'Twas the Darkest Night

by Sophie Avett

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sebastian’s body was slick with sweat and spotted with red welts. Brendon and Marshall stood on either side of him as he knelt, pressing his brow to the dais, shaking and shuddering. The other men found themselves staring face to face with their respective Mistresses. Elsa no longer looked uncertain. Standing with her hammer, she cut a bloody figure in the spectral light. She looked fey. She looked beyond him. Somehow standing as his equal and far, far above him.

  Where he wanted to feel ease, he didn’t. The calm that had settled on his shoulders during their private interlude evaporated. He felt disquiet, but he was determined not to show it. True, he was throwing away his reputation as the Devil’s Hand, but that hardly meant he couldn’t create another. If he was to be submissive, he was going to do it like he did everything else—to sheer fucking perfection.

  Elsa found the instep of his right food with the lip of her paddle and traced a line up his inner calve. “Have you conducted yourself like a gentlemen, Marshall?”

  Wood scratched gently across the tender flesh of his inner thigh and blood rushed and filled his cock. He smiled shamelessly, aware she could see right through it. “Of course not, I’ve been a complete animal.”

  Ingrid sashayed to Elsa’s side, hand seated on her hip. “Safeword, vampire?”

  I don’t need a… He stole a second glance at Ingrid’s whip. “Cake. My safeword is cake.”

  The huldra smirked. Elsa didn’t react save for the mirth sparkling in her eyes. “Very well.”

  “You’re going to need it, vampire,” the huldra assured him, her pink tongue darting out between coffee stained lips. “I heard you weren’t playing very nice with my boys.”

  The bear and the vampire slanted incredulous looks to the fox.

  Brendon’s mouth dipped. “You actually tattled?”

  “Why, of course.” Sebastian shook with hoarse laughter. “I waltzed right out here and told her out of my own volition. The whipping was for giggles.”

  Ingrid tapped the bear’s nose. “You’re next.”

  Brendon stiffened and Marshall experienced a similar disquieting sensation, the longer Elsa’s severe narrowed eyes bore into him.

  “I’m sorry, Mistress,” the vampire offered quietly.

  Elsa drew her paddle up his inner thigh. Cool wood caressed the underside of his balls and Marshall straightened with alarm and interest. His throat worked and anticipation sizzled on the tip of his tongue. “I’m sorry.”

  He wasn’t sure why he needed to say it again. Perhaps because he had so much to be sorry for. He was sorry for the hair. He was sorry he hadn’t gone after her that night. He was sorry he’d taken Gwyneth to his bed. He’d broken so many sacred rules of romance, and as he stood there, beneath her penetrating all-seeing eyes, he tried to find the words to articulate just how sorry he was. And couldn’t. He couldn’t say anything more than a feeble, “I’m sorry, Mistress.”

  “No,” she croaked softly. “Not yet.” The wood paddle stroked back and forth over his sensitive sack and the skin tingled and tightened as faint pleasure shocked his groin. “You will be, vampire.”

  After Brendon’s sound whipping, the three men were ordered to anoint themselves with oil. The two mistresses retired to small wooden chairs at the back of the catwalk, casting all attention on the men for the audience’s pleasure.

  Brendon was ordered to anoint himself first. He took his time, smoothing generous amounts of the oil across his rippling muscles until he glistened and gleamed like a savage. He made no show of it, and yet, Marshall couldn’t help but feel like he was being seduced with every shimmering droplet that etched a line down his smooth, tanned skin.

  Once finished, he was ordered—courtesy of his mistress—to attend to Marshall. In turn, Marshall was ordered to see that Sebastian was well prepared for what would come next. The three men stood in a close knot in the middle of the dais and Marshall opened his palm for oil, ignoring the tickle of unease crawling down his back.

  Shadows beat the walls as the men finished their preparations, the erotic chant sending the crowd into a buzz. Since the announcement that he—a vampire—was to be submissive to Elsa, Club Brimstone’s Dungeon show room had swelled two fold. Marshall stood with the other submissives in a neat line and didn’t lift his eyes from the marble. He was content to let the rest of the world pass him by while he struggled to understand all that had changed. For the first time that night, he felt naked and wanting. He felt like shaking.

  Ingrid opened her arms wide and addressed the crowd like a Roman narrator. “Now, I promised something very special for our grand finale, didn’t I? It is the end of the year and with that comes all manner of new beginnings. So, before we greet another miserable year in this mundane realm—why not misbehave one last time?” She flashed sharp teeth. “Doesn’t that sound like a treat?”

  The crowd murmured with approval.

  “Now,” she seated a hand on her hip and aimlessly wandered around the dais, “I originally had other plans, but my dear conniving Sebastian noticed Marshall looking upon one of the gargoyles we had in storage with longing”—the vampire lifted his head at his name, eyes widening with horror as Ingrid motioned to the three dildo stools—“and I thought, what a better way to ring in the new year here at Club Brimstone.” She pivoted on her heel. “All right, boys—impress me.”

  Sebastian’s mouth twitched. “This is where you break, vampire.”

  Asshole. Marshall flashed his fangs at the fox, gargoyles momentarily forgotten. “How the fuck could you presume to know that?”

  He turned cool, almost somber eyes on the vampire. “Because this is where I break.”

  Marshall’s eyes widened, and then he remembered himself and hissed through his fangs.

  “You idiots are gonna get me killed.” Brendon grabbed their hair, silencing them both, ruffling it like they were school children. “Shut up and move.”

  Each gargoyle was different, but similar in make. Their phalluses were all oiled and gleaming, ready for use. Brendon took the eagle devil on the left. Sebastian took the goblin on the right. Leaving Marshall the fiend in the middle, the first beast he had met back in the storage.

  Dread leavened his every step. Was he really going to do this? Was Sebastian right? Was this going to be what did him in?

  Marshall fingered the cool soapstone and traced the beast’s lecherous expression. His stomach riled with acrid dread. “You would really have me do this, Elsa?”

  Elsa stood at his back, her regard roving over him like sparks. “Pride and shame are not necessary to be a submissive, vampire.”

  Every instinct he possessed revolted against the idea of facing her and the crowd, but his feet moved out of their own accord. The mob perked up. Vultures. It felt like being watched by something that wanted to masticate your flesh and swallow every finger-licking bite.

  He felt like running. He felt like begging. He didn’t want to do this—at all. Elsa struck the dais with her paddle like a sword, resting her hands on the hilt as she met the vampire’s gaze.

  Her eyes softened and Marshall suffered under the sudden impression that she could not bear to see him this way. She was looking at him the way she’d looked at him on the balcony after his first nightmare with the raven. Like he was sad and despite all he did, she saw right through him. She saw him. For him. She seemed to remember herself, pointedly motioned to the gargoyle with a curt nod. “Well, Marshall, do I have your submission? What are you willing to do for me?”

  For her? The vampire realized with a terrible certainty that he was going to do this. He was going to do it and whatever else she wanted of him. He couldn’t help it. His desire for her was so far beyond past the conflict of what was and what wasn’t right, wrong or within reason. He’d do anything for the hope to hold that smile.

  There would never be a need for chains again. He would stay where she would keep him. For her. Always for her. In the fraying edges o
f his black mind, he wondered on a whim whether the tender notes of orange blossoms mingling in the air between them were a figment of his imagination. Perhaps they were a hallucination. Or perhaps she’d bewitched him at last.

  Marshall’s eyes dropped to her mouth, wondering if he’d survive long enough to see her bunny teeth again. She was leading him somewhere he’d never been before, and he wondered whether he was so utterly enthralled, he couldn’t see that she was drowning him. “Anything.”

  Her throat worked as she peered past him to the gargoyle. “Show me.”

  The vampire forced himself to face the stool. It was old. Probably as old as the club. The soapstone did not readily wear its age, but the chisel strokes were imperfect and worn, leaving cracks and veins to web the surface. The words “Enchanted N.M.” were carved across the beast’s chest in harsh strokes. Mocking him further.

  Marshall slanted long looks to the left and the right, observing the other men. It was clear there was no graceful way to mount the creature. Brendon chose to seat himself facing away, while Sebastian chose to seat himself forward. Both of them looked awkward and in pain, legs and calf muscles bulging as Ingrid observed their progress down the hilt.

  The vampire turned his eyes to the devilish gargoyle and the crowd’s interest crawled across his skin like tiny knives. He let their collective interest roll off his back. He didn’t think about the shame, the embarrassment. He simply thought of Elsa, of all the glorious things he would do to her given the chance. He thought of her touch. His world wasn’t spinning, his body wasn’t aching—but he desperately wanted her firm, butter touch. Everywhere.

  He wanted her to touch him everywhere.

  He braced himself between the stubby horns protruding from the gargoyle’s temple and carefully maneuvered himself over the seat on his tiptoes. The stone phallus was cold, thick and it slipped and dragged against and between his oiled ass cheeks. It was larger than he’d originally thought.

  He cursed whatever Hell had let Ingrid escape, and tried to steady himself. The muscles spasmed in his calves as he centered the blunt head against his ass. The knot of muscle pinched and he tried to force himself to relax, even as he began to pant for breath.

  It was irregular and too perfect. Large and cold. A faultless cylinder with a blunt tip sporting a chiseled wedge at the very top. It was like seating himself on a silver stake and the breath left his body as he forced the head past the tight ring of muscles, suddenly grateful Brendon and Sebastian had done what they could to prepare him.

  The invasion was unnatural and so wholly painful for a moment, he was unable to do anything but endure the fire licking up his ass to pulse in waves of discomfort. His entire lower back felt hot, his body struggling to accommodate to the unnatural position and the solid edges pulling and stretching him.

  Marshall dropped his chin against his chest. Long chestnut tresses curtained around the gargoyle, sealing them in their own private pocket of Hell. It was watching him with beady eyes through narrow chiseled slits, its mouth curved into a sharp and toothy grin.

  Just kill me. He blinked back the burn of impending tears and stabbed his nails into the beast’s skull-like talons. Warmth radiated at his back and cinnamon enveloped him, reminding him that even within the curtain of his hair, he and the gargoyle were not alone. She was there. The thought almost broke his heart. He squeezed his eyes shut, allowing his body to accommodate the pain, suffering with the knowledge that whatever relief he found would only be short lived.

  He shuddered with a deep breath. “You’re killing me.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “But you need it.”

  “Elsa…” He stifled a tremor, afraid it would send him into uncontrollable shaking.

  His eyes almost rolled back in his head, but Elsa’s soft mouth on his brought him back from the brink. Suddenly, the gargoyle was gone. The pain and heartache, the guilt and the shame were all gone. Nothing remained but Elsa and the kiss he never thought he’d ever have again.

  Sweet sugar like candy canes, chocolate frosting and something mysterious that was wholly Elsa. Marshall reveled in it, trying as best he could to kiss her back, but his attempts were sloppy at best. Elsa did not seem to mind. She rewarded him for his efforts with a soft purr. Pleasure sung in his veins and the pain was quelled by the knowledge that he had pleased her. He was pleasing her now. The punishment, the pleasure—it was all at her will and he found comfort in that. He wouldn’t fall. He couldn’t. Not while Elsa held his shadows in her firm grip.

  She pressed her mouth to the side of his temple. “After tonight, what you may have done in your previous life will be irrelevant. You will be reborn, little vampire, and you will be mine.”

  Yes, Mistress. Marshall blinked sweat out of his eyes, narrowing the entire process down to tiny steps. If he simply lowered his heels to the floor, it would take him down a few inches. So, he did. Elsa lent him the strength he needed to inch that much farther. Anything you desire.

  Cool stone made contact with his prostate and the vampire threw his head back, mouth hanging open to reveal two wicked sharp points. He hovered, breath strangled. Suspended somewhere between intense pain and severe pleasure. Heaven and hell. It was too big, too hard, too much. It was tearing him a little. Ten inches of misery. He couldn’t breathe. His eyes were burning. And his dick was impossibly hard. So…good.

  “Sing for me, vampire,” she growled. “Sing for your mistress.”

  His body tensed like it had just accepted a command and he wasn’t even really aware when he started moving, but he did. He lowered himself up and down the hilt, slowly and painfully fucking himself, chasing himself with thundering shocks of pleasure to his prostate. Every stroke sent fire ripping through his groin, fresh pearly liquid dripping down his cock. He was so hard, so close. He needed to touch. To come. Anything. Everything.

  “Elsa…”

  “I’m here,” she laid her palms on his shoulders like it was the first time she’d ever dared to touch him. It felt like scalding. He’d wanted her hands on his body the whole night. He’d wanted the warmth and the comfort. He’d practically been weak with wanting. And now, he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take the peace she offered.

  Marshall released a strangled noise—a broken violin note that both startled and intrigued the crowd—and flung himself into oblivion, fucking the statue like a spirit trying to give birth to a poltergeist. He fucked it like a man possessed. Raw and nearly out of control strokes that both sated and savaged. Guttural sounds of pleasure and raw violin notes of pain. He was ripping himself in half. He was tearing himself right down the middle. And the fucking gargoyle watched him through it all.

  Its slated rock eyes blinked to life. He wasn’t sure whether it was magic or hysteria. It didn’t matter. Perhaps that was the real magic. The last few ties were cut and the last little visage of pride crumbled. The gargoyle could watch him fuck himself like a desperate little whore on his sword. The crowd, too. He was too far gone. So deep in the well of lust and pleasure and pain, the lines blurred with his vision and he wasn’t sure where torture ended and the ecstasy began.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Elsa whispered hotly in his ear, her hands slipped beneath his to grip his cock. She was careful not to unseat his rhythm, closing her callused fist almost a tad too tight. Just the right kind of perfect. Pleasure pounded through his body as her thumb sought out his tip, dancing in the pearly liquid. “Vampire,” she murmured.

  “No…don’t,” he whispered and it was a terribly familiar sound.

  She couldn’t see him like this. He didn’t care about anyone else. Just not her. Please, God—not her. Let him keep this secret. Just this…one.

  “Marshall,” she pressed her ripe mouth to the nape of his neck. “Be mine, Marshall. Just mine.”

  He lost himself—completely. All visages of civility faded and he began to fuck himself to death. She was there through it all. Even though he didn’t want her to be—she was there. She was seeing all the little
slights and ugly imperfections, watching his tears mix with saliva and his nose run. She was there through it all, touching him, kissing him, telling him over and over how beautiful he was.

  Oh, God. Let her stop that. Let her stop saying that. It hurt. More than anything and he just couldn’t take it. Not right now. Please, not right now.

  But she was relentless. She drove him like he drove himself. She’d bewitched the gargoyle, it was alive and fucking him—his addled mind was sure of it. It ripped his ass and speared his prostate and Marshall hurried it along, bouncing up and down on the jagged stone. He was impaling himself. Killing himself. Tearing and breaking, battling and fucking like he could rid himself of his body and finally emerge free.

  “Cum for me, pebble.” She squeezed his cock. “Please.”

  Ecstasy rose and rang through his entire being, poised like the hush of a tidal wave. It was terrifying. His first real taste of terror since he’d left Castle Wingates. It was too much, too intense and he was flying out of his skin. Or maybe he was screaming. Maybe the vampire screaming a bitter bloody curse at the top of his lungs was him. Marshall came in long white ropes and pleasure poured. Hoarse violin notes painted the air. Electrifying it with erotic music.

  And then, everything became pain. He couldn’t unseat himself. He couldn’t breathe. He was filled with so much penitence, so much sorrow, he couldn’t even hold himself up anymore. He expected to fall, but didn’t. Somehow Brendon and Sebastian had survived the ordeal. Sebastian’s cheeks were wet with tears, Brendon’s complexion ruddy from exertion. Both men slick with sweat as they helped the vampire off the statue, gingerly lending him their strength. He felt pain. Then, he felt warmth and movement. He could feel her gaze like a soft touch settling across his head.

  Marshall opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling with honest and unspeakable emotion, knowing Brendon and Sebastian understood. They would keep his secret.