Beating Hearts (A Contemporary and Paranormal Valentine Anthology)

by Krystal Shannan

  He hung by wrist cuffs on a chain secured to ceiling. She spun him around to face her. “Look at me,” she ordered.

  His head hung even as he tried to follow her command. He giggled. Elle popped him from this side, allowing the flogger to wrap around him, touching the overworked skin of his back twice more. She tossed her prop to her Dom companion/co-worker, Marcus, who yelled at Gill, “Thank your Mistress!”

  Gill attempted to do just that but only incomprehensible babble came out. Elle covered him with the soft caress of the fur and when she was convinced he had reached the place he sought, she wrapped her arm around his waist, reached up with the other hand and unhooked his wrists. He would have fallen had she not held him up. His arms, still bound together, fell around her neck.

  Elle fought to keep her hard image intact but she shuddered out a breath. To touch. It was everything. She had the ability to hear the thoughts of others when her skin came in contact with theirs. It was exhausting. Putting a person into subspace, a kind of trance-like state where they become completely disassociated with reality, was her payment for services rendered. A person could die without physical contact; it was proven. This was the way she got what she needed without being bombarded by the hundreds of thoughts that crossed the human mind every second.

  She slid her hands down over his boxer-clad buttocks and pulled his legs apart and up. She carried him, like a sleeping child, on her hips and resting his head on her shoulder, to one of the back rooms. Elle was strong. Elle was hard. Her asymmetrical yellow hair should have made her look butch but it didn't. She wore little to work, black velour bra, matching panties, a skirt that barely met the definition, and knee high, thick and high heeled boots, so that when the time came she could touch and be touched. Her six-pack abs and v shaped pelvic muscles were set off by her outfit. Her magical ability was also the reason for her ripped appearance. Working out was something she could do alone. No one touched her in the gym.

  Most Doms she knew disliked aftercare. Not Elle. She felt like a shaman. She took these people on a spiritual journey that left them spent - mind, body, and soul. It was her responsibility to make sure they were taken care of, that their trip didn't come down too harshly. The back rooms were kept warmer than the dungeon. Even so, Gill had started shivering. She put him on the full sized bed, every room had one, and covered him with the freshly washed bedding.

  There were drinks and snacks in the mini-fridge. She selected an ice cold water and chocolate milk, passing on the variety of cookies and candies displayed on a tray on top of the cooler. Elle knew from experience with Gill that he couldn't stomach solids but needed the calories. Chocolate milk always seemed to do the trick for him. It was soothing and vitamin packed, not to mention the protein, fat and carbs.

  After helping him drink a healthy amount of each, she climbed into bed with Gill. It wasn't sexual; play had to stop when a sub went into this vulnerable state. In it, they could really hurt themselves, not knowing when to stop, not feeling or comprehending what was really happening to their bodies. Spooning his back, she rested in that quiet warm fuzzy place other people, normal people, took for granted. This was the only time she could have human contact and not go crazy with the jumble of thoughts from messy minds. She ran her fingers through his hair and skimmed his arms with her fingertips, relishing the feel without the obstruction of her usual opera length gloves. They served as her last line of defense when she was forced to go out. Laying her cheek against the fevered skin of his shoulder, she said all the silly nonsensical things she knew made Gill feel safe and happy.

  “Gill, you are valuable. You are loved,” she whispered to him when she sensed he was drifting to sleep. “I need you every bit as much as you need me. Thank you, Gill.” She had never done the humiliation thing. She couldn't see its purpose. If a client needed that, they needed a different Dominant.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” Gill whispered as she got up. His words were slurred but she understood. She made sure he was tucked in and his drinks were within reach and left. She closed the door behind her and switched the sign to 'occupied'.

  Back in the dungeon, Marcus was indulging in tickle torture with a newbie. She had said she was scared of pain and didn't want to get that deep into it. She was just trying it out. She'd agreed to tickle torture thinking it sounded cute. Marcus was really giving it to her. He was beautiful to watch as he performed his art. The ways his arms moved was almost a dance and there were plenty of props to make it enjoyable for the casual observer.

  Some club members came there as couples. They used the equipment and privacy rooms. Sometimes they sat around having a few drinks and enjoying the spectacle. Nonmembers were welcome if they just wanted to check it out and as long as they followed the etiquette. Anyone who wanted to play could grab a collar, either the ones marked as Elle's or Marcus', signaling which Dom they preferred. Beginner Doms weren't allowed to practice here. Those who didn't understand the scene thought that being the one in control was easy. Being a top was a responsibility and the owners didn't like frat boys, thinking they were too cool to follow the rules and take safety precautions, who might hurt someone and ruin Club R.A.C.K.'s reputation.

  Elle knew that other places did things differently. This was their own niche of the world and they did what worked for them. Wearing her collar didn't mean that they were hers. It didn't carry that honor; it was merely an indicator or desire and availability. She wasn't sure if there was someone out there she wanted to collar as her own. The normal subs weren't her type. What she really wanted was for a strong man like Marcus to submit to her. A truly powerful person surrendering was a powerful aphrodisiac and as far as she could tell, almost completely unheard of.

  Elle worked the crowd. She greeted some regulars, welcomed some strangers, and got a snack and drink from the bar, nonalcoholic of course. She made note of who wore her collars. There were about the same number as there had been before she went to work on Gill. Some new people wore them. Others had removed them, changing their minds after seeing her lay into Gill. Either way, her scene with him had an effect on a lot of people. Her arms needed a break and so she passed on Paul because she knew he wanted the cane.

  Elle sat at the table with a girl she'd serviced a few times, and was careful to keep out of reach. Her anxiety showed on her face and the last thing Elle wanted was to hear her thoughts. The girl was college aged and fairly attractive, though a bit mousy. “Hello, Amy. It is Amy, right? How are you?”

  “Hello, Mistress. Yes ma'am, it's Amy.” She was clearly flattered that Elle had remembered her. “I'm fine...doing good.”

  “It is well, Amy. You are doing well. Doing good means you are helping the less fortunate.”

  “Yes, of course Mistress. Thank you.”

  “You are welcome. Are you looking for something particular tonight?” While Elle didn't have to fulfill a sub's requests, or even ask about them, Amy was new. She was still getting a sense of the scene and all it had to offer.

  “Whatever Mistress thinks is best.” Amy most often came to the club to observe. Anticipation was what she sought. Sitting there watching other submissives, waiting to see if she would be chosen was almost as good for her as being dominated.

  As Elle considered what would be best she was distracted by hunger. Before she knew it, she had eaten all of the pretzels from the dish in the center of the table. No, she wasn't hungry. She was thirsty. Elle grabbed her Sprite and gulped the whole thing down, but it did nothing to ease her thirst. It wasn't her thirst. It was coming from another person's thoughts. She was feeling emotions other than her own, hearing thoughts while not touching anyone. Elle stood, trying to figure out whose head she was inside of. This was obviously not Amy, the only person within arms length. For one thing it was male. For another it was almost animalistic. They weren't thoughts coming from it; they were more simple than that. Then it changed from feelings and desires to pictures. Elle was seeing what this man was seeing.

  All at once she knew this wasn't
a man and she was in deep shit.

  ***

  At first, there were no cohesive thoughts, just sensations and needs.

  The cool moist soil beneath his feet.

  The sooth rock walls against his fingertips.

  Emptiness. He was the last left.

  The stillness of the cave.

  The desire to get out.

  Then, there was the blinding glare of the strength-giving sun, something he hadn't seen in a century. The sand, so bleached that it was almost as bright as the sun that made it that way, was gritty and dry on the souls of his feet and between his toes. He looked to the sky and howled at the joy of freedom.

  He was thirst incarnate. All other thoughts and memories were washed away in the tidal wave of hunger. Finally free of his prison, he could feel her. There was no longer a Plexiglas barrier keeping them apart. His Sinnis, his destined mate, was in his head. He would go to her but first he must feed.

  The moment he thought of it, his senses honed in on the only life in the area. Two men hid in the mountains watching a young woman and her herd of animals. There was no need to move; he willed himself there and he was. His prey didn't hear him coming. He just appeared behind them. When he re-formed after traveling in that manner, he'd done so in his natural form.

  Giant and glowing, with a wingspan that blotted out the sun, his shadow covered them. They spun on him and lashed out with their weapons. There was no fight; he simply grabbed the first one and bit into his neck. The second he touched the man, the mortal's thoughts flooded his. These men were evil-doers. Their nefarious plans for the young girl were dark, violent, and carnal.

  His Sinnis would be experiencing everything he was. She wouldn't be able to help it. She was strong and their bond undeniable even before meeting. She felt his hunger, knew the man he fed on was bad, made no protest.

  Blood flowed over his tongue, but he barely tasted it. The human was drained in an instant, his body tossed down the hill like the shell it was. His companion hadn't tried to defend his friend; he'd run. There was no honor among thieves and rapists. With one down sweep of his wings, the Nephilim took to the skies and landed before the fleeing man. Begging for his life had no effect on the demigod.

  Too eager in his feeding, he accidentally snapped the man's neck. Death didn't stop the feeding. It took some time for the prana, the life force found in a living thing's blood, to dissipate. His heart stopped beating, forcing the Nephilim to apply suction to the wound. The blood didn't flow, but if anything the feeding sped up. Squeezing his meal one last time, sucking the last drop, and then he too was thrown away. Sorath, for now he could think enough to remember his own name, was still thirsty, and his attention was drawn to the girl. Riding the air currents, he circled above her and her sheep reacted to the sense of danger so near.

  You will not touch her. You saved her, don't let your desires negate that. She is not for you to feed on. His Sinnis rang clear in his mind. There was no doubt in her voice. She wasn't asking. Feeling his impending protest, his ever-present hunger, she instructed him, Come, submit to me. If you please me, I will bring an end to your thirst.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Elle should have been more careful what she wished for. Could she dominate such a being? She would need to collar him quickly. If Elle could control him in his raw state of need now, she could rest easy that he would submit in more leisurely times.

  Elle wanted to lead him away from the club but there wasn't time. She couldn't risk him finding her on Loop 1. His supernatural winged appearance would cause havoc on the high speed highway. Not to mention the damage he could do to her car. She wasn't positive he wouldn't rip it to shreds to get to her.

  She quickly, but nicely, told the patrons that they must leave. The bartender helped with evacuation and left with the confused and concerned customers. Elle helped Marcus get his last submissive out of her restraints and into one of the recovery rooms. They made sure all of the rooms were locked, though she knew they would slow down a Nephilim about as much as a paper chain. A being that powerful might not even notice it.

  "What's going on, Elle? Why the panic?" Marcus put his hand on Elle's arm in a supportive gesture. For a moment her eyesight went red. All she could feel was rage that someone was touching her. It wasn't her emotion but the Nephilim's. It was strong; he must be getting close. She gently extricated herself from Marcus' touch.

  Elle went behind the counter and started searching through the inventory for something she could use to defend herself. Nephilim were most dangerous when meeting the woman from their mother's line. They waited so long, 360 generations to be exact, for these special women to be born that they were unpredictable in that desperate time until the ritual and conversion could take place. Elle wasn't sure even she'd be safe. "Apparently, I'm being claimed as a Sinnis. The Nephilim is on his way here."

  Marcus was a regular man, no magic ran in his family, but he was a trusted friend. He knew of her ability, her relationship with the Daughters of Women and that she would possibly have an ancient mate. "You hope he's Nephilim and not Akhkharu."

  She did not answer Marcus. Akhkharu were Nephilim who had given into their hunger, allowed the beast inside to feast on the flesh and blood of another Nephilim. It satisfied, but the cost was absolute corruption. Though her Nephilim's mind seemed less coherent than a human's, he did not feel evil. Elle had read many Nephilim over the past years and their brains were consumed by the thirst for violence, the need for blood. She did not enjoy it. This one was no different, except that she could hear him even when they weren't in physical contact.

  He was blinded by his hunger, drawn to her presence. He was also being bombarded by the thoughts of others. As he traveled the world, he could sense those around him and through him she could hear them too. She sure hoped there was a way to stop that. If she couldn't stomach the thoughts of one human long enough to have a real relationship, she certainly couldn't take the constant stream of consciousness of a thousand.

  "You sure you don't need me to stick around?" Marcus asked, as he put on his coat.

  Elle could probably have used the support, though having him there wouldn't do anything except boost her confidence. "No," she said. "I'm not sure, but..." The Nephilim might follow her orders, but it was assured that he wouldn't listen to anyone else. The dart gun in her bag would only work on Akhkharu and the whip would do little more than annoy a Nephilim. Both made her feel better. Putting them on a high table, she went back to get the shot gun they kept under the bar. She didn't want to shoot anyone but she would if she had to. "You should go."

  She recognized her mistake as the back wall exploded. Marcus was yanked away from her even as she reached out to him. The Nephilim had felt her fear for Marcus, mistaking it for fear OF Marcus. "Wait!" She shook her head, showing her disappointment. The Nephilim held Marcus by his neck with one hand, watching her closely. "Only fools rush in," she admonished.

  Then he said his first words aloud to her, "This angel fears to tread nowhere," and she was surprised at his accent. It was British-ish. His hunger, a living beast, ever present, constantly inciting him to violence, was there just under. She could hear the second voice, more animal than human. It had a markedly less civilized sound.

  "Then you are a fool, indeed. Put him down."

  "He has lust for you, wishes to see you in pain."

  "Marcus is a sadist. Surely you can see the difference between his mind and that of the men you fed on. Marcus isn't evil. He's my friend, and because I don't have many of those," she pumped the shot gun, loading it for punctuation, "I will be very angry with you if he is hurt."

  His response was to pull Marcus close to his own face and growl, so Elle, though it hurt her to do so, put a shot in the only place she was sure she wouldn't accidentally hit Marcus. The thin membrane of the Nephilim's right wing was shredded as the buckshot hit in a hundred places at once.

  He howled in pain, "But he wants what is mine!"

  Elle loaded another shell into t
he shotgun. "I belong to no one and if you wish to be mine, I will have submission from you." Slowly, he lowered Marcus to the ground, never taking his eyes off of her. They were multicolored opals, like all Nephilim, but they were rimmed in red, a clear sign that this one was close to turning. Elle was suddenly glad she hadn't gone back to the compound she lived on with her sister witches. It was filled with Nephilim and their blood would have called out to this one so hungry. Then they would have had a real problem on their hands. "On your knees."

  He obeyed but there was fire in his glare. This made him almost human height. "Gaze on the ground," she ordered as she ran to Marcus' side. Her friend was bent over at the waist, desperately trying to catch his breath. He'd been close to being strangled to death. She helped him to one of the empty recovery rooms. Apologizing, she told him he should go out the back and home as soon as he was able.

  The Nephilim had stayed as he was bade. He sat back on his heels, but his head remained bowed, his sight-line never leaving the floor. She took this opportunity to study him. Her eyes were drawn to the blood red stone hanging on a leather cord around his neck. That would be hers soon enough. It would mark her as claimed, granting her near eternal life and unparalleled magical abilities. Like all Nephilim, he was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him. His hair was darker than hers, a dirty, almost gray-brown to her golden blond, and it fell in soft waves almost touching his shoulders. His face was well shaped with a masculine square jawline that she thought would look oh, so, sexy if it had a bit of stubble. As she watched a five o'clock shadow appeared, grew a bit more and stopped.

  He had heard her thoughts and adjusted himself to be more pleasing to her. She'd never had to be careful with her thoughts, never known anyone like her, save her mentor.

  He was muscular but not as bulky as... She stopped herself. It was probably not a good idea to compare him to other Nephilim she knew. He might get the wrong impression and the last thing they needed was animosity between the demigods. He had the physique of a man who did calisthenics rather than weight-lifted. The muscles of his back were larger and more pronounced than a human man's because they had to support the giant wings. Manipulating them into carrying a being this size took considerable strength. Hair coated his chest and stomach, matching that which covered his legs. His thighs were thick and firm, just the way she liked them. There between them, it rested on the ground.