by Marata Eros
She cocked her head. “You are most strange, Constantine of the Faction.”
Con shook his head, his gaze darkening on the pinpoint marks that marred the luminescence of her skin.
He had branded her but Con made no move to close those holes. The blood trickle was a tantalizing reminder of what she'd given.
His Druid nature was a little closer to owning her. The blood that fueled his system demanded that he fuck her, mate her.
No! Constantine yelled in mental denial, he would never belong to a female.
Care for a female.
“I am Faction no longer,” he responded instead.
Ember inclined her head in acknowledgment then said, “Then it is Constantine.”
“It is who I always was.”
He watched as she turned from him, slipping out like a pale ghost of floating azure ice, captured wisps of frozen smoke.
Her blood coated his mouth and he licked his chops.
Constantine knew that he was seen as the bitch guard dog to the princess of the Mer.
He thought that eventually Desmond would regret Constantine's inclusion in the Siren ranks.
It may even be sooner than he realized.
Constantine bedded down in the warm water of the sea, the tub remarkably easy to slide into.
A heartbeat or two passed before the blackness of sleep washed over him and his last thought was of Ember.
Her blood laced his mouth and he unconsciously sipped at his lower lip where the faintest traces of her remained on his skin.
Fire and ice.
He slept on a wave of dreams dominated by flames and errant surf.
Constantine was swept into the current, a bottle in the ocean, shuttled about without course.
CHAPTER 2
Con stared in the mirror, knowing the reflection did not lie. He was mesmerized by his neck which sported the breathing apparatus of the Mer.
Ember had told him that he would become more Mer than vampire but what kind of mutt was he now? He turned away from his reflection in disgust and his eyes fell on the object of his musings.
Ember stood before him, her skin shining with that faint iridescence that all the Mer possessed, a lustrous pearl. Disregarding his unhappy expression she said in a flat voice, “Come, Desmond makes plans for a raid.”
She turned away from him and he was suddenly directly behind her. The sea fragrance of her skin infiltrated his body like a sly poison.
“Do not touch me, Constantine,” Ember said in a voice that was accustomed to commanding all who were in her presence.
Constantine was utterly unaccustomed to following directives.
He would not begin now; he wrapped her against him from behind. Her surprise came through the tether of their unsanctioned embrace. “Do not,” she hissed softly.
“Or what?” Con purred in a hard voice against her ear, squeezing those delicately constructed wrists together behind her with one powerful hand. With the other he grabbed her slender throat, bending it against himself as his fangs grazed the skin that now ran hot with fear.
The smell of her vibrating terror grew his cock into a hard pole of seeking invasion.
“I do not wish to injure my best guard,” she said softly, unable to move with his dominating hold on her.
Constantine's mouth salivated with the wish to subdue this female. Her haughty manner was something to break down to its basest level.
Ember would grovel and beg for him.
Con's hard shaft pressed between her ass cheeks, seeking entry even as she tried to move her hips forward.
“I feel your arousal, Faction,” she said in a dry voice, squeezed tight by his hand on her slender neck.
“What of it? You are female, made to be fucked and bred, no more,” Con stated by rote.
“I am a Maiden of the Mer and by all supernaturals' presumptions, quite rare. Would you rape a female of such rarity? You impressed me as someone who used their brain on occasion.”
How could her words disagree with her scent? Constantine knew the smell of fear. It was something that pacified him, calmed the demon. Ember spoke with bravado yet her fear of him permeated the air like an aphrodisiac.
Dear goddess she drove him mad. He pushed her away from himself before he lost his tenuous control.
She spun gracefully to face him. Livid red handprints were stark puzzle pieces on the skin of her throat, shaped in a necklace of anger. It made Constantine hard all over again.
Ember studied his expression and laughed. “You are such a dog, Faction. You seek to control me without control of yourself.”
Constantine hissed, his talons sliding out of his fingers in a smooth practiced motion as timeless as ever, while his fangs elongated.
Con could feel the extra oxygen the gruesome slits afforded him and his thoughts sharpened. Along with his sense of smell.
When his vampiric senses mingled with his Mer blood, he understood something.
For all his violent nature, Ember wanted him. He could smell it. Her mermaid pussy was wet with it.
It was Constantine's turn to grin, like the cat that swallowed the canary.
Ember looked flustered before him and turned to go but his hand snaked out, latching onto her small wrist. Those deep red eyes looked into his like banked fire. “It is nothing,” she shrugged dismissively. “It is but a biological response to your blood of the Mer.”
Right, Con thought, and he was a human scourge.
“So you are a bitch in heat with all the guard of the Mer? All the warriors cause you to drench your undergarments?”
Her slap rung throughout the stone chamber they stood in. “I am not a whore to be bred like the ones you're used to rutting with. I am a princess of the Mer,” Ember said, holding her hand in such a way to cradle it, her chin kicking up.
She had hurt herself more than Con. He smiled.
“Have you thought that maybe it will be different between us?” Constantine asked in a low voice, neutrality taking over where mirth had stood a moment before.
Her eyes blazed into his. The heat was a breathable thing between them.
“No,” she said emphatically, her eyes flashing in her expressive face.
Ember put her back to him, walking away and Con followed her out of the chamber.
The lady protests too much, methinks, Con mused, the smile taking up residence on his face once again.
*
Constantine's body hung with fifty extra pounds. He'd been outfitted with weaponry like the other Mer Warriors. They all had gills, as he now did.
They did not possess fangs or talons. Con did.
There had been great curiosity with his unusual attributes. The warriors that he had punished earlier were whole again, thanks to Ember's strange magic cauldron of healing. She was not even a Druid witch but somehow possessed magic. Interesting. Something Con would explore in great detail in the future.
He looked at her now and saw that she was outfitted as a warrior. It was ridiculous. She was so small compared to her male counterparts, Ember would be helpless against a male, Constantine thought with a low snort and Ember gave him a sharp glance as Desmond droned on about their mission.
Con was a point and shoot soldier. Russel of his vampire kiss had decided on the target and Con would... do his job for the coven. No matter how long, how hard. It would get done. After all, it was Russel that had freed him from the prison of his upbringing. Constantine was not proud of how he had repaid the coven leader. The truth was as Con saw it: Russel had seen his value as a Faction vampire and taken him for his own use.
It had been a gentler form of exploitation and it was something Constantine had always known about his life. It was a greedy and abiding thing that he wished to be freed of. Yet, here he stood again, being used for his mixed heritage yet again.
Con realized he'd been doing what passed for daydreaming as all eyes were on him.
Desmond drummed his fingers on the thick table of quartz-like stone centered in the cave
rnous room, giving him a level stare.
Not wishing to admit his inattentiveness he cocked a brow in question. Desmond sighed. “I do hope that this is not the level of your prowess in the field?”
“No. I have much to consider and deliberate upon, Desmond. As you are very aware,” Constantine replied smoothly.
“I will repeat my question then: can you use your Exotic skills?”
Con thought rapidly. Exotics were a fraction of the vampire race that hailed from the deep Saharan deserts of the northern hemisphere and as far east as the Orient. He had met few. That he had a dollop of that ancestry within his own genetic make-up was a mystery. He lifted his shoulders then let them fall without comment.
Desmond ran a hand through the match of his sister's hair in mild frustration. “You are Exotic, Druid and Mer and you were not aware of your lineage?”
Con nodded. “I am very aware of the Druid bits,” Con added with a sweep of a hand down his body, “the physical is the tell.”
Desmond chuckled. “That and the random protective urge with a female.” His eyes met Con's. “That you would give anything not to have I presume.”
You presume correctly, Con internally agreed, saying nothing.
Desmond circled the table, his index finger trailing the table top behind him. He stood behind his sister, Ember staring at him blankly.
A female Con had taken blood from.
He swallowed, thinking of the bloom of flavor her blood had made on his tongue and heard the dry click of his swallow.
Suddenly, Desmond put his hands around his sister's throat and Con reacted, his small palmable dagger, stood under the tender spot of Desmond's chin. It had been so fast he hadn't even thought to move, yet he had.
Another typical way that Constantine led his life- reactively.
Their eyes met and Ember's breathing was ragged. “Brother, what are you doing?” she asked with his hands around her throat.
“Gauging his readiness, my sister.”
“Do it another way,” Ember said and a small melodic note escaped her mouth and Desmond grimaced, his hands falling away as Constantine stood down, a drop of blue blood coating the very tip of his blade.
Desmond's eyes fell to that tip then his hand went to his own throat, coming away smeared with navy-colored blood.
Constantine hissed at the warriors that would lay hands on his person. “You were slow, back off,” Con said in a level voice.
Desmond gave a slow clap. After several tense moments he stared at Con. “Very good, Faction. You were chosen well.”
Desmond's eyes narrowed on his sister. “Do not use your Siren's call against your own flesh and blood.”
Ember glared right back. “Do not make it so I need to, brother.”
Interesting sibling interaction, Con thought, looking at the two.
Constantine liked the moodiness and animosity he sensed between the two. It might prove useful later.
Desmond broke eye contact with Ember, turning once again to Constantine, neatly changing the subject.
“This treasure has been stolen from the deepest sea beds. It has medicinal purposes for our people. If it is not retrieved...” Desmond spread his hands away from his body.
Con instantly switched mental gears. “Who is taking it?”
Desmond's eyes shifted to his. “The human robbers.”
Constantine palmed his chin, deep in thought.
“Why does my Exotic blood matter?”
Desmond looked again at Ember. “We were hoping that you could use the telepathic abilities of the Exotic to locate this precious material and Ember would not need to leave the safety of the caves.”
He sighed, raking his hand through his hair again. When Desmond splayed his fingers and fisted his hand, Con noticed the webbing was there as well. Constantine looked at his own webless hands. At least he'd been spared that indignity, he thought.
“How am I to guard her? If she roams amongst the humans?” Con said, pointing to the ridiculous breathing slits that layered his throat three deep on either side.
Desmond smiled. “Yours may disappear once you are inland far enough. And as for my dear sister,” he looked at Ember and she scowled, “she can pass for human. She does not possess gills outside of the seawater and only her feet have webbing. And I may add, not sufficient enough to notice.” He said that last on a sniff.
Con almost rolled his eyes. He was entirely not interested in their bullshit Mer politics.
“Fine,” Con said in a curt voice, bored. “Ember will locate the sea...”
“For you it is seaweed, for the humans it is something to harvest illegally for their drug trafficking,” Desmond clarified.
“Really?” Constantine asked, stunned. Some sea plants were what? The next heroine?
“It is lucrative, difficult to trace and the way they have been raping our ocean floor, exceedingly inexpensive to harvest.”
“So the humans are getting high on your seaweed and you're pissed? You'll use your sister as a divining rod to find your crap.” Constantine met his eyes in aggravation. “Is it worth her life?”
Desmond nodded but it was Ember that spoke, “Yes,” she answered quietly. “I cannot heal my people without it and our meat dies with its decimation.”
Constantine looked at the beings that he'd aligned with. The trouble was not lost on him: the humans had taken their sacred plant, the thing that the animals they ate for food also consumed. It was a circle that was now broken.
Con folded his arms, however, some things never changed. “What's in it for me?”
Ember looked away, clearly embarrassed. “You will seek the maidens as well.”
“What?” Constantine stepped forward, suddenly interested.
Desmond answered, “We have few maidens left. Ember is the last that possesses' the magick of our people. She is able to call forth the Mother with very little effort.
Constantine whirled on her. “It was you!” he accused. “You are the one that called the ocean warrior!”
She grinned. “Yes, it was I,” she answered, pleased with herself.
“Humph. I do not think we need more females like her,” Constantine said then added in a dry voice, “even if she is quite tasty.”
If looks could kill, he would have been a smoldering pile of ash.
Constantine grinned and she turned to Desmond. “Does he know? All of it?” she challenged.
“Your reward will be to partake in a literal sea of feminine flesh, my Faction.” Desmond lifted his brows at Con.
Constantine deliberated. “So I get to fuck the fish women.”
Ember gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth in shock.
The warriors surrounded Constantine.
“You will not speak of a blooded maiden like that again,” a warrior at his left said.
“Females are for fucking. That is all,” Constantine said.
Desmond laughed. “You will be difficult to train, Faction.” His eyes bored into Constantine's. “Yet, I admire your valor and your... unorthodox opinions.”
Ember huffed. “He is a crass imbecile.”
“Ah yes, our Constantine is very primitive in his principles but I do not believe he is reckless with his choices. As a point of fact, I think he very much uses a fine mind that lays buried underneath that porcupine exterior.”
Con loathed that they were trying to puzzle him through. He was not a game to be conquered.
“Excellent,” Con agreed, attempting to deflect the direction of their scrutiny. “If there be female aplenty to fuck, I will be cooperative.”
“Compliant?” Desmond queried.
Constantine just looked at him. “Never that.”
“I thought not,” Desmond said.
A few awkwardly silent moments ticked by.
Desmond seemed to make up his mind. “Take the warriors with you... and Ember. She can sense other females of Mer blood, as the warriors can.”
“What of the seaweed?” Constantine asked.
Desmond made a clucking sound with his tongue. “They will know when it is found. If we can but get back the spores of the mother plant, we can propagate it into fruitfulness once again.”
“What of the human scum that rob from the Mer?” Constantine asked, striving for clarity.
“Do what you usually would, my warrior.”
“Death to all that breathe,” Constantine stated, excited by the potential for violent simplicity.
Desmond inclined his head. “I knew that we had a fiber of kinship between us.”
Constantine doubted that were true, but in this one thing, he was right. Con loved war, fighting and fucking; the great pursuits of his life.
*
“What do the spores look like in the seaweed?” Constantine asked as they kept to the darkest streets. They were about as inconspicuous as a herd of pink elephants. A group of men with gills (Con's had yet to disappear), that were six and a half feet and huge by human standards. Their bodies dripped weapons of every caliber and size.
Yes, so subtle, Constantine growled to himself. The Mer did not act as the Faction. Constantine was having more difficulty assimilating than he thought possible.
Ember looked up at him, the pearls in her silver-whitish hair glowing like soft beads of the sea. “It is called Poseidonia,” she clarified and Constantine rolled his eyes.
“It is the maidens we look for, we have yet to gain the spores of our Mother's plant back.”
“You do not have even one?”
She nodded, her hand moving up to the pearls he'd been trying not to admire in the tinsel of her hair, the shining strands distracting beyond measure. So vivid a picture it painted that Constantine could imagine his hands twined in its softness while he drove his dick home, using her hair to keep her still beneath him. He swallowed past the thickness in his throat.
“They remain here,” she touched one of the pearls lightly, “safely encased in my hair.” She looked at Constantine's odd expression, pausing. “They robbed of us of the plants and the spores and now when our garden in the ocean grows sparse, we plant one from my collection.”
“They did not get those because they were twined in your hair?” Constantine asked in amazement, thinking that was a stroke of fortune.