by Mima
Mario leaned over her shoulder and shouted to Jack, “She’s a virgin.”
Jack kissed her harder, deeper. “Can you control your power?”
She smiled, dragging her throbbing tips across his hot leather vest. “I have no idea.” She was a woman on fire, sexually ripe for two total strangers in public.
“I’m an elf. We won’t have a problem.” He looked at Mario. “You?”
“Gandharva. You need to take her first.”
Charlotte opened her mouth, not quite liking being given away and kind of curious about what Mario was. But Jack took her breath, and Mario worked her clit, and soon she was crying out.
The orgasm was beautiful, hard and sizzling. She laughed, arching into Mario’s grip.
“Ready for me now, foxfire?”
With the crowd a warm wall around her, she sank into the sensuality she’d claimed. “Yes, elf. Here and now. Ready.”
Jack ducked enough to grab her thighs, grip sliding as he tucked her knees around him. With her feet off the floor, Jack opened his pants and drew out a long column of flesh. She only caught a glimpse before he bent it between her labia. His erection lodged at her entrance. Mario held her around the waist, bracing both of them as Jack leaned in and shoved, shoved, shoved himself inside. But he did it to the beat, his body still in the dance.
It hurt, both an ache and a sting that took her breath. Charlotte bucked and twisted, gaze darting at the people jumping and grinding all around her. She couldn’t hear. She had no idea which way the exit was. If she needed help, would anyone listen?
That’s when she realized Jack hadn’t used a condom. She struggled seriously then. “Condom!” she shouted angrily.
Jack pulled out immediately. “You’re not protected?” He seemed as horrified as she.
“Yes, I’m on the pill but, hello? Safety?” she spat back defensively.
Pushing at his sweaty brown curls, he staggered away from her, then packed himself back into his jeans. “Get yourself in order, woman.”
He disappeared. One moment there, one moment an empty space. Charlotte turned to face Mario, pulling on her arms to be free of his hold. Tears burned in her throat. Mario held up his hands, clearly not wanting to frighten her. His mashed, darkly tan face and black silky hair now looked horrible to her. She shoved at him. Bowing his head, he turned and threaded into the crowd.
His back was covered in a row of spikes! Each vertebra had its own point, shorter on top, longer in the middle, shorter at the waist. His tee was shredded and ripped around them, revealing the knobby mounds of muscle holding each in place. It was the last straw. That she’d wanted to make love to a monster shocked her.
Ignorant! She was still so lost in this magical world. Clawing through the writhing mass of people, she fought until she found the mirrored back wall of the club. When she saw herself burst from the crowd, she gasped. Her cheeks blazed, her lips were swollen, her eyes glittered. Her breasts swayed, completely bare, and her nipples were darkly erect. Hurriedly, she hauled the tiny red cups up to cover herself as best she could. She followed the slick glass to the women’s restroom and crashed in.
Perky sat on the sink counter, talking with a blue-skinned woman. Both women looked openly shocked at her tears.
“Charlotte! Honey, what happened?” Perky jumped down off the counter, tiny breasts bobbing behind the sheer tops.
“I-I-He-he—” She took a huge breath. “I want to go home.” What had she been thinking! Not an hour after getting cold feet with Ivor, she dove into Ryder’s world of dance, and it hadn’t been the right decision. She wasn’t ready for this. Not for the dancing, not for the men, not for the magic.
Both women patted her on the shoulder. Perky offered a wet paper towel, and Charlotte wiped her face. Bombshell Charlotte disappeared, well, like a bomb. The blue woman froze and stepped away.
While Charlotte snuffled, Perky asked, “What is it, Lara?”
Lara shook her head.
Charlotte stiffened. “What?”
Lara’s odd electric-blue eyes darted away from her gaze. “Were you raped?”
Stumbling to lean on the counter, she sighed. “No. Not even coerced. I was just stupid.”
“Oh.” Lara crossed her arms.
Both women stared at Lara, demanding.
She shrugged. “Congratulations.”
“Excuse me?”
Perky gasped, hands flying to her mouth. She turned on Charlotte. “Are you kidding me? You came on the Singles’ Cruise unprotected?”
Charlotte stared at Lara. “Are you telling me . . . ?”
Lara nodded, uncrossing and recrossing her arms. “You’re pregnant.”
Charlotte scoffed. “He didn’t even come!”
“Come?” Perky’s disbelief was matched only by her disdain.
“Are you for real?” Lara asked. She looked down at Perky. “Is she for real?”
Perky ran her hand through her spiky hair. “You said this was your first cruise, but I wouldn’t expect it to be your first trip out of a box. I can name three races right now who can impregnate through their breath.”
“Breath . . .” Charlotte looked blindly toward the door. Breath? In the packed nightclub gyrating with lust right now?
Perky slapped at her arm, which surprised her enough to make her jump. “You total bitch. Did you trap someone? Pregnancy is the fastest way to force a business merger.”
Wrapping her arms around herself, Charlotte shook her head. Business was the furthest thing from her mind. She’d wanted a lover, not a family. “It’s not true. I can’t be pregnant.”
Lara gasped with deep indignation. “How dare you! My magic is just fine!” She stormed from the room, door swinging with a smack.
Perky picked up her beer. “I don’t know what happened out there, but you need to get yourself together, mama. And just so you know, I hear the Elder is watching the exits for you.” She flounced out, tiny ass twitching in her tiny skirt.
Charlotte pressed her fist to her mouth. Staring into the mirror at her bedraggled hair held back with a sparkly hairpin, she met her own gaze. This was all a bad dream. Magic was only in Gram’s stories, and she was still a virgin starting a fun cruise. Pulling her skirt back up to her waist, she pressed on her belly. Pregnant . . . and it might not even be the elf?
A woman trotted into the bathroom. Literally. On legs ending in horse hooves.
She shouted, “Bad night, sweetie?” The stall door slammed and the sound of a huge stream of piss erupted. “Don’t worry, there are plenty of guys out there!”
Charlotte covered her face and started to cry in huge, deep sobs.
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“No.” She shook her head. “I won’t go onstage.”
“Then his death will be on you.” She raised the knife.
“There’s no way I’ll ever believe his pain is my fault.” She edged back, mincing farther from the pair.
“Well, it is. Especially this bit.” She stabbed into his abdomen, flesh flying as she wrenched the knife free.
Charlotte lunged for the dressing table, grabbing up an enormous gold canister of hair spray. Fumbling, she lifted it, aiming at the Elder.
A woman in a long skirt and corset was suddenly before her. She whacked Charlotte’s wrists with a spiral wooden staff, and the can clattered to the floor. Charlotte cried out, staring at the older woman in shock. Her chest was bare, presented by the corset, and her salt-and-pepper hair was an astonishing tangle of curls and treasures atop her head.
“Thank you, Willow. An interesting move, wisp. I expected a magical attack, not a physical one. Did you think me unattended?”
She slashed at Ryder’s thig
h. “Go onto the stage. Sing for the people.”
Charlotte shook her head, hands pressed to her mouth.
The Elder slashed at Ryder’s chest. “Go now, or my next strike will be across his throat.”
Blood poured down Ryder’s abdomen, drenching the hair there. Charlotte gagged, body bowing under the need to vomit. But she shook her head.
The Elder raised her hand, setting the knife to Ryder’s jugular. “Go out that door, now!”
“No!” Charlotte screamed at her. “Help! Help us!”
The bare-chested woman whacked Charlotte with her staff so hard she collapsed, head ringing, shocked at the pain rocketing down her spine from her temple. Disco lights flashed before her eyes.
The Elder stomped and cursed in some arcane language, pacing back and forth across the room. Finally, she kicked at Charlotte, who cringed, taking the fairly weak blow in the shoulder. “Take them below.”
With that, she left by the far door, revealing a dark hallway. The woman, Willow, crouched down near Charlotte, her pale peach skirts pooling in a taffeta hiss. “Who sent you?”
Charlotte was getting tired of shaking her head. “No one! I’m just a normal person from White Plains. I didn’t even know I was a fantastical until last night.”
She sighed. “I see. In that case, you have terrible luck.” She stood and swung her staff back up over her head, as if she were going to take on a long golf drive with a three iron.
Charlotte flung up her arm. “Help!”
But the swing never came. Instead, a zap of pink light shot from the end of the staff, sizzling her into darkness.
When her head started to throb with nightclub intensity, she dragged her eyes open. Her neck ached, and she was freezing. It felt like a moment had passed, but she was now in a metal room painted industrial gray, with riveted seams and a rounded metal door that had a lever handle and a high threshold.
Something was growling in the corner opposite where she lay. A pair of glowing red eyes stared back at her.
Ryder was awake, but something wasn’t right in vampire-land. His fangs were out, his skin stretched tight across his face, his lips thinned, jaw constantly seeking and sliding. She shivered. There were no erotic thoughts about being bitten now.
“Ryder?” she whispered.
He snarled, the sound echoing in the empty metal room. Rattling chains deafened as he lunged, body blurring three feet only to be brought up short. His arms reached for her, muscles bunching, hands curled into claws. Only a yard separated his fingertips from her toes.
Scrabbling, she pulled herself into a smaller ball. He hunkered down, slackening the chain, and drooled. The lever squealed and Charlotte jumped.
When the door swung open, Willow stood in a very narrow hall, lit by the barren lightbulb shining beside the doorway. The bare-chested fairy goddess looked absolutely absurd in the industrial setting. With her towering flower-and-lace-trimmed curls, brocade shelf corset, and long lacy skirt, she belonged in a French meadow.
Seeing the woman the Elder had called Willow and listening to Ryder’s growls made her heart stutter. She had never been afraid of death. But she didn’t want to go now. She swallowed. “Let’s leave,” she pleaded to the woman. “Now. To a meadow.”
The woman smiled sweetly at her.
Time stopped. Death had come to her. Here, in this metal room. And it wasn’t going to be gentle.
“I’ve come to assure you that I will register your name after your death. You will be remembered as a lost foxfire.” Willow sighed, fragile smile crumbling. “Our queen is a difficult mistress. I’m sure Ryder will bring death quickly in his current state. You will not suffer.”
From far off, Charlotte became aware of a deep thrumming, a rhythmic grinding of powerful engines. They were at the bottom of the ship, far from any passersby.
Willow looked from Charlotte to Ryder, then she looked up. Charlotte followed her gaze with dread. Up, and up. The ceiling was probably twelve feet high, but in each corner hung assorted statues. Each one appeared to be a unique granite gargoyle, squatting upside down, clutching the ceiling with feet and hands. Three of them were animalistic, reminding her of a pig, bat, and dog respectively, but the fourth was no creature she knew. It seemed reptilian, with a dragon-fanged snout and curving tusks. They definitely did not belong in an engine-room closet.
“Wh-wh-what are they? Why?” Her voice was gritty, her words hoarse, but the woman heard her.
“Charlotte, you have disappointed the Elder. She had hoped to arrange a public death, so that she might taste your power. It would have been risky, but since you’re unregistered and untrained, it was probable she’d gain from it.”
The woman looked at Ryder and sighed. “She was happy to take the opportunity to rid herself of a critic with growing support as well. But now that you have proved uncooperative, she’s planned a display. It will be a case of a pair of lovers grown too intense, too fast, passions out of control.”
“How will you explain Ryder’s condition? Or what we were doing down here?”
“Oh, you won’t be found down here, but in his room. This is just a convenient place to clean up a mess. And vampires turn to ash upon death, so there’s never evidence there. You’ll be drained, which will make all dismiss his death as a shocking but deserved outcome.”
“How’s he supposed to die if I’m dead?”
Willow looked at her with sad amusement. “Enslaved vampires never do anything logical. Such details will not be studied.”
“Why would he be—”
Willow held up her hand. “Enough questions, dear heart. Your time has come. Ryder will kill you, unpleasantly but fairly quickly, I believe. I give him a half-hour at most before hunger overwhelms him and he snaps those enchanted chains. Then, having seen him break the law, these gargoyles will hunt him easily, fulfilling their obligation to the Elder. When it is done, I will place your bloodless body in his room for his friends to find.” She nodded, satisfied. “Good-bye. May you shine with the moon in peace.”
“No!” Charlotte cried out, stretching her hand up to the woman. “Please—”
The door swung shut with a clang.
Scrambling to her feet, she made two steps before she realized she, too, was bound. A thick white ship’s rope wound around her waist. Pulling on it, she whirled, tracing it back to a hole cut in one of the jutting seams. She yanked it in frustration.
Ryder slobbered and lunged, his arms coming just short of her elbow. She stumbled back against the wall. The door sat an immense five yards away. Frantically, she dragged the circle of rope to her front and plucked at the knot.
With a cry she pulled her fingers up sharply. The tips of four of them bore bright red slashes, stinging deep.
Ryder went insane. Turning her head to the side, she held tight to the metal wall, expecting his chains to snap at any moment from the force of his struggles. His screams and thudding body were so loud, but when he fell to panting, exhausted, lying in a smear of his own blood, no sound of footsteps came. For all she knew Willow was still outside the door.
Looking back at the seemingly ordinary knot, Charlotte extended one forefinger and poked at it. With a hiss, she drew the sliced tip up to her mouth and sucked. Somehow the knot was embedded with invisible razor blades.
Gingerly, she turned the rope around again, putting the knot at her back. Licking her lips, she walked to the wall and fingered the knot there. The same thing! Skin stinging, she slapped at her dress, streaking blood on it. Ryder snarled belligerently.
Fisting her hands, squeezing the pain away, she tried to reach him. “Ryder, it’s Charlotte, your new lover.” She knelt, keeping her movements slow, her voice soft.
“I’m so sorry meeting me has dragged you into this. I guess keeping me from registering wasn’t the best decision, huh?”
He lay on his side, one hand pressed to
the floor. Staring at her with demonic eyes.
“You don’t want to bite me, Ryder. Yesterday you told me it wasn’t fun. I can imagine you’re very hungry right now, but I’m not the right food for you.”
She edged a little closer on her knees. Making her voice even slower, more singsong, she whispered, “We have to get out of here. You’re strong enough to break those chains and snap my rope.”
She couldn’t think about the gargoyles right now, but they appeared to be sleeping, or whatever. “You don’t have to attack me. We’ll get help, find the fantastical police, the enforcers. I know she’s powerful, but she’s trying to hide this, to set us up, so it must be very wrong.”
Holding her shaking fist out just slightly toward him, she begged, “Please, Ryder. Talk to me. Find your way out of this hunger. This was supposed to be a night of pleasure—”
He went insane again, frantically flailing at the end of his leash. She winced, both in fear of his ferocity and in sympathy at how the chains cut into his neck, gagging him. Eventually, he fell into lower growls, crawling back and forth on his knees in a deeply disturbing predatory way.
Charlotte slumped. Sending her bloody fingers into her loose, silky hair, she stared blindly at the bare floor. She was going to die in a metal closet, eaten by a vampire at the paranoid hand of a crazy old fairy. Being a fantastical sucked. Her breathing hiccuped, her throat growing tight. Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to hold the tears back.
Think! she commanded herself. Her gaze jumped around the room. All she saw were their tethers, the metal walls, the waiting assassins, and the gruesome crimson slashes on Ryder. His abdomen was the worst, still gaping on bare muscle. While his face seemed a little less swollen and disfigured than it had in the changing room, he was a mess.
She didn’t blame him for wanting to rip her throat out. Willow had said it was just a matter of time until he became so crazed he broke his chains. Having witnessed his bestial effort, she didn’t doubt it.
She swallowed, but her head grew thick with fear. She closed her eyes tight, squeezing hard. Never had she been in such an overwhelming, terrifying position. Was she going to hold these tears back, or let them flow?