My Bloody Valentine

by Multi-Author

  “There were only two bullets,” she told the woman in the mirror before the laughter overtook her completely.

  No Change in Policy in Room 8

  By

  Torie James

  “All spirits are enslaved which serve things evil.”

  Maggie glanced up from her copy of Prometheus Unbound by Percy Shelley, peering over the rim of her glasses as the suave stranger took a seat across from her. Hello, tall, dark, and lickable, she thought as she took in his lean physique, the sculpted muscles neither too big nor too small. She hated guys with bulging pecs and thighs like tree trunks. His long, dark hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail. His eyes, a curious mixture of brown and green, were right at home under flaring brows, perfectly at ease in a face of Pittian proportions. His angled jawline was baby smooth and he smelled like pumpkin pie.

  “Uh, pardon me?”

  He jerked his chin at the book and smiled again, a flash of white teeth. “You’re reading Shelley, yes?” He fluidly plucked the book from her hands, ignored her gaping stare at such rudeness, and closed it, setting it down. “I’ve been watching you since I arrived. Something fascinating about a woman who brings a book to a sex club.”

  Maggie blinked at him in astonishment. “I don’t see how that is any of your business. Now give me back my book and go away. Or I’ll be forced to let my foot root around in your ass.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, the strong cords of his throat working sinuously. Signaling a passing waitress, who wore a sheer gown that showcased her smaller breasts, he gave Maggie a slow once-over and then ordered two glasses of absinthe. The waitress hesitated and looked at Maggie, who finally nodded. As she left, Mr. Fabulous gave her an inquisitive look.

  “My father owns the place.” She shrugged.

  “Ah.”

  “Never much been into the whole meat-market display. Not my thing. But I don’t judge and it’s never dull here. Answer all your questions there, bud?” She grew quiet as their drinks were served, sipping at the green-tinted liquor, relishing the sting as it slid down her throat. There was something about the man as he stared her down, his eyes deep and dark as they drilled into hers. A quick glance southward showed a nicely sized package in his mailbox. It wasn’t that she was a sexual prude. Hell no. Her mother had been a stripper and Dad, at one point, had run the largest pornographic production company on the eastern seaboard. Sex was natural, fun. She liked to get off as much as the next person. At some point, though, the big O was harder and harder to obtain. She’d get all worked up and nada. It was horrible. She’d come upon a few men who could almost get her where she needed to be, but never quite got the job done. She’d tried all manner of medications, exercise, and positions. Part of it was genetics; she knew her mother had suffered from the same thing when she’d been Maggie’s age.

  But as Maggie sat there, passing eye fucks with this mysterious stranger, she felt an odd stirring she hadn’t felt in a while. That tight, fluttering ache deep inside. She shifted in her seat and could swear he knew, just knew, she might be a bit turned on.

  “I’d very much like to fuck you. Now. I’ve already rented a room in the back. It’s mine for an hour.”

  Yes, please! “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Is it necessary?” He arched a brow.

  “If we’re going to share bodily fluids, I think it is.”

  “Sex should be pleasurable, impersonal.” He smirked, taking a long drink. “We’re grown adults, right?”

  Cocky bastard and yet he was turning her on with nothing more than his words, that shadowed accent she couldn’t place. She liked their verbal foreplay.

  She downed the rest of her drink, staring at his glass until he did the same, and then got up. The shift in mood was apparent when she held out her hand and he took it. In the next moment, he was guiding her down a dark, shadowed hallway filled with doors, some open, some closed. Low moans and the sound of a soft flogger meeting flesh echoed from one of them. He was leading her into the last room. He felt like ice in her grip. She felt the warmth only when he released her to shut the door.

  “No. Leave it open. I like to be watched.” Removing her glasses, Maggie set them down and merely watched as he shrugged and did as she asked. The room was furnished with a table and a four-poster bed. Huge, thick pillows were strewn on the floor. Shades of crimson and silver washed the room in different patterns. The lighting, coming from a single halogen bulb in a wall sconce, completed the atmosphere.

  Moving back to loom over her, he skimmed her waist with his fingers, plucking under the airy top she wore, causing her to smile. His touch was still cold—it made her shiver and frown—but before she could say anything his lips took hers in a frenzied kiss that both took her breath away and made her thighs flood with moisture. Oh, yes. Yes.

  She forgot about the odd temperature of his skin as she pulled his shirt off frantically. Moaning as his fingers tore the button of her jeans and plunged inside to touch her throbbing clit, she quickly shimmied them off and kicked them to the side, pulling back long enough to yank her top off and send it in the same direction. She didn’t have the perfect body, but was proud of how she looked. Short legs, flared hips, and a bit of curve. Full and heavy breasts with berry-colored nipples that were peaked and pouting. Tearing the rubber band that held back her own auburn-colored hair, she licked her lips as he unbuttoned his fly, the metal teeth of his zipper sliding slowly down. His cock, thick and veined, the head purplish and already oozing a drop of pre-cum, sprang free, just calling for her lips around it. She made a low sound as he stepped free of the jeans, gulping loudly. Christmas had come early and she wanted to devour him, savor him.

  But he had other ideas.

  “Bed. All fours. Ass up.”

  “I don’t do anal.”

  He moved so fast, one arm snaking around her waist as he tossed her onto the mattress, forcing her into position. “Who said anything about that?”

  She tried to move but he slid under her, arms hooking around her hips, pulling her wet, pulsing center down to his mouth. She screamed out loud as he laid his tongue to her clit, rolling over it, sucking it in hard. Grinding and rocking on his face, she panted, all senses keen and aching with the pained pleasure he was giving her. His fingers spread her wide, cold still, but the heat of his mouth quickly banished all thought as he licked and speared her repeatedly. She wanted to come. Almost...

  She cried out when he stopped and flipped her over, driving into her, his cock stretching her wide, plunging deep and fast, keeping a steady stroking rhythm as her legs clutched his hips. She arched into his lips nipping at her neck and nipples. They pinched and stung. And her ecstasy rose higher.

  Yes, yes. He was the one. Tonight was the night. Finally, after so long. So, so long. She wanted to weep with the realization that it was going to happen.

  A husky growl burst through his lips; loose skeins of his silky hair had come loose from the rubber band and brushed her face as they moved together in graceful, erotic elegance. His strong hands dug into her waist, rolling them over so she sat astride him. She rocked faster, lifting up and slamming back down, breath falling faster from her own lips. Her touch dug into his chest as he half sat up, swinging an arm around her waist, thrusting up, his mouth trailing wet nibbles along her collarbone, up to her neck.

  “I’m sorry, so sorry. But I have to do this. I’m so hungry...” His voice was muffled, throaty, and distorted. “You need the fuck, I need to feed. Price to pay.”

  She was whipped up into a storm of frenzy, moments away from the first true orgasm she’d had since hitting late puberty. She wasn’t listening to him, really; she was in the throes of bliss, mindless to the sharp biting sting as he tore into her throat greedily. Bucking on him, she was blinded momentarily as her pulse quickened and her sheath rippled over his shaft, clamping down on it like a vice, a sexual Venus flytrap. Maggie threw her own head back and howled, the sound shaking the room as she came in fluttering waves. His co
ck was trapped and shooting hot seed straight into her womb even as he drank from her. One hand wrenched into his hair, yanking his lips from her carotid artery, face smeared in her blood even as a look of surprise replaced the predatory gleam in his eye.

  Maggie was still riding him, thrusting, bouncing, as she shifted before him, skin rippling and peeling away. She knew what he saw wasn’t pretty. Gaunt to the point of emaciation, tufts of fur popping through, streaks of brown and silver. In her true form, she was mostly skeletal in appearance, but it was her eyes that made her more monster than anything. Large, protruding orbs free of any white tissue, they were solidly black irises that glinted with streaks of orange and were unnervingly deadly. Her hands elongated into taloned claws that cut into his head, ripping bits of scalp and bone as he took to screaming, fangs snapping in the air between them.

  “What the fuck are you?” he shouted hoarsely, trying to shove her off to no avail.

  She shuddered again, her release a warm, delicious pooling of fluids gluing them together. “Mmm...let’s just say I’m higher up on the food chain than you are, sport. Mmmm. Damn, I’m tingling.”

  Her motions slowed; her face had morphed from that of a borderline attractive female to that of a nightmare brought to life. Double rows of serrated canines were visible under the gaping maw, hooked nose, and folds of skin emanating a pungent, almost decayed smell that filled the small room. Licking her grossly distorted lips, Maggie gave one last hip wiggle and patted the stunned male on the shoulder. “Thanks.” She rolled off him suddenly, a macabre beauty in the simple, graceful motion.

  “You’re a werewolf.” The vampire started to move from the crumpled bed cautiously.

  “Um. No. Fur doesn’t always equate wolf. Fucking vampires. Uneducated morons. I’m a hybrid. I’m what Dad calls a ‘Were-digo.’ Mom prefers ‘Wen-Wolf.’ The last female of my line.” She rubbed her sunken-in stomach gingerly. “Maybe.”

  Maggie watched dispassionately as he ran for the half-open door, only to pull up short. A hulking figure, its skin a leathery gray, sunken features matching hers, blocked his path. At its side was a smaller form, almost dainty, and covered over with a light smattering of silky fur.

  “Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad.”

  The taller shape nodded its emaciated head, while the female bit out a low rumbling purr. Maggie stretched and gave off a genteel, vicious smile and nodded as the door was fully closed.

  “You really shouldn’t have quoted Shelley to me. You probably would have been better off fang-banging some teenage lolly. Any moment now, that absinthe you drank will immobilize you. Well, not all of you. There’s a few critical inches I’ll be putting to good use.”

  The vampire tried to avoid the clawed hand reaching towards him, yanking his clothes away. “Why? Why me?”

  Maggie shrugged, beaming a frightening grin, which wasn’t quite coquettish as it was disgusting. “I need to fuck. But you won’t be feeding. Price to pay. And I don’t give change.”

  The Dark Man

  By

  H.K. Sterling

  She had spent the last three days dying. She was in a drug den. Some long story about unrequited love and the harshness of the world. Not worth telling anyone. Hence, she was here. At the last minute or two of her life here on earth she became aware of someone bending over her. He was not one of the users or the hosts of this place. In fact, he was cleanly dressed and had a handsome face. This she could see, even through her blurry vision.

  She could see his light. Kinda. It wasn’t what she was used to. She called it the ‘sublimelight,’ the kind she usually saw. It wasn’t apparent to most people. But this guy... It was hard to get a feel for him and that in itself was different. She was used to reading people. Not always easily, but always eventually. The sublimelight—she had it. She thought he might know that. It was hard to tell.

  He was talking but it wasn’t making sense. She couldn’t tell if it was her condition or just the way he talked. “Clear the present; the future needs a stand in.”

  She felt some part of her, some part she was hardly aware of, say back to him, “Are you clearing the board for a larger game?”

  “That’s the girl I know!” he said with a huge smile and wide eyes, brows suddenly unfurrowed. “I wanted to take you before, but you were too innocent.”

  Stryder. That was his name.

  “Teach is cheat backwards,” she mustered the strength to say. She had given herself an ugly face and body on purpose. Still, he was here. The outside never mattered. She sometimes forgot when wrapped up in human experience.

  “I am one of the faithless few,” he said in a quiet voice, but then the veins popped up in his face. “You remain a poignant gossamer of idealistic dreams instead of a champion of organized power—an actual force to be reckoned with.” His lips curled with disdain. “If there was an actual force, darkness couldn’t operate. As it is...” He looked her straight in the eyes, holding her gaze long enough for discomfort. That is, if a dying addict could get more uncomfortable. Still he didn’t say another word.

  She remembered then that he was a multistep player. Stryder. She wasn’t sure how many steps, but he was one of the chess players. Divine chess, designed to amuse higher beings, both good and bad and in-between—for one never knew. Sides changed. Games changed. Only the players stayed the same. They acted through others.

  Cassandra. That was her own name. Her real name.

  Stryder. Her love. Her lust. Always her loss. Because she hated the games and would never play. Oh, she took parts in bits and pieces when it suited her, but for that she was hated. They, either side, in any game, never knew her next move. Except this one. She was sure, eventually, to not want to play. At all. Now she knew why Stryder was here.

  He was a ghost seen only when he wanted to be seen. Heard often. He was the city. New York. Others had other cities, but oh, he was definitely this one. The rest of the denizens of the house stayed away. Not that they would have cared anyway. She managed to sit up. He held her head and had her sip water.

  She knew it was more than water. It would be infused with—well, she didn’t know what, but ingredients that weren’t of this world. Ingredients that would rapidly fix her. Or kill her. She still wasn’t sure what he wanted, but since he had come as she was leaving, she guessed he had some use for her and was therefore healing her.

  When she had some of her energy back she snapped at him, “Did your mother have any children that lived?” She was tired. Now she was going to stay alive as a human, against her will.

  He laughed a full, hearty laugh. “Hey, I’m just another face the city wears.” He took his index finger and ran it up her right leg to the edge of her skirt. The face he wore never mattered. She felt sex with a capital ‘S’ pour out of that one little finger into her body. It only took a second to remember what the rest was like.

  She felt the same old flutter. It never stopped. The control he had over her. There was just no one better. And she had been to other cities. Oh, she had spanned the globe. But there was no one like him. No one like him inside her. No one like the two of them together. So she ran away whenever she could. She was someone used to being in control and he knew it. With Stryder, when he had her, she was lost. This has been going on for centuries. Why would today be any different?

  But it was.

  “I’m making a game just for you,” he said. She could tell he was serious.

  She stuck out her bottom lip, unhappy. Before she had a chance to speak, he leaned over, fast as lightning, and licked it. She recovered quickly from that little volley. “You know I’m sick of the games. When are you people going to grow up?”

  “I’m giving you New Jersey, to start,” he said.

  This was a surprise. He must have actually missed her. She pondered the offer.

  “Won it in a crap shoot. Don’t want it anyway.”

  And there he goes again, ruining it. “I’m not interested,” she said with a finality that could not be mistaken.

 
; “Why in the graciousness of hell not?” Stryder demanded. It was then that he tried to persuade her by other means.

  “Think of the games we could play just with each other...” he said. He inched his hand up under her skirt. The panties she had on were no match for his charisma. She was already wet. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Don’t you want me to fuck you again? I never forget how you taste.” His fingers were sliding inside her now. “There’s no one like you. You know it, I know it.” He stuck his tongue in her mouth and thrust himself inside her.

  She gasped. It was everything she wanted and everything she hated. And it was taking her away. She was losing herself with every thrust.

  He whispered again. “Haven’t you missed this?” He ground himself into her. She screamed. He brusquely flipped her over and inserted himself again.

  Cassandra was hardly there anymore. She was coming and coming. As soon as he had entered her, she had moaned and come again.

  This time when he spoke it wasn’t a whisper. “Miss me! Damn it! Say it!”

  She was moaning and could barely speak.

  He thrust in her again. “Say it!”

  She was fuzzy. “I...” She couldn’t stop moaning. She was panting.

  That was enough for him. He moved them from the dirty mattress in the crack house to an elegant bed in SoHo. She barely noticed the change. Cassandra now had long blonde hair but was still on her stomach. Stryder was holding her breasts and thrusting...and talking.

  “This is us, baby. Remember!” he yelled. The room was shaking. Or there might have been a small earthquake in New York City at that time, according to the radio later.

  “Say it!” he yelled again and pushed harder and higher inside her.

  She screamed and came again. “I...miss...us,” she said, heaving and shaking. She couldn’t stop trembling. He was holding her close while she came, kissing her neck and biting her ears. Then, instead of coming, he began to pull out. She started to moan.