Tori smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. She breathed deeply and tasted the lust in the air; hot, spicy and delicious. Owain found himself helpless, unable to move. "Worked it out yet, babe?" she asked in a breathy rasp. She unzipped his trousers and slipped a hand inside, feathering her fingers across his cock. "I feed on energies," she went on, tracing circles round his sensitive tip with a finger. "In a push, I can get by on sucking the life out of a human. Like my little doll, there. But that doesn't taste very nice." She wrapped her fist round his erection and slid up and down. "No, my preference is sex. What do you think? Anything to say, babe?"
Against his will, and to his own horror, Owain heard himself croak, "Don't stop."
Tori responded by kissing him, hard. A kiss that involved her lips, tongue and teeth, sensual teasing pleasure and just a little pain. "Ah, sorry, babe," she whispered into his ear. She ran her tongue down the side of his neck from his earlobe down to his shoulder. "All good things have to end. Unless you're me, of course, because I'm good, and I don't end. No, I have a hot date in the other van. I'd love to stay and play, but I don't want Maxwell wondering why the dishes are taking so long." Her hand found its way up under his shirt to tease his nipple, making him gasp. She dug her nails in and dragged down towards his waist again. Owain whimpered. "So this little monster is going to have to leave. Have you guessed yet? Have you worked it out? What kind of ravishing predator feeds on sex?" She pulled his cock vertical and straddled him, sinking down onto his length so that he cried out. "Still no answer?" She rocked her hips back and forward. "Oh, I see, your attention is otherwise engaged. I'll have to give you the answer, won't I? I'll let you into my little secret."
Owain cried out again, and she felt him spasming beneath her. "I'm the succubus," she breathed. "I'm the apex predator, and you're the prey." She stretched her arms out, brushed his hair aside, and pressed her fingers into his temples, directing the surging energy of his orgasm into herself. She synchronised her brain with his, bringing him totally in thrall to her, and drew out and consumed his life.
"Goodbye, Owain," she whispered. She closed her eyes, and luxuriated in the sensations of the moment. Finally she stood, and went out naked and smiling into the night to join Maxwell.
***
Tori had entered the VW camper, gloriously naked, on a gust of aphrodisiacal pheromones that had instantly aroused Maxwell.
At first, their love-making had followed the usual path - Maxwell was gentle, caring and considerate, doing all he could to give Tori pleasure even as she gave enjoyment back. Things changed. Tori gradually ramped up her mental influence, pushing ideas into Maxwell's head and damping down his own willpower. He was not sure how it had happened, but it dawned on him that Tori was in control, that she had drawn him into more energetic - almost violent - copulation, and that he could not stop himself. He found himself gripping her hair and ramming his member into her face in time with her grunts and slaps against his backside, and then howling aloud as he spurted copiously into her throat while her laughter set up vibrations that coursed through his soul. As he pulled himself out, he realised that he had just orgasmed for the fourth - or was it the fifth? - time. And as soon as she breathed her spicy scent onto him, his cock instantly lost its temporary flaccidity, jutting, rock hard and ready. He wondered, briefly, how this could be, before Tori's searching fingers probed into him from behind and his rationality was blown away by animalistic lust.
He had scarcely noticed when Tori took him across the fuzzy boundary that separated pleasure from pain. She bit his chest, his nipples, his earlobes; he bit her neck, her fingers, her breasts. She smacked the head of his cock and he spanked her backside. She ravished the puckered opening behind him with all her fingers while Maxwell's teeth drew blood from her hard nipples. He was lost in a fog of lust, with just a vague notion at the back of his head telling him that this, surely, could not be natural. But he was Tori's thrall; he was incapable of sustaining rational thought
And, of course, it was not natural.
It had been a long time since Tori had last thrown caution to the wind and let her succubus nature fully indulge itself. She rarely had both the time and suitable prey to let her spend a whole night - and more - stoking the flames of lust with her scent and her mind control, consuming the wonderfully delicious energy released by her victim in the throes of orgasm, again and again. The human body was normally incapable of more than an hour or so of sustained passion before shutting down, but the scents and secretions of the succubus sent the male physiology into sexual overdrive. The body cannibalized its own tissues to produce hormones, fluids and energy that sustained its sex drive, that generated lust, that was siphoned off and consumed by the succubus, that stimulated her prey to continue the process, and continue it would, over and over, until the victim had been drained. For too long Tori had been forced to get by on the equivalent of snacks and fast food; but tonight she was taking her time, without fear of interruption, and enjoying a sumptuous banquet that was sending her into ecstasy.
She was not, however, so lost in pleasure that she took her feeding to the obvious conclusion: death. She wanted Maxwell alive. Dawn had already broken when she judged that Maxwell's metabolism was incapable of being drained further, and she let him rest. She lay beside him, replete and very, very satisfied.
Some time later, she felt Maxwell stir. She propped herself on one elbow and studied him carefully. She smiled to herself as she observed how awful he looked. It was not that she felt any malice towards him; far from it, in fact. She liked him well enough, as well as any predator could like her food supply, which when you think about it is quite a lot. No, she was smiling because she had judged things well. He had lost a good deal of muscle tissue, enough that he would pose no threat, but was still alive enough for her purposes.
"Ungh." Maxwell was trying to talk. "Ungh, ah, ... Tori."
"Maxwell, love, good morning," she said brightly.
"Ungh."
"If you were wondering, it's mid-morning. I made sure Owain and Gilda wouldn't disturb us, and we've treated ourselves to a long lie. Isn't that nice?"
"Weak," Maxwell managed to say. "Wr ... Wrong."
"You're feeling a bit weak this morning?" she asked. "Well, really, I can't say I'm too surprised, darling. You were quite the stud last night! I'm very flattered by the number of times you got it up, I have to say!"
"Wrong ... Feel wrong."
"A little bit poorly, are you? Oh, dear, well that can happen. Never mind."
Memories were surfacing in Maxwell's mind. "What ... What did you do ... To me? ... Why?"
She looked at him, considering what to say. Then she smiled, and said, "Let me tell you a little story, Maxwell. It's about a man, an old but very rich man, who decided he wanted to go hunting in Africa. So he went off to some nature park or other, where there were lions, and he found himself a guide. For a price, he was told, this guide could guarantee that he could hunt himself a lion. So the old man was delighted, and he agreed a price, and then he met the guide who would get him his lion. The guide was an old man, too, just not quite as old as the rich man. And the rich man, well, he noticed that the guide was checking out his legs. The guide was looking at the rich man's legs that is. He was carefully looking at him, in his khaki safari shorts, and nodding his head in satisfaction. So the rich man said, 'I see you're checking out my legs. What's that about?' And the guide answered, 'Well you see, sir, it's just that lions, they're not too fond of being shot. They might not be kind enough to stand still for it.' And the rich man said, 'I see. You're looking at my legs to make sure I can outrun a lion if one of them attacks. And you look satisfied.' The guide, he replied, 'Oh no sir, that's not it at all. You see, I'm just checking to make sure you can't outrun me. And you're right, I am satisfied.'" She gave a little laugh. "See if you can work it out."
She stood and stretched. "Now, if you feel up to it, we could fuck again." She saw the look on his face and laughed. "You don't feel like fucking? Thought
not. Ah well, your loss, Maxwell. In that case, I'd better put some clothes on, and get to work." She looked at him, considering. "I think I'll have to dress you, won't I? Okay, no problem. Come on then, we've got a dragon to find."
Chapter 19
Arwensmouth, North Wales, May 29, last year
A black Jaguar stopped outside the Arwensmouth Inn, and Peri Carlton stepped out. She gazed, curious, up and down the narrow village street while her driver unloaded her suitcase. It was eight in the morning.
Her original plan had been to simply get to Arwensmouth as quickly as possible so she could get some badly-needed sleep. As they set off from Heathrow, though, the driver had reminded her of the time, and pointed out that it would be well after midnight before they reached the Welsh coast. She phoned ahead to grab a room in a hotel at motorway services on the M6 motorway, and spent a frustrating night fitfully tossing and turning as her skewed body clock protested and kept her from sleep. She had been pleasantly surprised to see that Janice had packed Captain Buzz - thoughtfulness that deserved to be rewarded - but she knew she was too edgy, her nerves too taut, for the good Captain to work his magic, so he stayed in the bag.
She had no idea where the driver had spent the night, and frankly she was in no mood to care. All she knew - all that mattered - was that he was ready and waiting to resume the journey when she finally gave up on sleep, pulled on a black tee shirt and cargo pants, filled her pockets and left.
She pushed open the Inn's front door and held it as the driver put her suitcase and shoulder bag on the floor just inside. She thanked him and watched him drive away, realising only then that she had been so wiped out by the journey that she had failed to summon up the good manners even to ask his name. She pushed in through a door labelled 'bar and dining'. Several people were at breakfast, and every head swivelled to the door as she stepped in. A dumpy, middle aged woman with a blue tabard over her dress bustled past, carrying two 'full English' breakfasts.
"Sorry, love," she said to Peri in passing. "Let me serve these and I'll be right back."
She put the two platefuls of food in front of two young men that were seated at a corner table, their seats at angle where they could watch the doors, windows and other diners without turning their heads. I've seen their type before, Peri thought. Neat, alert and watchful. Tommy's observation team. Her eyes roamed across the room, taking in an elderly couple sitting in the window alcove, talking animatedly over a map - bird-watchers? she thought - and an old man with white hair and a bushy beard, with a large dog lying under his table. Santa? she thought, and Shouldn't that be a reindeer, not a dog? She smiled to herself. Then the smile disappeared, as first the dog, and then the man, stared at her so hard that she swore she could feel her skin prickling under their intense gaze.
"Sorry, love," said the woman in the tabard again, as she stopped in front of Peri. "Can I help you?"
"My name's Carlton," said Peri. "My office booked accommodation for me for a few days. I'm afraid I was held up at Heathrow, or I would have been here last night."
"Oh? Right, I'll just get Jim," she said, and headed for a door behind the bar counter, that obviously led to the kitchens. Her voice drifted back to Peri as she vanished. "I'm Mrs Dilby, by the way, but everybody calls me Maura."
A moment later, a bald and clearly flustered man emerged. "Miss Carlton? Hello, I'm Jim Dilby. Call me Jim. Listen, I might have a problem." He spoke rapidly, giving Peri no opportunity to reply. "We didn't see you last night, so we didn't think you would be here, see, so, er, so it's like this, ah, your room's gone."
She laughed. "I hope you're kidding Mr Dilby. It can't be gone."
"Didn't think..."
"...I'd be here, yes, I got that. But did I not have a valid reservation? Did my office not pay a deposit or register a credit card to secure the room? Mm?"
"Well, we didn't think… And the fellow turned up, well, he was here, see, and ..."
"And now I am here," said Peri. "What are you going to do about that?"
Dilby mopped his bald head with a tea towel. Peri snatched it out of his hand. "And I trust you are not wiping plates with this." She tossed the tea towel over the bar so it landed on the floor.
"Well..." He shrugged apologetically.
"How many rooms do you have?" she demanded.
"Just the six," he answered, meekly.
"And all six are occupied?"
"Well, yes."
"By whom?"
"By ..." he stopped himself. "Now see here, young lady, I don't see that's any business of yours! My customers have every right to their privacy, you know, and..."
"Is one of them occupied by a Mr Chen?"
Dilby just stared at her.
"Put clean sheets on the bed. He won't be using it, will he? Being dead, and all."
"I can't … no way can I … the police are investigating, so I can't clear his things out!"
"I didn't say you should clear his things out. Leave them. I'll be going through it all anyway."
He gaped. Finally he said, "Who are you, to be going through his things? You can't..."
"I represent Mr Chen's employers, and I just came here straight from talking to his next of kin, his brother, and a rep from the Chinese Embassy. Now let me know when my room's ready, and get someone to stick my case upstairs. I'll have a cup of coffee. Black, no sugar"
She picked up her shoulder bag and walked across to sit with the two men in the corner.
"You don't mind," she said, making it very clearly a statement and not a question.
***
Gus Vasa had been first down to breakfast, accustomed as he was to rising early to walk his dog. It wasn't that Tash needed to be walked, but experience had taught him long ago that it was expected, and if people did not see the expected, it provoked their curiosity. And other people's curiosity was the last thing Gus wanted to provoke. He picked up a copy of the local paper, and went to sit in one of the two far corners of the bar, with his back to the corner so he could see the whole room without needing to turn his head. Tash, as always, lay on the floor at his feet. Gus pretended to be interested in the paper.
Mrs Dilby - Maura, he reminded himself - bustled in from the kitchen. When her eye alighted on Gus and Tash in the corner, she apologised for keeping him waiting and quickly set his table. He asked for coffee and a full English breakfast, at her convenience, because, he told her, he was early and really should know better than to inconvenience his hostess. He settled in to indulge in some people-watching, a pastime that promised to be more interesting than usual this morning.
Next guest down to breakfast was the journalist. Gus knew he was a journalist, because he had arrived the previous evening and broadcast the fact loudly to everyone within earshot, which was probably everyone in the village, he was so loud. He had arrived at almost eleven, and then proceeded to harangue and bully Jim Dilby until he caved in and gave him a room, fearful of adverse reviews of his establishment getting into the press. Gus thought he was despicable. Tash offered to bite him, or, at the very least, piss on his leg. As a dumb animal, he explained reasonably, he could get away with that where Gus wouldn't.
The journalist looked around the room, and when Maura bustled in, he declined the offer of breakfast with a smug 'that's for wimps' and asked for coffee in a take-away cup to accompany his 'morning gasper'. He'd smirked at Gus, not in a friendly way, and left. Tash wanted to go after him, but Gus said no.
Next in was the elderly couple. They said a polite good morning to both Gus and to Tash, then took their places in the window alcove. From a brief conversation the previous evening, and from shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation, Gus knew they were retired teachers with a penchant for rambling. Today, they were contemplating a walk along the coastal path to the west, a picnic lunch, and then a ramble back by a set of inland footpaths. Gus was happy that they were not planning on crossing to the island, because then he'd have to talk them out of it. The island was not a good place to ramble. No, they
had been put off that by news of the discovery of a corpse wafting along on the tide.
Then the two youngish men came in. The elderly couple speculated that they were gay lovers. Since they both seemed to be hard of hearing, their voices carried, and the two men had to hide smiles. Gus and Tash were sure they were soldiers. The way they carried themselves, their watchfulness and their obvious fitness gave it away. Special forces, if Gus was any judge of fighting men. They seemed to be simply watching and waiting. They had showed considerable interest in the corpse, and he had heard them speculating about where it had gone into the water in terms that made it clear they were familiar with the sea and the actions of tides. Gus was intrigued by them.
And then a young woman walked in. Tash's interest was immediate and intense.
"What is it, Tash?" he asked, without words.
"I don't know," Tash answered, inside Gus's head where nobody else could listen. "Now, I've got to say, she is interesting."
Gus studied the woman as she put Jim Dilby, rather sharply, in his place. She was average height, he supposed, and quite slender. Her skin was olive-toned, not the snow-white of the Anglo-Saxon, and her hair was black and frizzy, and pulled back into a rough pony tail. She was dressed completely in black, and her face and clothes had that crumpled, baggy look of someone who has travelled a long way and is close to exhausted.
"She glows," said Tash. "I don't suppose anyone but me can see it, though."
"No," replied Gus. "I don't suppose so. I certainly can't see anything odd about her."
Island of Fog and Death: A sci-fi horror adventure Page 13