by Alana Melos
It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Whatever hurt I’d done to myself had begun to heal, if slowly. She reached up and drew me down into a kiss again. I studied her face as we kissed, her closed eyes revealing nothing to me save that she felt safe with me. She knew I didn’t love her, and yet she gave her love and loyalty to me all the same, making it even an even more precious gift. When the kiss ended and her eyes opened, she smiled. I echoed her, cocking my head to the side, drinking in her affection. No words needed to be said. Though we’d had our bumps, we understood each other. She loved me, and I respected her. That was enough.
Though I felt lust, I craved comfort more. I shifted to the side and lay down next to her, kissing her with great care all the while. She wound her golden brown fingers in my hair, twisting it around in gentle loops as we made out and cuddled. I had to smile at that between kisses because I was usually of the ‘I’m done, get the fuck out of my bed now’ type. I didn’t cuddle. These emotions which had come to life inside of me had a different kind of hunger to sate. Instead of taking, I wanted to give.
I slid my hand down her arm, then crossed to her chest to fondle her full breast. At the motion, her lips parted and she gasped. “Yes,” she murmured. Our lips touched again, just teasing motions as I rubbed her breast slowly, feeling her nipple stiffen under my attentions. I switched hands to give her other breast the same adoration until she writhed underneath me. Small sounds of want escaped her throat, and she arched her back up, needing more.
Sitting up, I pulled up on the hem of her loose shirt. She accommodated me by raising her arms. Once the offending garment was out of the way, I looked down at her lush body. Her breasts were fuller than mine, with dark nipples standing at attention in a sea of warm golden skin. I kissed her roughly, then moved to her neck as I lowered myself to her, letting my warmth sink into her cool body. Bare skin to bare skin was one of those sensations I loved, and I rubbed myself along her, trying to feel every part of her. My lips roved her neck, and down to her collarbone, then lower still until I found myself licking one of her nipples in a slow deliberate manner. Adira’s soft moans drove me forward, and I found myself wanting to give pleasure more than take it.
My hand snaked down to her stomach, and tugged on her loose fitting trousers. As before, she got the hint and helped me strip her down, and we cast the clothing aside. Now that she was as naked I, I let my fingers dance over her skin as I lavished attention on her chest and stomach, licking and nibbling as I explored her. She parted her legs for me, encouraging me to caress every part of her lusciousness. I sank lower yet, leaving a trail of kisses down her abdomen as I knelt on the hard floor and spread her legs even further, leaving her exposed. I knew from experience that when I licked her, she would taste like blood. It was a vampire thing. I had no idea the changes her body underwent as she switched back and forth between human and vampire, but blood was always in the equation. Though I didn’t mind the taste of her--the blood added a subtle metallic flavor to her pussy--I didn’t want to just lunge right in. Instead, my hands felt her thighs, massaging them with a firm grip as I alternated planting kisses on them. My thumbs framed her sex, teasing her with brief touches on her labia and mons.
When finally she raised her hips with a frustrated growl, I grinned to myself and stroked her folds, opening her up as I fondled her. My fingers were callused from my sword and other hard work, but as my fingertips grazed her clit, she groaned and arched her back again. I wanted her to beg, but knew she wouldn’t. In all of our previous lovemaking, she never had. Her body cried out to me, but she was patient, soaking in the sensations without needing to push further.
I took my time massaging her pussy in gentle circles, keeping my touch light. Every time I swept them across her clit, she whimpered, her chest heaving as she panted. When at last I could wait no longer, I spread her labia open and licked her, tasting her.
“Yes,” she breathed, affirming her want. Her voice was breathy, sexy in her desire. I licked her again, then spiralled in on the nub, the source of her pleasure. I traced my tongue around the swollen flesh, then started with slow licks. Every shudder of pleasure, every whimper she uttered made me want her more. It wasn’t just a sop to my ego knowing someone wanted me (though that always added to it). It was more than that.
As she writhed underneath me, I increased my pace, tonguing her thoroughly and without mercy. Adira thrust a hand into my hair, grabbing me and tilting my head just a bit. I got the hint and switched spots as her grip relaxed. Her moans grew louder, more wanton. She uttered soft cries in English and Farsi, urging me on as her climax grew closer. I shifted and wrapped my arms around her thighs to hold her still as I pleasured her, my tongue going faster and faster until she stiffened. A loud affirmative scream ripped itself from her throat as she came, but I didn’t let up. I whipped her into a frenzy as the waves of her orgasm crashed through her body. It was only when she pulled me away forcibly from her that I stopped and wiped my mouth.
I stretched and lay down with her on the bed again, my hands idly wandering as she lay still, not requiring breath. Her peace was absolute, and serenity shone on her. When I kissed her cheek, she turned and returned the gesture, opening her eyes as she smiled. “Now, you,” she said, but I shook my head.
“I’m good,” I told her. At that, she gave me a skeptical look, canting an eyebrow up so comically I had to laugh. “No, I am. I’m still stiff and… I got what I wanted.”
“And what was that?”
“To make you scream,” I told her, and she laughed. When the laughter died, I sighed. “You’re different after Pangea.”
At that, her body went still, expression frozen in neutrality. “Am I?”
“You don’t talk about what happened,” I pressed. “Other than to say you found Nos and he didn’t want to help.”
“He had his own territory to protect,” she said, choosing her words with care. I let my face rest in neutrality as I studied her expression. The faintest bit of unease came from her. That, and a vague sense of betrayal. Not that she betrayed someone, that someone had betrayed her. Even though I pressed with this faint empathic power, I couldn’t get anything more. “He did not want to come and help you.”
“That’s not just it,” I said. “Something happened between you two.”
At that, she sat up and went for her clothes. “I don’t wish to talk of it.”
I had the stupid urge to tell her she could trust me, but I let it go. That’s what liars said. “Thank you,” I told her. “For what you said earlier. I knew all that… I just needed someone else to say it.”
She busied herself with dressing. “Words sound different when they come from outside yourself,” she replied. Once fully clothed, she fluffed her hair out with a hand. “Have you made a decision?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. I glanced over at my wardrobe and still didn’t want to put them on. They were dirty. “I need new threads first.”
She eyeballed my clothes and nodded. When I stood, I grabbed my trenchcoat--I’d never leave that behind if I could, it was custom made and expensive--then exited, with her falling into step behind me. While she had taken this time to do some exploration, I hadn’t, and the vampire directed me to the personal rooms which held women’s wardrobes. In the first, the clothes were too small for my five ten frame. The second, they were too big, made for someone with more bulk than I, but they’d work in a pinch if we couldn’t find anything else. On the third one, I stopped as the door swung open and my breath caught in my throat.
“The clothes here will fit,” I said. “My mother’s room.”
My voice sounded odd, and Adira patted my shoulder. We stepped inside and I looked around. Each of these rooms weren’t large--at most, ten feet by ten feet--and mostly utilitarian. This wasn’t a place where people lived for the most part, but crashed as a safe house, waiting for the heat to go down. My mother had lived in hers. Perhaps she’d had nowhere else, but that didn’t seem right to me. I always imagined her havin
g a lot of hidey-holes, and I’d copied that. My mouth drew into a tight line as I looked around. She had whole painted canvases stacked on top of each other on one half of the room. I knew she was an artist, but the sheer amount of paintings she left behind surprised me. On shelves, which she had on every free spot on the walls, she had stacked an enormous amount of what looked to be useless junk. Everything from yo-yo’s to semi-automatics were piled with no rhyme or reason. Her art supplies were shoved into nooks and crannies on these shelves… a bit of chalk here, a cluster of paint brushes there. Books littered the floor, stacked up around the bed like a fortress. The closet was closed, and when I crossed to open it, here I found order. On one side she had separated ‘work’ clothes. The other? Her ‘play’ clothes. This I remembered from home, and found some comfort in it. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
I looked over her work clothes first. These had mostly stayed in the closet at home, but had contained her old villaining “uniform”, as she liked to call it. It was this black leather kind of suit with crazy patterns drawn on it in a bright, radioactive green. Sometimes she wore a trench over it, and sometimes not, but the dark green coat she had worn hung next to it. When I put my hands in the pockets, I came up with notes, a stapler, a myriad of toys, a bag of catnip, a few rocks, and a straight razor… no sane collection of things.
I opened up one of the notes and read it aloud, “Granite, chisel, clothes--what kind? Rock saw, can’t fit a saw in a room. New place? Where? Sounds like screaming cats. I hate cats.” I let it drop and shook my head.
“What was she talking about?” Adira asked as she edged into the room, looking around at the disorder.
“Don’t know,” I shrugged. “Sculpting or something?”
“Granite… here, this maybe,” she said, and picked up something to hand to me. I took it in hand and found a small statuette of a bristling wolf. It was rough hewn, not fine work, but the malice in its eyes was unmistakable. “I think Rory would like that.”
I nodded as I glanced at her. The wistful sound in her voice and the small sigh afterwards told me how much she missed him. “I think he would,” I agreed. “Why don’t you keep it and give it to him?”
She shrugged, but tucked the wolf away in a pocket when I handed it back to her. I turned back to the closet and went through my mother’s clothing. Most of it was out of style, but not by that much. Styles did change, but the classics never did. She had casual clothes, like jeans and t-shirts, as well as the typical ‘little black dress’ every woman shouldn’t live without. In addition to her dark green trench, she had a biker’s jacket, a dress coat, a few lighter spring or summer jackets, and leather. I had to smile at that. At least our tastes ran the same, though she had an unhealthy preoccupation with green like I had with red.
As I picked out an outfit, I mused about how different her mind had been. She was crazy, without a doubt, but everything she did had a certain sense to it. She’d been like that when I was young too, silly and fun, reading me stories while she drew pictures in the sand with her teke, acting them out. Half the time, she’d seemed like a child herself, delighting in the simplest things. It was only after my powers manifested that we began to butt heads, and, eventually, broke completely. My lip curled up as my hate surged. Clone of herself or not, she had no right to fuck with my head. If nothing else, I was going to teach her that lesson.
I kept the clothing choices pretty simple: a white button-up shirt that I left partially undone to show off the black bra underneath, black jeans, and dark green knee high boots. I couldn’t help the color of the boots; I liked the look of them too much to care if they clashed with my dark red coat. On impulse, I fetched a red tie from the wardrobe and let it hang loose around my neck in a noir punk eighties look, just to add a little more flavor. I should blend in about anywhere, with a few adjustments if needed.
“I’m done,” I said, looking to Adira who had stooped to examine the paintings, one after the other. “What about you?”
She shook her head. Her clothing looked good to go. “I will take a jacket from someplace,” she said. “Mine was ripped in the fight.”
“I’ll meet you back in the entry then,” I said. “I have to think for a bit.” When she nodded her assent, I put on my trench, make sure my o-wakizashi was secure, and headed to the front. The corpses there didn’t bother me… much. The one on the couch did, and it was to him that I approached, kneeling down by the dessicated head.
Sadness welled in me, but it wasn’t the desolation of before. This had a purpose. This would have been my father, in this world. If he hadn’t have died, that was. If he hadn’t been murdered. On the heels of sadness, anger welled. I looked at the brown suit he wore, at the hair still slicked back in parts, and at his big hands, folded neatly over one another on his stomach. I imagined the father I knew laying here, and trembled with anger at the thought. As I fingered the tie around my neck absently, I thought that I should have something from him. A memento. Though there was no blood relation between us, I still felt a strong connection.
I rifled through his pockets, but didn’t come up with much: a pen that wouldn’t work, a pack of gum, and an old phone, so out of date it was ridiculous. At the phone, I smiled. Even on the island, my father kept his phone close at hand to check his stocks. Though he had money to last him the rest of his life and then some, he still compulsively checked his phone for the ups and downs of the market. That would have to do. Even now, he didn’t have much on the island that I would consider frivolous or ‘him’. His was a mind born of practicality and not much imagination.
After I pocketed the phone, I turned my thoughts to the next step. Though still stiff and wounded, I felt alright for the most part. Painkillers kept the worst of my headache at bay, though it still throbbed now and again. My choice came down to one of three possibilities: we could stay, we could go back to Prime, or we could go to Axis to rescue the Siren. I hesitated on the last before adding it as an option. I knew the coordinates. Gerard had made me memorize them just in case he couldn’t operate Interdimensional, Inc.’s equipment on his own. That was also the reason why I knew the coordinates to Earth Prime. If the equipment in this base still worked, and if it worked the same way as the stuff on Prime, it would be no problem at all going home. But did I want to?
If I stayed here, there was a chance we would get caught. Adira likely slipped out to feed while I’d been out of it, but with each trip the chance of being seen would increase. While I did want to know more about my home dimension, I wasn’t sure that was anything of any practical value. It wasn’t like I was going to take over here, or mess with them once I got back to Prime. I did have to try and find a way to get Nox to stop coming after me, but since they already had the genecode they wanted… they might not bother.
If we went back to Prime, we could gather the troops to rescue Rebekah. Gerard wouldn’t go, but I think a lot of the wolves and vamps would. It was never spoken of, but I think they missed their home. Rory would join us, and I might even be able to hire some other loose cannons. We could then go to the Reich, fully prepared… but how long would that take? And, on top of that, I’d have to have them come into my little clubhouse on Prime. I trusted Adira and Rory, but the rest I was less certain on, and any mercenaries would keep the secret base in mind, using it to rat me out when it was opportunistic for them.
The third option was the worst yet. We could go to Axis Earth and try to rescue her ourselves, but how would we find her? I didn’t think Adira had ever bitten Rebekah, so that mystical way was out. On top of that, it would be us two against the whole of the Reich, specifically Richter and any cyvamps or robot zombies or whatever other crazy shit he’d come up with. If we waited too long, there was a good chance she would be dead. Worse yet, she could be changed. As a necromancer, life and death didn’t hold the same meaning to Richter that it did for the rest of us, and his personality and nature were perverse even for me. The most important part of going to Axis? It wasn’t gua
ranteed that we’d come back. Hell, it wasn’t guaranteed we’d have access to a portal even if I recruited a whole army over here to rescue her. What I kept coming back to was my own imprisonment. They’d wanted to experiment on me, change me. I kept transferring that sensation to Rebekah, knowing that he would change her, and that every second she was a captive, the more she’d be warped and twisted to his mad desires.
These thoughts troubled me, and changed me at the same time. It wasn’t just a primal emotion which I hadn’t felt before like fear, but something more complex. It wasn’t just simple compassion either, though that was more or less new. I related to her in a way that made her real to me, not just someone who belonged to me, or a thing to be played with and either kept or tossed away. I knew she’d be suffering because I would have suffered under those circumstances. In that light, the thought of Rebekah being a prisoner was intolerable.
I knelt there thinking things over, trying to consider every angle. It came down to that one thing in the end that my mind got stuck on. When Adira entered the room with a dark blue overcoat on, I looked up at her. She raised her brows in silent question.
I stood up. “So, what’s the weather like in Germany this time of year?”
Chapter Ten
It wasn’t the smart idea. It probably wasn’t even a smart idea, but I was resolved. In the miniature portal room, I saw the same setup as on Prime, complete with the manuals stored every which way. Whatever had set my mother off in the entrance hadn’t caused her to destroy this room. Helpfully, the one guide which held the instructions I needed had been laid out on a desk near the main controls, opened to the page I needed. Some people would say that was good fortune, a lucky break, or even fate. It wasn’t any of those. My mother had needed to learn how to operate the portals before she left too, and of course she’d just left things lying where they were. She was never coming back here. Why should she care about putting a book back?