by Corin Cain
I’ve walked past the alley a thousand times and never spared it a glance.
Danger.
The thought bubbles up in me. And yet… Somehow, the dark alley calls to me. Other people walk by, as if they can’t hear the same subtle, tingling, crackling sound that I can – like twigs crunching underfoot in the midst of a forest.
I stare into the darkness of the alleyway, and I feel the call of the…
The void.
There’s no other way to describe it. The void.
The sickening sensation of letting go.
This morning? I was logical. Precise.
But now, I feel insane. There’s a dark undercurrent that flows beneath the day-to-day life we breeze through, and it’s as if I suddenly detect it for the first time.
That taxi? It’s driving by just a little too close. The slick patch of ice? You could break your neck on that.
Suddenly, I see it all – the teeming danger, poised all around us. We all like to pretend there isn’t danger in our modern, sanitized world – but suddenly I’m tuned into it. It’s constant, lurking everywhere around us, yet flowing beneath the surface where most people don’t detect it – or willfully choose not to.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but I do it.
I take a step forward, into the alleyway, toward the unknown.
My high heels click against the cobblestones. I enter the alley, stepping away from normalcy and into this insanity I suddenly feel.
“I’ve gone mad,” I mutter under my breath.
It’s the only explanation. The stress of the day’s trauma has turned me insane. What other reason could I have for walking into a dark alley, knowingly pulling myself away from the safety of the world?
My jaw drops as reality suddenly splits in front of me. The dismal alley’s defining feature had previously been the stink of piss and garbage. Now, suddenly – hanging in the middle of the air – there’s a slit opening in reality.
I stare at it, rippling and crackling, and I know with complete certainty that I’ve truly gone insane. The alternative? The alternative is impossible.
In real life, a portal doesn’t open in front of you.
In real life, you don’t have three towering, broad-shouldered, Greek Gods of men stepping out of said portal, and right into your reality.
Shirtless, in nothing but loinclothes, with every inch of their rippling, marble-hued muscles covered in tribal tattoos – stepping onto the cobblestones of that piss-strewn alleyway like the crackling portal was somehow birthing them.
The dark light of the alley, combined with the ripples of the portal, reflect against the marble skin of these… these interlopers.
I gasp. Bright green blood vessels snake beneath the surface of their skin, contrasting against their pure, ivory musculature. These… these things are both hideous… Terrifying… And yet beautiful…
I can still see the rippling slits of the tear in reality, past the huge, bulky bodies of these three towering strangers, and through it I see bright, vibrant light. The smell of jungle – warm, sticky and verdant – drifts from their side of reality – or unreality – to mine.
“What… what’s happening?” I demand out loud.
But I know what’s happening. I’ve gone mad.
I know with one-hundred-percent certainty that I’ve truly lost it.
I’m suddenly taken back to the panic attack I had in that courtroom – how everything seemed to disappear, and all I could feel was a deep, primal fear. Right now, my heart is pounding just as fast as it had on that day.
I’ve finally broken down.
I know, because I’m seeing things. What’s unfolding in front of me can’t be happening.
It’s all a figment of my fractured imagination – no matter how vivid it seems.
The figment of my imagination that is the leader of these three, beastly men has a dark shock of hair – as black as obsidian. His features are the polar opposite of my former fiancé, Joshua. Whereas Joshua has an almost feminine, playful face, this man is all hard lines and a strong jaw. His eyes are a deep, dark green – so green that it’s impossible, and yet so bright that they could almost be radiating light. This towering stranger stares down at me – as though he’s been lost in the desert for days, and isn’t sure if I’m an oasis… Or a mirage.
I almost laugh at that. He should talk!
Only he doesn’t talk – and neither do the two, huge men standing a foot behind the leader.
They share his brilliant green eyes – but only that. One of them has short, buzzed hair and a vicious scar running from his chiseled abs all the way up to an inch beneath his heart. A hefty solid gold chain dangles down across his chest.
The third otherworldly stranger has a trimmed mohawk, and he licks his lips as he stares at me; like nothing else exists in the world.
“Aubrey,” rumbles the leader, in a thickly accented voice.
His words are drawn out, as though he speaks in a dialect I’ve never encountered before. His voice sounds out of this world.
I’m transfixed. Paralyzed. I can’t even run – not even as this huge monster of a man strides towards me – his powerful leg muscles flexing as he steps forward.
Why should I? None of this is real, right?
In the face of the loss of my relationship, and the disintegration of the future I’d so carefully planned, my mind simply snapped and conjured a fantasy.
I’ve just imagined these three, impossibly-muscled, sexy barbarian men; all covered in tattoos and scars.
Either that, or the leader of the triad really does just step forward, scoop me up like I’m a ragdoll, and throw me over his broad shoulder.
This isn’t happening, right?
Only I suddenly realize it is.
I feel like a sack of potatoes as the looming stranger hoists me back through the crackling portal, and suddenly the cold air of New York City disappears as instantly and thoroughly as my sanity.
2
Stryker
Joy.
I now know what this word, so foreign to me, actually means.
The moment I set my eyes on her, I felt in my heart. The brackish air of her homeworld could not tarnish the clean scent of my mate.
She smells… right.
My triad earned her. We risked our lives to kill the great beast that lurks in the caves – the Scorp Queen whose warriors had endlessly harried our tribe. We brought back her poison glands for our tribe – but her severed head was an offering to our God.
A sacrifice – to prove our worth. And, in return, our Orb God rewarded us with perfection.
Despite my joy, I frown momentarily as I walk forward – through the rippling portal, and back onto the ground of my home world.
Aubrey’s world had an unnatural ground in it – one with no give underfoot.
As I step forward back into my own world, I feel her banging against my back with her tiny fists.
It doesn’t hurt – but I am annoyed that she’s fighting her destiny.
That we’ll take care of soon enough. The elders of my tribe often brag about how quickly they tamed their mates. My cock surges as I imagine the ecstasy of the taming process – of bending this fertile young woman to my desires, and then seeding her.
And what if she rejects you? What if she decides she wants no place in your cave? What if she demands the portal take her back to her world?
I push back these thoughts, breathing in her scent instead.
Thoughts of defeat have no place in a warrior’s mind. There’s no worse fate than to be scorned by your mate. One who loses their honor in such a way loses all respect among the tribe.
But that will not happen – no matter how much she fights and struggles right now.
My mate says something in her foreign language, her voice lilting and high pitched – so unlike my own. Everything about her fascinates me. She’s so soft against me – so small and vulnerable.
"She is exquisite.” Telepaths Brigg through the bo
nd. We’re a warrior triad, not blood-related but bonded by something far greater; by the violence and blood of battle.
He is my blood-brother. We felt the connection at the young age of one-hundred-and-thirty, and our minds merged when we killed our first Scorp together; during an ambush while we mined the precious metals that Brigg later forged into his treasured chain.
That day, he and I earned our first tattoos and became marked men – no longer just boys within the tribe. I remember it well – seared as indelibly in my memory as the ink is in my skin.
I remember the feeling of when the Scorp venom within the ink first went coursing through my veins. I remember the barely controlled rage and anger that bubbled up beneath the surface of my being.
The price of great strength and the ability to sire children is high. That price is your very mind.
“Our mate is taller than most. She’ll bear us an army of sons – taller even than us!” The voice is that of Haleon, boasting, preferring to articulate his thoughts out loud than telepath them through our bond.
Haleon runs a hand through his mohawk. He wishes deeply that he was the one carrying our beautiful mate right now. Yet, I dealt the killing blow to the Scorp Queen. I earned the duty to lead us into battle, and the right to carry our well-deserved reward.
Besides, such thinking is so… Human.
We are one, Haleon, Brigg and I. One soul in three warrior’s bodies. And, soon, we’ll have our reward to share.
The minute – no, the second I have this woman in the safety of our caves, I’m going to make her mind melt from pleasure. I’m going to make her moans echo throughout the cave. I’ll teach her my name, and she’ll scream it out in ecstasy time and time again.
The lust of Brigg and Haleon pours through the bond. It mirrors mine. This female may be tall for a human woman, but she’ll still be tiny compared to us – when our three bodies are ravishing her.
My mate speaks again in my ear – her voice like music, even though I can hear the complaints in her words. I know she’s complaining, despite not understanding her language. About what, though… That’s another question.
We’ll have to negotiate with our tribe for use of the amulet we share – the one which allows us to understand those who do not speak our tongue. The owner of the amulet, Reep, will drive a hard bargain, but it is essential that our mate understands us if we want to keep her. There is always the thin tendril of worry in the background of my mind that my mate will reject us.
Yet, even if her words are meaningless, I could never grow tired of her feminine, lilting voice. I picture her with her belly swollen and her breasts full of milk – plump with my seed and siring my heirs.
That is her destiny – whether she knows it or not.
Aubrey eventually stops hitting her open palms against my back. Good. She has accepted the inevitability of her situation.
She will find joy in being our mate, and I will give her everything I have to ensure that.
3
Aubrey
“Let me down you muscled oaf!”
Did I seriously just call him an oaf? That’s the word I picked? I’ve been pulled into a strange new place, not 18th century England.
I’m yelling, but the leader of these three towering creatures – who has me slung over his huge shoulder like a sack of potatoes – just grunts and readjusts me.
The heat of this place hits me as he carries me through this… This jungle?
Yes, I’m near a jungle, or at least it feels like one. The same one I saw and smelt on the other side of that portal; back in the alleyway, in New York. Though from the glances downwards I can see lush plains and verdant grass, the smells are amazonian.
No wonder I’m hot. I’m dressed for early New York winter – and now we’re on their side of the portal, it suddenly makes sense why these three, huge men are wearing tight clothes that are a cross between shorts and a loincloth; fashioned out of animal skin.
“Put me down!” I demand again, and realize the futility of it.
I’m crazy, remember? And I can’t argue with myself.
Besides, if this figment of my imagination even understands me, it doesn’t seem to care what I have to say.
At first, I struggled, and smacked my fists against his back. Then I realized I might not want to piss off the leader of these three, seven-feet-tall warrior beasts.
After all, what might they do to me?
Then, I asked myself that question in a different mental tone…
What might they do to me?
I shivered. My mind chose a rather… pleasant way to go insane. The skin of the man carrying me feels so real against my hands as I grope for purchase on his shoulder. With every breath of humid air, I taste this warrior’s musk in my nostrils. I usually hate the smell of sweat on a man – but somehow, this one’s scent doesn’t disgust me. It’s a manly, yet faint smell that I’d be lying if I said didn’t affect me.
At least my subconscious mind doesn’t hate me – or these three, imaginary men would smell rank.
The firm hand of the warrior pats my bottom, and my cheeks burn bright red. I’d clearly praised my subconscious too soon. My mind apparently wants me to experience the true humiliation of powerlessness.
I return to slapping the beast’s broad back in protest, and he just laughs - a low, deep rumble that I feel throughout my body. Then, he gives me a hard spank across my bottom, and I bite my lip to stop myself from hitting him again. I’m not going to play this game.
“I get it. I smack you, you smack me. Find another woman to play your stupid little game with,” I mutter under my breath. I can’t tell if this beastly warrior doesn’t understand me – or simply doesn’t care. Either way, it makes no difference to the end result. He doesn’t put me down. Each step he takes, I bounce on his huge shoulders – sweat forming on my brow from the heat of this… this place.
This planet.
I say planet because, somehow, I know this isn’t any jungle climate on Earth. And why would it be? Why would my imagination keep me tethered to Earth, when there is a whole imaginary universe to explore?
I laugh silently, and resign myself to the situation. There’s no way I can overpower this huge, hulking creature – or his friends.
I look down. I’ve got a front row seat to study his muscled, heavily-tattooed back.
Up close, I can see every vein in this monster’s body – spreading out like roots beneath his marble skin. The veins are bright green; as if the very blood pumping through them is venomous. His tight loincloth-style shorts are tight on his athletic backside – and I study each muscular bun and the way that they move with each powerful step he takes.
Heat warms my face as I realize that I’m actually imagining what his muscled buttocks would like, moving with each step, if he didn’t have that pesky loincloth on. To avoid the thoughts, I turn my head right.
Big mistake.
The second barbarian is staring at me like a hungry wolf. His eyes are a duller shade of green than those of his leader. They don’t sparkle the same way, but they still have a deep, green hue to them – this time flecked with gold flakes. Unlike the leader of the trio, who has long black hair that falls nearly to his shoulders, this second figure has a closely shaved head. A dangling chain of gold hangs from his neck, bouncing silently with every step. It brings out the color of his eyes, though I doubt a barbarian notices such details when he is accessorizing in the morning. Around his belt is the dangling hilt of a weapon – a wooden stick with a blackish-blue orb in it. The weapon looks strangely incomplete – almost as if it looks like it should have a barb or mace at the end.
I glance down – and then wince. I should not have looked at his belt.
The huge, beastly warrior is wearing the same type of garment as his leader. Considering the man’s towering stature, I was expecting a sizeable bulge. I was not expecting to see the vividly-clear outline of his rock-hard cock, snaking parallel with his right leg.
It’s too big to b
e real. It’s fucking huge. If his hybrid loincloth and shorts were an inch shorter, the massive bell head of his cock would be clearly visible.
Guilt and shame well up inside me. Over the last ten years, I didn’t think about any man other than Joshua. I have to remind myself that I’m not in a relationship anymore. In fact, I’m probably lying on the filthy ground of that New York alleyway, having a psychotic episode.
I realize I’m still staring at this warrior’s dick. My cheeks redden, and I turn my head left. The last barbarian is staring right at me as well – a slight smile on his face. He looked so ferocious at first glance, but now the mohawked warrior’s stern face is ever so slightly softened by the hint of a smile.
The leader’s eyes are emerald, and the one with the buzzcut has deep jade to them, flecked with gold. This mohawked warrior has eyes that are almost grey - the light hint of green looking more human than his brethren. His skin enthralls me. Where the men are not covered in green tribal tattoos, their skin is the color of marble - contrasting beautifully against their green veins. I gasp as I see a fresh wound on the mohawked warrior’s shoulder, still dripping blood.
It isn’t red blood.
It’s green.
If these warriors are human, they’re like no other human I’ve ever seen. The mohawked warrior strides powerfully on muscled legs, his skin so unblemished, unlike the faint scars on my thighs that make me hate being naked – especially in front of other people. I sigh as I see that the third warrior’s cock is rock hard as well.
There’s nowhere safe to look! Every which way has sinful sights that are making my breath quicken and my nipples harden uncomfortably. I squeeze shut my eyes, trying to take stock of the situation.
These three, huge, impossibly-muscled Greek Gods are aching for me. I’ve never felt so desired in all my life. I open my eyes and drop my gaze across the leader’s enormous back. I’m frustrated at my own helplessness.
Helplessness in this situation – the prisoner of these three enormous men – and helpless within my own mind. Because this is all a hallucination, right? I’m completely fucking insane.