With but a warm, wet orifice and a few simple noises, she could claim anything she’d ever wanted.
Especially power!
And, in the chamber of Meleilzsi Shaykh Naqshband, she had not only power, but security, as well.
~Present day~
Flashes of his old life, visions of power or of faces that seemed so dreamlike now, were coming to him more often. He still couldn’t remember his name, only the title he’d been “reborn” inside Zane with:
Maledictus.
“Cursed one.”
He laughed at that as he gazed into the barely reflective surface of the aged mirror; if it could be called such a thing. The building he’d taken—a crumbling, graffiti-covered mess that was absolutely teeming with the twisted, angry energies of misery and pain; a long-since abandoned mental asylum—was a prime location for him for any number of reasons, not the least of which being its ambiguity and a means to keep his soon-to-be bride locked-up and…
“LET ME OUT OF HERE, MOTHERFUCKER!”
The neighboring room went into delicious chaos as Serena began throwing one of her increasingly predictable fits; the barrier spell he’d put up, however, was just as predictable and contained the outburst. She was no-doubt using her aura to create the racket—there wasn’t enough length on the enchanted chain he’d tethered her with to build up that much momentum with her body—and that meant that the counter-spell would be activating right about…
“AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Silence.
He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re not exactly the learning type, are you?” he mumbled to himself, not expecting an answer from Serena.
Just like every other time she’d tried using her aura within the enchanted space, the counter-spell he’d put up as a precaution against the powerful-and-brash she-vamp reacted when her auric activity reached a potentially dangerous level. When the auric levels reached a critical point, the spell was awakened from its dormant state and shifted the charge in the ions within the room, delivering a crippling shock that, each and every time, knocked the sparky blonde unconscious.
Sparky.
He chuckled to himself and returned to the mirror; his irritation at the warped and rusty metal sheet that offered little-to-no reflection rising once again.
“Fucking pussies!” he griped, finding enough of his reflection to resume the process of picking the looser scales from his face. “If the batshit crazy bastards you bolted down in this shit-shack were demented enough to take their lives with glass mirrors then you should’ve just let them!” He growled as he once again lost his reflection in the tarnished surface and drove a fist into it, sneering at the sight of the twisted sheet of metal he was rewarded with.
Nowhere near as satisfying as broken glass.
“Fucking pussies!” he muttered again.
Abandoning the hope of using sight to aid him in his cosmetic efforts, he began to simply rake his talons across his face. As more and more scales popped free—some needing more passes with the clawed hands than others—the small, stained sink became increasingly filled with the product of his efforts. The greenish-brown flakes looked like a pile of festering toenails, and the fresh layer of blood-covered bits reinforced the illusion of some sort of torture scene.
But he—he sighed in resignation at his stubbornness and finally just accepted the title he’d been wearing for so long: Maledictus—had never felt better.
At least he didn’t remember feeling better.
Though there was something—some ghost of a memory haunting the back of his mind—that made him certain that Serena, that spunky, resilient, and delightfully defiant purple-eyed blonde, would somehow make things even better.
Finally, Maledictus’ claws had “shaved” the last of the scales from his face—and more than a fair share of his flesh, as well—and he went to work with the incessant itches that crowned the top of his head. As he began to work the area of his forehead, he discovered three hardened spots that had risen slightly under the skin of his brow, and he went to work picking around the myriad of tears he’d earned in his previous task. A memory that he’d vicariously acquired through Zane—a moment from his human childhood—picked up on his subconscious, and the chiding words of young-Zane’s mother echoed on his lips.
“Don’t pick at it. It’ll never heal.”
Maledictus cackled.
Healing?
Healing?
There was no growth in healing from something; there was no strength to be found in letting something knit and rest. To grow a muscle, it had to first be worked and torn; tortured to a point of realizing that it must either perish or push to thrive.
Push to rise above all else.
Continuing to pick and tear away at the flaps of skin on his head, Maledictus finally was rewarded. Tossing a chunk of bloodied meat into the sink, he yanked the warped hunk of mirror-metal from the wall and worked to angle it so that he could look upon…
A horn?
He beamed at this.
For the past few days he’d been pushing his new body to shift; the lizard-like exterior, though entertaining at times, simply not offering him the personal aesthetic he demanded. Granted, it was a definite improvement on the weak and simple humanoid form he’d been locked within, but when he’d been condemned to occupy Zane’s body there had at least been the transformation; the process by which he could twist and break past the simple pink flesh and become something more powerful and fear-inducing.
After taking the abandoned mental asylum and locking away his future wife, he’d taken a tour of the establishment. While relishing in the lingering traces of suffering that had caked themselves into every nook and cranny the building had to offer, he saw any number of messages—desperate and futile calls to sympathetic passersby—that had been left by the patients. Messages that were carved into the walls with crude tools or—judging from the bits of yellowed fingernails littered about the site or embedded within the surfaces themselves—with the scribers’ bare hands; messages written in blood, feces, and, less frequent, pen or marker.
HELP ME! I AM IN HELL!
BEELZEBUB MADE ME DO IT
I AM HIS VESSEL. LORD SATAN RIDES WITHIN.
THE DEMONS DEMAND MORE CORNBREAD!
ABASHED THE DEVIL STOOD…
Everywhere that he’d looked, there had been references to whatever name the mad men and women had attributed to evil. This devil—whether it was referenced by some religious title or, his personal favorite, simply referred to as “he”; as though the walking embodiment of evil could be anything but a woman—seemed to be an ongoing theme for all that pain and suffering; the very pain and suffering that had led him there in the first place.
So, naturally, he decided that this devil, no matter what others thought it to be, would be the role he’d assume now that he was free to walk the streets within his own body.
Horns?
Talons and a tail?
Viciously inhuman?
None of these descriptors were outside his reach. True, a great deal of the references demanded a red devil, and his brownish-green scales were certainly far from that, but, seeing the sinewy and bloody mess he’d made of his face in excavating the first horn he’d birthed from his forehead—feeling at least five more beneath the surface of the skin around his head—he was certain that, with time, even his hue would follow.
After all, he’d gotten this far on willpower alone.
With nothing more than his hope, he’d willed his body to begin changing into his vision of the humans’ “devil.”
A pained tickle in his mouth made him flinch, interrupting his glee as he poked at the still-small hunk of curved yellow bone that protruded from just above his left eye. Reaching into the back of his mouth, he poked about. A screaming pain as the flesh-and-blood coated claw met one of the teeth along the top row of his jaw gave away the culprit, and, getting a firm grip on the offending tooth, he yanked it free of his face. A brief moment was spared as he admired the ja
gged, reptilian thing, contemplating what his body would birth in its place, before tossing it into the fetid pile of waste within the sink.
“Look at you, you magnificent motherfucker!” he swooned over his partial reflection. “There’s no way that stupid bitch will be able to resist you much longer.”
At that moment, as Maledictus playfully batted his freshly-grown and still crusty eyelids at himself, his left eye—which had been growing increasingly pale and been itching with an ongoing set of twitches—ruptured in its socket and began to leak out into the sink.
He couldn’t help but laugh at his own body’s timing.
“No-fucking-sir!” he whistled, “No chance of resisting this!”
4
Forget Me Not
The same bar.
Zane shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was when he found himself walking into the same bar he had before he met Serena. The same bar that always seemed to be the place he showed up when he was troubled. Stepping forward, he made his way down to the bar and placed a seat right in front of the SAME German bartender who looked at him with both an annoyed and frightened gaze.
“Same as usual, Fuhrer!”
“Haven’t seen you here in a while,” the bartender sneered, “but I guess nothing truly does change.”
“You have no fucking idea,” Zane snarled, reaching forward and grabbed the bartender’s collar, pulling him closer. “Now, I’m not here for chat, or trouble, but if you don’t just make with the drink and keep your Nazi mouth shut—I am not against making some.”
“R-right,” the bartender quickly pulled back as Zane let him go and he watched as he scurried off to make his drink.
Sighing, Zane allowed himself to calm down again as he pulled out the small bottle that was nearly empty. He sneered, remembering how much he relied on the mythos drug before and shook up the bottle as he waited for his drink. The bartender quickly handed him a bottle and made his way to the other side of the bar.
Good. Zane thought as he pressed the smaller mythos potion to the bottle and began to pour it down. He sighed, pressing the bottle to his lips and allowed himself a good swig as the effects of the potion began to set. He grinned, allowing the haziness to envelop him as the numbing started.
Serena…
He glowered, realizing his fists were clenched and he quickly placed the bottle down as to not start a scene, any more than he already had. He found himself smirking as he thought of what she’d say about his present state. She’d most likely go on about how he was being a little bitch-boy and he had to grow a pair.
Grinning at the sudden fond memory of his snarky lover, he allowed that moment to sit in him as he chugged another sip of the potion beer.
He narrowed his eyes, catching something, someone, familiar out of the corner of his eye. He turned and the warmth he had previously been feeling grew cold. Walking towards him was a piece of his past thought destroyed and as she made her way closer, he felt his nerves begin to grow and the haziness dissipated.
“C-Celine…” he whispered, “w-was it you? I thought I saw you…just the other day when I was with…was i-it you?”
“It was me…” Celine chewed her lip for a moment, “I couldn’t tell if it was you or not but when I saw you walk into this bar, I had to follow.”
“H-how? You’re, I mean, you were…” he shook his head, “I thought you were dead,” Zane stammered, stunned at the sudden events as he stared at his fiancé.
He shook his head again; ex-fiancé.
“I… I’d been following you for a bit,” she shrugged nervously. “What with all the rumors of the Maledictus curse and your finally getting rid of him, I… I had to know the truth, to see it for myself,” she whispered as she took a seat next to him and he could still hear a faint trace of her Scottish accent.
He frowned at her closeness but chose not to say anything as he gazed forward at nothing.
“I guess I should start from the beginning,” she coughed at his silence. “When Maledictus had… well, when he’d showed himself, he had targeted me. Luckily, I was able to get away… barely. Afterward, I was taken in by some nearby friends of my family.”
“They told me not go after you again; that the curse you had would kill me and I chose to wait. I hoped that you’d be able to find a cure, and I had to wait in hopes that you’d find a way.”
“And that’s why you are here now?” Zane tilted his head, feeling unnerved by her story. He frowned at his own doubt, realizing he had no reason to judge her.
Anyone would’ve done the same if they had watched someone close to them transform into a raging beast.
Except Serena.
“I’ve missed you, Zane… all this time,” Celine pressed her hand to his arm. “I was hoping to… well, I was hoping to spend some time with you.”
“I-I don’t know, Celine,” Zane forced himself not to frown, “A lot has changed since…”
“Please, Zane… I have nowhere to go right now,” she whimpered, squeezing his arm, “The only other place I had to stay…” she shook her head, “The plans fell through, and now I don’t have anywhere to stay.”
Zane sighed, turning to her for a moment and felt a pang of guilt for the past. He had an obligation after everything that he had put her through in the past to at least offer her somewhere to stay. “I…I can offer you a place to stay, but that’s all,” he sighed and looked away, suddenly realizing how much time he was wasting not looking for Serena. “That’s all I can ever offer you.”
“That’s more than enough for now, Zane!” Celine smiled and hugged him, “Thank you again!”
“Yea, sure. No problem,” he quickly pulled away and finished his beer before he turned towards the door. His doubt grew, and he began to wonder if it was a good idea to be offering anything to anybody at that time, let alone a place to stay to a past lover he’d presumed dead for so many years. Once again, he found himself wishing that Serena were there to help guide him. But it was too late to retract the offer now; not comfortably, at least. “Let’s go,” he called out as he made his way for the exit, “I’ve got things to do.”
Zoey smiled lovingly at Isaac as she wrapped her arms around his neck. It had been so long since she’d been able to have a private moment with him and she needed the intimacy he was offering.
“Are you alright, love?” Isaac smirked down at her.
“I just want this moment,” Zoey smiled.
“Oh?” he smirked, tilting her head upward, “well, let’s not keep the lady waiting any longer.
Zoey moaned as Isaac’s lips crashed down on hers and she shivered at the pleasure that came with her lover’s kiss. She gasped as he squeezed her breast and he took the moment to slide his tongue in her mouth, running it against hers. Deciding that it was her time to take control, Zoey allowed her aura to rip their clothes off as Isaac pressed her back against their bed.
“Mmm… have I mentioned how much I love having an auric vampire for a lover? It makes undressing so much easier, and so much more fun,” Isaac smirked, running his finger across her bare chest as he teasingly ran it around her nipple.
She gasped, arching up, begging him to touch her, begging for the teasing to stop. She needed him inside her. It had been so chaotic for too long and Zoey cherished these moments with her lover. She watched as he leaned his head down, flicking his tongue across one of her nipples as his finger found her other. The shock of electricity running down her spine caused her to arch further up and she found herself pressing against his hardened member.
“Looks like someone’s ready to go,” she purred, running her hand up and down his length, watching in pleasure as her lover rocked forward against her fist.
Isaac clenched his eyes shut in pure bliss as she continued to jerk his shaft and finally, he was able to find the willpower to remove his lover’s grip.
“Careful, love…” he smirked, “I don’t want to be finished too quickly.”
She smirked playfully and spread her legs, allo
wing her sex to be in full view for Isaac and she watched as his eyes widened at the sight before he smirked and moved his hands down her torso, moving towards her glistening folds.
“I-Isaac! Hurry touch me!” Zoey cried out, no longer able to hold in her arousal.
Isaac smirked, quickly remedying his lover’s thirst as he began to slide his fingers inside her. She cried out as he readied her for his shaft and before long, she was climaxing on his hand. Breathing hard, Zoey looked up at Isaac as he positioned himself over her and leaned down, kissing her hard as he allowed himself to finally thrust inside his lover.
“Oh! That’s it!” Zoey shivered, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist as he quickly picked up the pace.
Isaac had finally gotten over his fears of hurting Zoey with his size and had finally realized that Zoey liked it rough. She smiled up at him, letting him know there was nothing to worry about, dousing any fear her lover may have had. Leaning up, she pressed her lips to his in a passionate kiss as he continued to dive inside his lover’s folds.
Shivering in ecstasy, Zoey could feel Isaac’s body tense as he reached the edge and she cried out, falling with him as they both reached their climaxes together. She wrapped her arms around his neck tightly and kissed him hard as they slowly came back from their bliss.
Isaac fell to Zoey’s side, not bothering to pull out of her as she snuggled against his chest. He smiled, looking down at her bright blue hair and ran his fingers through it as she rested her face over his heart.
“Mine,” she murmured into his chest.
“Always,” he agreed.
“What’s on your mind?” she turned her bright blue gaze to his and he smiled, her gaze perfectly matched the color of her hair.
Scarlet Night: The Complete Trilogy Page 43