by SL Figuhr
“My lord!” Victor started away from the door, realizing their plans had gone awry.
Whatever else he was about to say, I choked off with my right hand around his throat as I “magically” appeared in front of him. The slave gurgled and found himself airborne before he could fight back.
I appeared at the end of the bed as he crashed down in front of me. Grabbing the dangling end of a silken rope tied to a bedpost with my left hand, and the slave’s arms with my right, I restrained him, both arms bent back behind his head and tied with the rope. He was still recovering from his unexpected landing by the time I finished.
Meanwhile, Jenabram and the fourth naked man sprang up and away from the divan. Victor cursed and struggled with his bonds, causing the knots I had made to tighten further. The man who’d landed on the divan staggered to his feet.
“You bitch!” roared out the naked man as he charged me, drink and overconfidence in his abilities making him reckless.
I stepped aside and tripped him as he flew past, and he windmilled his arms, trying to keep his balance. I grabbed one of the appendages with both my hands, lifting, heaving, and turning in one smooth movement. His howls of rage turned into pain as I flung him to bounce off the wall next to the fireplace.
“Get her!” came the command just as I felt a scoring across my back as a crack reached my ears. I turned to see a thick, braided black whip recoil past me.
The third man came toward me in a manner suggesting he meant to tackle me. The marquis readied to lash out with the whip again as I tossed my head back, laughing while subtly shifting. The charging man’s snarling face as he sailed past me in a midair dive changed to panic. I didn’t bother watching where he fell, only felt the heavy thud and scream of agony when he landed. The thong, fall, and popper of the whip, meanwhile, came at me like lightning. I lashed out and let the length snap and coil around my arm. I ignored the pain. As he was not expecting such a response, Kendall was not ready for my move, thus he still had the handle gripped tightly. My yank sent him crashing into the divan. His weight caused it to tip over, both landing with a jarring thud on the floor. The thong loosened as he lost his hold on the handle. Now I was in control of his weapon.
“You, bad, bad, bad man,” I purred. “We will indeed have fun tonight—though,” I gave a mock sigh of disappointment, “you may think otherwise by the end.”
Kendall was climbing to hands and knees, rage distorting his face. He was inebriated enough to ignore the feelings of danger I projected along with my unnaturally blazing eyes.
“My lord!” Victor’s voice held frustration.
“Silence, slave!” I didn't bother turning around, letting my voice castigate him. “Speak without my permission again and I shall rip your tongue out.”
The marquis’ eyes flicked to his struggling slave, then over to the naked man prone on the floor. A dark liquid oozed out from underneath where his head and face rested on the wood. The arm I had used as a fulcrum was perpendicular to his body, with a slackness and misshapen look about the shoulder area which meant it was both broken and out of joint. His eyes then flicked to something behind my shoulder.
Kendall gave his own laugh, albeit silent. “I knew kitty would like to play. But it is you whose claws will be clipped when the night ends.”
I contemptuously tossed the whip toward the entrance of the room, my return smile feral, eyes golden flame. “Then let’s play, puppy.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Jenabram found to his shock he was flying across the room. He’d barely moved toward his prize. He crashed into the center of his great bed. He had enough presence of mind to slip a hand beneath one of the pillows, where he kept a spare dagger.
A wicked-sounding laugh, along with a long scream of agony, came from the third attacker. The marquis rolled off the bed, landing in a crouch on the floor. His bed sat high enough that he had a clear sight line toward the feet of the duchess and his crony in their ongoing tussle. By the time he crept close enough to ambush the woman, a pool of blood and guts spilled out of his friend’s ripped-open abdomen.
The sight enraged him; who did she think she was? He came up fast and, he thought, silently. A sharp crack, along with the sensation of briefly flying, barely had time to register as Kendall crashed onto his bed. Before the marquis could react, his arms, including the now-broken one which had held the dagger, was viciously yanked up and out. Silk ropes bound his wrists, then his right leg. His left was free, as the cord which was usually used currently held his slave to the bedpost. He yanked hard with his good arm, fighting the nauseous swells of pain radiating. His body bucked, but the knots only tightened.
Jenabram gritted his teeth, lip throbbing in time to the pain of his arm. He blinked sweat out of his eyes, raising his head enough to see where the bitch hid herself. Pools of wavering light and shadow meet his gaze. No sound of a door opening or closing came to his ears, so he knew she was still in the room.
“Master,” Victor panted out, “please, we need the slaves to help subdue her.” The sounds of him coughing competed with the crackle of flames in the fireplace. “She-she isn’t drugged like the others. Why isn’t she drugged?”
The heat from the fireplace intensified the coppery scent of blood, along with the thick stink of spilled bowel. Jenabram swallowed convulsively before he managed to tamp down his rising fear.
“Idiot slave! Your inability to follow orders is our problem. I told you to make sure the wine meant for her was drugged.” The marquis hissed in rage.
“Master, I swear I did as you commanded,” the slave protested from his position on the floor.
Kendall managed to sneer despite the growing waves of pain from his busted arm. He went to lick his lips, cursing when his tongue hit the spot she had bit. He knew he could talk his way out of his predicament.
“It seems my slave failed to heed my orders. The other men were not supposed to attack you. We’re just playing games, kitty. Untie me, and I promise, together, we can discipline him.”
A sinister chuckle came from the darkness, along with curses from his slave. The shadows moved, the pale oval of Illyria’s face and blood-streaked body, eyes glowing honey fire, stepped toward him. The sight thrilled him, excited him.
“Discipline? My dear marquis, we have already begun. You wanted this to be a special party. The best one you’ve ever held. Trust me, it shall be talked about for some time.”
He couldn’t help himself. “You won’t keep that milksop earl when he learns of this.”
Jenabram blinked more sweat out of his eyes, unconsciously recoiling as the duchess appeared beside the bed. The movement sent more pain shooting up his abused arm. She leaned over him, roughly shoving pillows under his upper body to raise him. Her lips hovered over his. “Who says he will know I stayed after?”
Victor snorted from the floor. “He shall know. My master and I will make certain of it.”
Without moving, she replied, “I did not give you permission to speak. And when a slave is disobedient, he must be punished.”
Jenabram felt a chill of terror race up his spine as the shadows wavered and parted as if made of mist, and the duchess appeared at the end of the bed to stand before his slave. The slap rang throughout the room, along with a howl of pain.
“Enjoy your preview, gentlemen.”
Illyria thrust the double doors open, candlelight flickered throughout the hallway. The sounds of sex filtered from behind closed doors.
“You bitch! Get back here! It is my right to have you first!” Kendall screamed, his fury overriding good sense.
She ignored him, stepping outside the room and turning right, toward his wife’s room. He could only listen in impotent anger at what went on.
The double doors into the marchioness’ room flew open to slam against the walls. The lady herself was being used, two men sitting and drinking wine while watching, and two buried deep in her flesh.
“Come on, quit being so damn lifeless. You don’t want us to ha
ve to punish you further do you?” one of the men grunted out.
The sitting men lazily called out without looking. “Shut the door and wait your turn.”
Please let this end soon. I wish I were dead. The thought was repeated endlessly by Anne in her mind. The vampire picked it up.
She came up behind the two men on either side of the couch, who drank and masturbated while waiting their turn, and calling out things they wanted the other men to do to the woman. Illyria grabbed the sides of their skulls, fingers entwined in their hair, using her strength to bash their heads together. They tumbled off the couch in an unconscious heap, wine glasses spilling and shattering on the floor. The vampire advanced without pausing to the big bed, black string skirt fluttering around her blood speckled legs.
“Sorry boys, playtime’s over.” The words came out in a rough purr.
“W-whaaa . . . ?” The man sodomizing Anne gasped out, almost at completion. Wait! Why am I sailing across the room? The dog has never been that great a lay. His befuddled thoughts were cut off as he slammed, back-first, into the marble mantle.
Sudden pain brought him out of his erotic haze, his moan of pleasure turning into a sudden shriek of agony. He slammed face-first into the floor. His nose and teeth broke, lips split, warm blood gushed out.
The second man had just climaxed when he was ripped away from Anne, his fingers leaving marks on her wrists. He looked up dazedly from the floor, not understanding how he had ended up there, or why there was another woman with flames for eyes standing before him. He had started to raise himself from the floor when a foot slammed into his chest, forcing him flat.
“Oohh baby—” His leer and suggestive words quickly dissolved into wordless screams of terror and pain.
He had a brief moment to see his genitals in one of her bloody hands before she forced his mouth open and rammed them as far down his throat as she was able. His arms and hands automatically came up to claw desperately at his blocked esophagus. While he suffocated, he barely felt her sharp nails carve lines into his chest. The pain and shock overcame him quickly, causing him to lose consciousness while he bled out.
Illyria grabbed the arms of her first victim, hauling him to the end of the bed and laying his limbs straight by his side. The pool of blood from his wounds smeared across the polished hardwood. The man who’d hit the fireplace was trying to lift his upper body. His back spasmed with pain, and he had difficulty breathing through the ruin of his nose. “I can’t feel my legs!”
His words came out garbled, but the look of horror in his eyes at the sight of his friend spoke volumes. “What the hell are you?” he whimpered.
“What am I?” The duchess smiled, a hint of fangs touching her bottom lip.
“’E never said this was another costume ball,” the man before her sobbed around the excruciating pain of his broken back.
“Who said anything about costumes?” she asked, one arm snaking out lightning-fast.
The man couldn’t help the cry of agony she tore from him as he found himself bent over backward, face toward the painted ceiling. He flailed about with his arms, hoping to bash her. He heard a crack of bone breaking, and registered dimly that it was his arm. Honey fire consumed his gaze as he felt two hot needles stab into his neck. He felt himself being drained of what made him: his memories, dreams, and fears.
Illyria let the body drop, not concerned with drinking down his essence, his “soul.” She just wanted a quick snack. Like the first man, she dragged him to the end of the bed, laid him out the same way. Then she ripped his genitals off, cramming them inside his throat and mouth and carving the same words on his chest.
The last two men in the room had woken dazed; one immediately scrambled for the door, while the other attempted to fight back. He found his efforts to be all for naught as he soon joined the other two dead men on the floor. The final man screamed out warnings, pushing open doors that hadn’t been locked as he fled down to the first floor, unmindful of his naked state, trying to yank the locked front door open. He wasted precious minutes scrambling to unlock it. The door swung inward in a blast of icy wind and sleet. He’d just stepped on the landing when a hand closed around the back of his neck and left shoulder, yanking him inside. The door slammed shut, locking of its own volition.
“No, no, puppy. There’s no escape here. Take your punishment like a man.”
“Bitch! Whore! When the king hears of this, you will be stripped of your title; you won’t be an advisor anymore.”
The amused laugh sent shivers down his spine; her hands, hard and cold as metal, crushed both his shoulders. The hallway spun and he found himself captured by the duchess’s glowing eyes. His arms felt like unwieldy weights hanging from his mangled shoulders. The fourth man who had waited to assault Anne blinked in disbelief as it seemed the walls moved downward. He turned his head just enough to realize he and the woman were flying. The man struggled, trying to kick her, but only felt his feet and ankle bones shatter as they made contact with her flesh.
“What the hell are you?” he screamed, repeating the question which had been asked before, as they flew down the hall toward the marchioness’ bedroom.
“Death,” echoed in the air around them.
Illyria stood and surveyed her handiwork, dimly aware previously locked doors were starting to open down the hall, their occupants peering out. Now with the screaming ended, a few ignored the commotion, continuing with their pleasures. A few cautiously crept out.
“You assholes!” Kendall howled from his room. “Untie me! Help me, and I'll make it worth your while.”
Lady Anne still lay sprawled on her bed where she had landed after the vampire ripped her attackers off of her. She had the appearance of a broken doll, and the abuse she endured daily at the hands of her husband, along with the more recent from her rapists, could clearly be seen. She breathed shallowly, still trapped inside her mind. Behind Illyria, feet ran down the hall and into the master bedroom. She paid no attention when several pairs stopped outside Anne’s room.
The shrill female scream of terror brought her around. She coldly assessed the small crowd growing outside the doors of both their hosts’ rooms.
“You monster! What the hell you’d do to ‘em?” a man accused her.
Illyria let their thoughts wash over her.
“Shit! I was supposed to have the marchioness next.”
“Hope it was a good last fuck.”
“Twisted bitch! Ain’t any of the men or my sister whores that perverted.”
“Death is not worth staying for a free fuck. I’m leaving!”
The crowd flinched back at the sudden, evil smile which creased the duchess’s face. A moment later, a wind tore through the hall, extinguishing all the candles and oil lamps. Chaos reigned as the partygoers tried to get free of the tight clump they were in. Those who fled blindly, arms out, stumbling and falling down the hall, felt a wave of pure terror wash over them.
Illyria didn’t care to feed, she only wanted to kill and maim the sheep before her. Those who were standing inside the doorway found themselves slamming off the walls before death claimed them. Her eyes glowed as crazed streamers of flame, the only light to be seen as she moved preternaturally fast. The marquis thrashed in impotent rage as his two closest cronies tried to undo the knots which bound him.
They couldn’t see what happened in the darkness filling the hall. Screams of fear and the sickening crunch of bones made them all wonder if it wasn’t worse that way. The marquis finally rolled off the bed, staggering a little as blood rushed back to his extremities.
“That bitch!” he growled, flinging open a wardrobe. He yanked a shirt out, using it to bind his broken arm against his upper abdomen. Jenabram reached back inside to extract a sword. “Grab the poker, Zeck, and Tully, take my dagger. We’ll teach the whore manners.”
Crazed with pain, wanting revenge, Kendall never spared a glance for his slave, still sitting on the floor at the end of the bed, tied up and making strange noises. If
he had, he would have noticed the obvious deformity to the man’s jaw. It spoke of being out of joint, and broken.
Kendall paused motioning with his sword for Tully to grab up a branch of candelabra with one taper still alight. “Afraid to be seen in the light, kitty? You want to fight like a man, you whore? Then test yourself against one!” he screamed in rage.
“Uh,” began Zeck, but was hissed to silence by his friend.
The screams and unnerving sounds of people meeting their deaths petered out. A deep silence filled the mansion, heavy with terror.
Kendall sneered, “Bah. I won’t let some whore of a duchess destroy everything. It’s just tricks on her part.”
He took a step out into the darkened hall and immediately stumbled over a body. “Damn it!” He swore as he righted himself and shook his hair back out of his face. Kendall wanted to stride purposefully, but the light wasn’t adequate.
“We need to see!” Zeck instructed Tully as he cast about for an oil lamp or another candelabra.
The two men didn’t have a chance to do more than grope about. A sudden hissing intake of breath brought their heads toward Kendall. Before him stood a nightmare vision of the duchess. Her skin glowed luminescent beneath the black string dress she wore. They could see the bones of her skull, her arteries and veins a roadmap of red and blue beneath her flesh. Her eyes glowed as honey-gold fire in dark eye sockets, hair writhed in an unseen wind. Her ruby lips parted to show two vicious-looking fangs.
“Cowardly worms! Bow before the Raven Queen. The Empress of Death.”