Abominations (Demonkin Book 3)

by Sean Hayden

  "Boyfriend?" She finished the first shoe and started working on my right foot.

  "Girlfriend." I let it out into the open. We had gotten pretty darn close during feeding time. I just didn't know how she would feel about my interest in going further. Maybe. Someday.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered and looked up into my eyes.

  Change of topic time.

  "So, what would I use to kill an elf should the need arise? You know. In case I come across any bad elves or something."

  "We're pretty tough bastards, too. Burn us away with magic or use iron."

  "Iron?"

  "Yeah. Steel hurts because it has some iron in it. Silver kind of tickles. Everything else is just kind of useless. Cold iron. Crowbar or frying pan would do the trick. Imagine a shower of sparks and a lot of blood."

  "That's pretty gruesome."

  "Killing usually is. There you go. All strapped in and ready to fly."

  "I think I'll stick to walking without falling," I said and stood slowly.

  My ankles fought the urge to bulge out to the side and I gingerly took a few baby steps. I didn't end up on my ass, but I wouldn't be winning any land speed records either.

  "See. Told you that you could do it."

  "Blah blah blah," I said mockingly.

  "I don't say blah blah blah," she mimicked in a horrible Transylvanian accent.

  Laughing and walking in heels isn't conducive to one's concentration. I wobbled a little but caught the knob on the door to steady myself.

  "Ready?"

  I nodded and opened the door.

  I stirred whatever concoction Mel had set in front of me wistfully. I really wanted to try whatever it was, I just didn't feel the urge to spend the rest of the night puking up blood and wishing I had died. Drinking anything but blood wasn't a good idea.

  I sighed and wished I had brought a pouch of blood with me. At least it would give me something to do other than swirling my beverage and ignoring a guy in a leather mask getting the shit whipped out of him on stage.

  "You look bored."

  "I am bored–" I almost didn't finish my sentence. A man I had never seen before stood next to me. I didn't hear him come up to me, which I should have even though the music levels in the bar were around the decibels of an F-16 taking off. Even weirder, I didn't smell him either. He was a blank on the olfactory radar.

  "Can I buy you another drink, so you can ignore it, too?"

  "Erm, no thanks. Can't really drink it anyway…"

  "You're a vampire, right?"

  "Gee, what gave it away?" I had tried for light sarcastic. I just hoped it came across that way. He seemed nice enough.

  "The fact that you're not drinking and um, your fangs," he said embarrassedly. "Sorry."

  "Don't be. Hi, I'm Ash," I said and held out my hand. He looked down at it and took it slowly.

  "Vincent," he said with a smile. The warmth of his hand spoke volumes. He wasn't a vamp. He didn't smell of spices, either. Vincent was a plain, run of the mill, homo sapiens.

  "You're a human, right?" I said while trying to mock his earlier question. He caught my reference and blushed adorably. If I had to guess, he wasn't much older than me.

  Mel came over to us. Probably to take his order, but probably to check on me a little more.

  "What can I get for you?"

  "I'll have a Bud."

  "Can I see your ID?"

  He nodded and pulled it out of his wallet.

  "Didn't they check it at the door?" I'm pretty sure they had, so I didn't know why she would check again.

  Vincent nodded, and Mel shot me a dirty look.

  "I'm sure they did. But the bouncers don't get a five-thousand dollar fine for serving alcohol to minors."

  "It's okay, I don't mind," Vincent added, trying to diffuse the situation.

  Mel ignored me and looked back at his license. "Happy birthday," she said and handed it back to him and pulled a beer out of the cooler beneath her. "Interesting club pick for your twenty-first."

  "Yeah, my friends dragged me here. I should be at the dorm studying."

  "Start a tab?"

  "Please," he said and handed her his credit card without her even asking. Apparently, it wasn't his first trip to a bar even though he just turned legal.

  Mel wandered off again.

  "So what brings you here tonight?"

  "I'm a BDSM freak," I lied.

  "Really?"

  I expected him to sound shocked. He didn't, more of an excited hopeful.

  "No. My friend owns this place."

  "Oh. Well it was nice…um…meeting you," he said and left without so much as a backward glance.

  I shrugged. Apparently, vampirism was okay, but having a friend who owned a bondage bar killed the deal. With little else to do, I spun a circle in my bar chair. And kicked Marcel.

  "Oops," I said and grabbed his arm to stop spinning.

  "Glad you found something to amuse yourself, cher."

  "Well, I already finished my crossword puzzles and word searches sounded a little immature for an establishment of this caliber."

  He flicked me in the forehead. Apparently, it was Treat Ashlyn Like a Little Kid Day and nobody informed me. "Ouch," I said indignantly.

  "Shush, that did not hurt," he said and waved to Mel. She nodded and finished pouring a round of cocktails, setting them on a tray. The scantily clad waitress shouldered it and took off into the crowd.

  "Not as bad as a bullet," I said and stuck my tongue out at him.

  He looked at my childish display and huffed. Then he noticed my outfit. "You look lovely."

  "Why Marcel, you charmer."

  "No. I mean it. That dress looks beautiful on you. Much better than those rags you were wearing before. Thank you for indulging me."

  "Well, I figured it was either the dress or you'd make me wear a leather thong and a couple of Band-Aids."

  He looked down at my chest and raised an eyebrow. "And would you have?"

  "Sure. Right after I made sure you didn't have any eyes."

  "Touché." He slid onto the stool next to me. The one recently vacated by my almost-friend, Vincent.

  "Drink, Boss?" Mel had finally made it over to us.

  "S'il vous plaît."

  She moved to a cooler set against the back wall and slid open the lid, pulling out a green bottle with a cap unlike I had ever seen before. She opened it and it hissed. She grabbed a goblet and set both in front of Marc.

  "Merci."

  "Is that blood?"

  He nodded

  "That's some fancy ass blood you got there."

  "Hermetically and cryogenically sealed without the garish bags you find in a hospital. This is made solely for the use of consumption."

  "I'm jealous. I only get drink pouches."

  "You should pour it in a sippy cup."

  "You're an ass."

  "I know." He smiled, tipped his glass, and gave me a wink.

  "So how come you're not working. Is it break time?"

  "Yes. It is almost my time to go on stage. I do not care to perform if I am…hungry."

  I could see that. Hard to keep your fangs to yourself if your stomach is chewing on the closest bone it can find. "You're performing?" I could hardly keep the curiosity out of my voice.

  "Yes. Half of the women in here are here for the sole purpose of seeing vampires. While I would like to hire enough performers to have my evenings free, it is often difficult to do so."

  "Couldn't you just go to Sluts R Us?"

  "Cher, while your youthful innocence can sometimes be refreshing, you do have a jaded outlook on life. Many of our performers are married and very monogamous. Simply because they perform often nude and with their partners, hardly qualifies for derogatory terms from children."

  He stood and downed his glass of blood, gave me a somewhat disgusted look, and left me sitting there feeling like a shit. I sighed and promised myself I would apologize to him later.

  "How'd that foot taste?"


  I looked up at Mel, who had apparently witnessed the entire exchange. Even she was giving me a judgy look.

  "Yeah. I fucked up. Again." I blew out a breath of air and held my head in my hands.

  "You do seem to be lacking in the brain-mouth filter department."

  I nodded.

  "Cheer up," she said and set another glass of blood down in front of me.

  "I can't." I pushed it back toward her. She stopped my hand with hers and held up her other hand. She had a bar towel wrapped around her wrist.

  "You can," she said and walked away.

  I picked up the glass gently and brought it to my nose. I inhaled softly and caught the scent of flowers and spring. Sure enough, she had bled herself right behind the bar, just for me. I watched her retreating back and whispered, "Thank you."

  She must have heard me. She looked over her shoulder and winked.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us in the Dungeon this evening!"

  The lights of the club dimmed, and a solitary spot flashed to life on the stage. The music died, and everyone turned, feasting their eyes on a now shirtless Marcel standing center stage. He had also slipped into a pair of leather pants that left little to the imagination and nothing else. His bare feet made no noise as they slid across the polished wood as he circled, allowing every woman in the club a better look.

  "It is that time, yet once again. Which of you would like to become part of our show? Which of you would cast away their reality for a moment and become mine? Who wants to let go?"

  A couple hundred hands shot into the air.

  Women were literally screaming his name and crying as they vied for his attention. Seeing him standing there, gazing over the crowd like a wolf at the butcher's counter, in his nearly non-existent outfit, I could hardly blame them. He looked beautiful. He looked like sex. He looked hungry. I wouldn't mind getting eaten…

  I coughed on the blood I had been sipping.

  Jesus. I need to get laid.

  "I smell hunger," he called out from the stage, gripping the microphone obscenely. "Who is this I am smelling?"

  He pretended to look around the crowd as he sniffed. Then something caught his attention. He glanced over at the bar and dropped the mic. Echoing distortion filtered through the club as the guy on the sound board drowned it out and replaced it with a subtle beat that sounded like a pounding heart. Marcel dropped from the stage and softly onto the floor.

  A fear rose up from the pit of my stomach.

  He wouldn't.

  He weaved through the sea of tables and meandered toward the bar, continuing his charade of sniffing and tasting the air.

  "I am close. I can taste her desire. I can smell her want," he called out. His voice still echoed though the club. Either the other mic was just for show and he had a wearable mic on him, or the list of vampire abilities I kept in my head just got a little bigger.

  I tried to shrink in my chair. Panic threatened to seize my chest. I began a litany of horrible names for the evil French bastard now making a bee-line directly for me. I debated standing and running, but the heels pretty much guaranteed failure. I wondered if that had been part of his dastardly plot from the beginning.

  Another spotlight lit and shone directly on me, blinding me and obliterating Marc in a shower of brilliance. I couldn't see him. I couldn't run. And I nearly sobbed when I felt his hands close on my wrists.

  "Marc. No!" My voice turned into an exasperated hiss.

  His scent filled my senses as he leaned in and whispered into my ear, "I am so sorry, cher, but as it turns out…Sluts R Us is closed. I'm going to need you to fill in tonight." He chuckled and pulled me from my chair.

  Fuck me.

  I meant it, but not in the good way. I'd brought this on myself. My bitchy little attitude struck once again. I sighed and tried to fight back.

  His hands stopped pulling.

  The spotlight dimmed, and I saw into his eyes.

  There was anger. A lot of anger. But… there was also sadness, curiosity, playfulness, and…desire?

  The club faded away.

  Marcel and I were alone, floating above two seas. Moonlight caressed both of us and bathed us in a surreal glow.

  I had captured his gaze.

  "Are you going to fight me?"

  "With every ounce of my being."

  "That's not saying much…"

  I couldn't help it. I giggled. "Why are you doing this?"

  "To teach you. To discipline you. To help you see that not everything that feels good is bad."

  "I know that."

  "No. You really do not. You had exactly what you wanted, but you were too afraid of it to enjoy it. That is your greatest weakness. You're too afraid. Too afraid of doing the wrong thing. Too afraid of enjoying yourself. Too afraid of losing. So, you push and push and push until you push everything away. Just so you can feel miserable about yourself. It's like you want to be punished for what you are, for who you are. You are so wrong, cher. You are you. There are those of us who love you for who you are, not what you are. Stop fighting your friends and focus on what you want. It's okay to be selfish and want things."

  The club came crashing back and I gasped as my eyes misted. The blood of my tears washed the club in a pink hue that seemed very fitting. Marcel gently pulled on my wrists and I felt my feet moving beneath me, following him.

  We slid up the ramp on the side of the stairs and he guided me to a red leather chair that had mysteriously appeared during his hunt. He brought me to his chest and leaned in close once again.

  "Peanut brittle."

  "Huh?"

  "That is your safe word. I will tease you. I will tempt you," he paused and licked my neck from shoulder to ear, "but if you say that word, I will stop."

  I nodded. His lick had left me moist and hungry, but still my brain screamed, "Peanut brittle is two words!" Thankfully my mouth wasn't working.

  Music started thumping, softly at first, but gradually increasing until the club throbbed in tempo. Marcel twirled me as if we were doing a tango, and then snapped me back to his chest and gently lowered me into the chair.

  As quickly as I sat, he had my right hand in the clamp cleverly concealed in the arm of the chair. I hadn't even noticed it until the cold steel shackled me down like a prisoner.

  My left hand he brought to his chest, sliding it down over his stomach and lightly grazing the bulge in his pants. Turning, he faced the audience. They were mesmerized and jealous. Want burned in every one of the women's faces. He sat down on my lap facing the audience and leaned back, rubbing his cheek against mine as he sprawled atop me. Awkwardly, I ran my hand over his chest, feeling his nipples tighten under my palm. He brought his arms over his head and my face closer to his. I could smell the blood still on his breath. It didn't disgust me, it heightened my need. The little of Mel's blood I had only whetted my appetite. My hunger wanted a meal. My hunger wanted Marcel, and not just for food.

  His lips grazed across mine. It should have been awkward from the position he was in, but he seemed to be made of liquid. He almost poured himself over me as his ass began to grind in circles on the dress that kept riding up, the further we slid into the chair. I felt myself grinding up against him, begging for just a little bit more pleasure.

  "Oh gods," I breathed heavily.

  He twisted to face me and straddled my waist, kneeling in the high-backed chair. Cupping my face, he leaned in and brought his lips to mine. I expected to be teased, but his tongue slipped into my mouth and brushed against mine.

  I choked on my need as my breath left me.

  His hand slid down my arm and moved my arm into the other clasp. With a soft snikt, I was his prisoner. His lips left mine and I wanted to weep. They found my neck and I gasped. As they traveled down to my chest, I moaned.

  His legs moved back as he slid lower. He used his body to force my legs apart as he settled in the open space. I felt him, his manhood, grind against my now exposed panties. I didn't
even feel grateful that I decided to wear them under the dress. Life would have been so much better in that moment without them. I half wished he would rip them away before he continued.

  Continue, he did.

  He slid the straps of the dress over my shoulders, exposing even more of my chest than the already risqué dress showed. I wasn't indecently exposed, but I was getting close. I found myself caring even less as long as he kept on kissing the areas he uncovered.

  His hands slid down to my legs, forcing them even further apart. My dress gave up and slid up almost to my waist. My rather plain, black panties became completely visible to his hungry eyes as he kneeled on the floor before me. He leaned forward and breathed across the obviously damp material. A shudder started at that exact spot and traveled down my legs and up across me simultaneously, the ripples giving me chills and raising goosebumps across my skin. My head lolled to the side as I ground deeper into the chair, wanting more of him and his punishment.

  He slid his hands over my thighs and along the edge of my mound stealing the last of my air. I jerked to the side trying to get him to really touch me. To touch it. To relieve me. But, they didn’t stop there. They moved over my knees and behind my legs, pulling me even farther forward and spread even farther. He leaned in and looked up at me, grabbing the hem of my dress in his teeth and lifting it up, exposing my stomach above. He leaned in and licked the flesh he uncovered, and I curled, lifting my ass off the leather and damn near forcing my leaking wetness into his mouth. He chuckled and pushed the ankles he had grabbed without my noticing back against the chair. The familiar feel of the metal around my wrists became duplicated by my ankles. They clicked closed and my bondage was complete.

  He leaned back on the balls of his feet to see his handywork. I nearly snarled in desperation. He licked his lips as he stood and stepped closer, but instead of closing the distance between us, he stepped to the side, exposing me to the rest of the club.

  I hardly noticed. All I could see was Marc standing over me, his hand reaching down to caress my shoulder. Keeping it there, he moved behind me, but never leaving my sight. Leaning over the chair, he kissed me gently as his hands slid down just under my dress, fingertips lightly grazing my nipples as they travelled even lower, cupping them completely. I shuddered and couldn't breathe. I tried closing my legs just to squeeze my sex myself. I needed to come.