreased stature but increased muscle mass and strength, resistance to the Lure, ability to manipulate technology and create new mechanisms such as weaponry.

  #3 Fae – slender build, Lure resistance, ability to somehow do what appears to be ‘magic’ that manifests as mind powers, empathy with animals, healing, diagnostic abilities, and electronic manipulations. T
he ramifications are as yet not fully explored. The suggestion that ‘magic’ is actually a power to transform electrical and atomic energies has some merit.

  As the Beast Horde subjects have not been able to fully resist the effects of the Lure, we moved on to MAELSTROM, using DNA from more questionable sources.

  #1 Troll – increased size, weight, transformation of muscle and other organ tissue to a greatly calcified type of flesh. Though showing immense promise in our war against the Ghoul Lords and an apparent total resistance to the Lure, tests show they also are photosensitive to extremes.

  #2 Demon – high Lure resistance but not complete, we suspect. Only one subject survived. Tests are to continue.

  I am a demon?

  “This is impossible. Ridiculous.” Shaking her head, she rose from the chair, noting that Rutger also was stunned and had not managed to assemble any words as yet.

  Demons, gargoyles? Dwarfs? Fae? Her gaze swung to Vargr, and he shrugged, waiting with his hands clasped and his wings relaxed at his back. As if today was nothing different, as if Willow wasn’t gone, after having uncovered this most bizarre research.

  “We need Willow to explain.” She clutched at the desk. They didn’t have her. Maybe this was some imaginings of hers, written down as a story, but movement caught her eye, and she looked up to see Maura in the study doorway.

  “It all fits. You may not believe this, Cyn, any of you, but I do.” Maura stiffened, pushed back her shoulders. The wrinkles on her face drove home her age. Her hands were shaking where she’d clasped them at her waist. “I owe it to Willow to try to be what she was, because you need one of what she was…” Her mouth pinched in.

  “A fae,” Cyn breathed. She brought her hand to her gun, drew it from the holster, hearing the slick sounds of metal sliding on leather.

  She knew what to name it now. Not Ghoul Killer or whatever. Her gun was a she.

  “I name you Willow.” Then she kissed the steel and gold, and shoved the gun back into the holster.

  She took a few long, slow breaths while staring at the rug and holding back the sting in her eyes, then she looked to Vargr.