Closing the door to the bathroom behind herself and clicking on the light switch, closing her eyes as a precaution against any sudden glare, she found herself immediately facing her horrifying image in a full-length mirror on the back of the door. Her entire body seemed to be covered with random smears and dried flecks of blood and sexual remnants. Her hair was tangled, kinked, frizzy, and even matted in a few places with things she didn’t even want to consider. What the hell had she done? Did she even want to know? Had she even been conscious when all of this had happened? Or had everyone had their way with her while she was completely out of it? She was too mortified to even begin to cry about it. She didn’t even know how to react to the sight of herself, much less what everything about her own appearance implied. The better question perhaps was not what she had done earlier, but rather what had she not done?
Raina stared at herself for a long, long while. She waited for it. She waited for the spots of light in her vision, the bursts of color, and the onset of room-spinning to begin. Looking over her shoulder to plan a quick route for the toilet, she waited for her insides to knot up and violently reject everything they still contained. It never happened. Why? She was a mess. She was ashamed. She hated herself for what she knew that she had done, and for the things that she could only assume she had done. So, how could she stand there and just look at herself like that? Why wasn’t she having the worst nervous breakdown of her entire life right then and there?
“Fuck you,” Raina heard herself whisper angrily to her reflection. The lips of the scary creature staring back at her in the mirror mouthed the words, but she didn’t even feel herself speaking them. “Stupid fucking whore. God, I hate you.”
Raina forced herself to turn away from the mirror and calmly walked over to the toilet. She knelt before it, held her hair out of the way, put the seat up, and leaned upon the edge of the bowl. She waited. Nothing came up. Actually, she didn’t even feel the least bit nauseous, but she wanted to be ready, just in case a panic attack suddenly reared its ugly head without warning. Whenever she lost control, she usually lost her lunch. A psychiatrist had told her that it was a subconsciously triggered reaction that harkened back to the death of her parents and the reaction she’d had at that time, though she still to that day didn’t recall having thrown up. She had her own weird interpretation for why she chose to worship the God of Porcelain whenever she felt overwhelmed with anxiety: she was so utterly disgusted with herself that she sometimes became physically ill, hoping to expel the grossness of her own existence one heave at a time. Perhaps by purging the contents of her stomach, on some level she hoped to also purge herself of guilt and self-loathing.
Well, not today. She couldn’t understand why, especially now of all times, she simply could not even begin to lose it. Perhaps it was because her response was now too easily anticipated? What good was a nervous breakdown when she could see it coming? What was the point in being overcome with nerves to the point of throwing up if one was already kneeling there before a toilet, ready to let it go without having to make a mad dash? Perhaps she was just saving it for later – yeah, that sounded more reasonable. Maybe she was just waiting for a better time, saving it all for later, so she could be made to look like an even bigger fool when something just randomly set her off and it all hit her at once with the full effect. She could just imagine it now, standing in front of a bunch of cameras and fielding questions, when a reporter would ask her something rude about her personal life. The question would trigger a sudden tidal wave of sour emotions, and she would just collapse and vomit right there in front of the world. Oh, wouldn’t that just be wonderful? She could just imagine the headlines: THAR SHE BLOWS! Reporter’s questions make Grand Duchess spew!
The only tears that came to her eyes now were tears of frustration as she stood up for a moment, put the seat down, turned around and sat down for a moment. She felt utterly gross and defiled. Sex was both sweet and sick. It felt great at the time that it happened, and in the heat of the moment there were a lot of things that seemed kinky and erotic to a point where almost nothing seemed taboo – letting Sophie touch her like she had, for example. After the fact, though, it all just seemed so … well … yucky. Sex had a hangover of its own; the more heavily she indulged the night before, the worse she felt when she woke up from sleeping off the buzz. The sight of herself in the mirror, the feeling of others’ fluids upon (or inside of) her, and the subtle residual scents of copulation were just repulsive. If it was so repugnant an act, why did she keep doing it? Was her sense of self-control and restraint really that pathetic? Was she really so dumb as to think it would be different each time? Or was she just trying to periodically remind herself of how wrong it all was? Maybe she was just trying to one-up herself, trying to commit an even more depraved and extreme series of acts to out-do her last sordid bunch of stunts, just to see how far she was willing and able to go?
The shame of it all was bad enough, in itself. The idea that she had voluntarily subjected herself to this degradation and biological grossness was even more horrid. Most of all, the fact that anyone else in the world knew about what she had done was simply too much to bear. It would have been one thing if she had been alone, if she had been experimenting independently and doing weird or sick and dirty things with herself, because the only one to know of her deeds beside herself was God. Hey, He forgave all sins anyway, right? This time was worse than any ever before, and by a long shot. The first time like this had been a one-night stand. The next had been her first occasion with another female … and a vampire, the Grand Duchess of the IVC, no less. And then she had gone and ruined another human’s life by sharing the disease of her curse with him by making him into her bloodspawn. And now there was this. Had she really gone from simply getting drunk and having a regrettable fling with one random person at a time to simultaneously screwing everyone?
Burying her face in her hands, Raina went ahead and relieved herself while she was there. Things escaped her that she didn’t expect, even from whence she did not expect them to be coming. Wow. Apparently, she had done it all. She had held nothing back the night before. She had not only taken Serenity’s advice, she had taken it and gone absolutely mad with it. Indeed, she had embraced whom and what she was, and now she figured she could finally put a proper name to it: succubus.
Raina had read about them before. A succubus was, at least according to the common myths and legends of various countries, a kind of vampire that fed by draining others of their sexual energy, usually women that chose to drain men of their seed by mating with them. Of course, as evidenced by all of the signs of bloodshed and her vague memories of all that biting and sucking, the literal feeding she engaged in was a more conventional form of vampirism, but apparently her thirst for sex was every bit as strong and irresistible as her need for blood. That, and she didn’t exactly fulfill the other duty of a true succubus: to pass the human seed to a male demon known as an incubus, who would then impregnate a human female with that tainted seed to spawn another demon. Nevertheless, it seemed that she was wired to need sex – not crave, but need.
Serenity may or may not have been trying to seduce her all that time, as she was probably affected with at least a similar kind of curse, but there was no doubting that the Fallamhain bloodline was a race of sexual beings. The evolutionary and physiological motivations for this trait completely escaped Raina, as she couldn’t see how this was of any benefit to any vampire as far as feeding or reproduction went. But she was certain that she knew now what she was, and what Duvessa had been. Raina was a succubus, plain and simple. Well … mostly. And if she was to accept what she was, then she would have to accept her role as this kind of being, and thus she would have to accept these inevitable consequences.
After she had finished and flushed, she stood and exited the bathroom quietly, tiptoeing across the bedroom floor. The flush of the toilet, though quiet and complete behind a closed door beforehand, apparently was enough to break someone’s sleep. As she passed the
bed, she noticed that Sophie was awake and watching her with tightly-squinting eyes of weariness. She could see, as the young Commoner sat upright, that she was actually not nude but still wearing the same lacy underclothes she’d had on when Raina had last seen her. She gave Raina a feeble smile and a small wave with her fingertips before rubbing some of the grit from her eyes.
Raina neither smiled nor waved back, instead simply walking over to where her suitcase had been laid upon its side. Rather suspiciously, the suitcase had already been unzipped, as was her briefcase. She had already planned on having her things rummaged through by airport security officials. A note from the TSA and the general disarray of her belongings confirmed this. But she distinctly recalled that it had been closed when she had wheeled it inside the evening before. The minor invasion of privacy was strange, but she still felt too zombified to much care, instead only making a small mental note of the discrepancy for later consideration. She hastily sought out comfort, finding it in the form of fresh underwear, a clean satin bra, plain cotton socks, a knee-length skirt, and a simple cotton blouse, all black. She had deliberately stocked her suitcase with predominantly black clothing, not only to buck Olivia’s fashion suggestions but also because she figured the color would suit her mood for most of the trip, anyway.
“You’re up awfully early,” Sophie whispered to her.
Raina didn’t even acknowledge her at all as she headed into the bathroom and closed the door softly. She didn’t want to hold even the slightest bit of a conversation with anyone about anything for any length of time – not when she looked like that. Naked discussions were awkward enough, but being naked and covered in … stuff … she just didn’t feel talkative, and that was that.
She stripped off her stockings and tossed them into a nearby trash can before removing her ankh and laying it next to the sink basin. She was still very responsibly money-minded, still very keen on avoiding even the slightest bit of wastefulness or excess. The idea of simply throwing away something that she had worn perhaps only once or twice before seemed an absolute shame, but she would make an exception in this case. It would probably be months before she would ever feel like wearing fishnets again.
The shower was quite similar to the one found in the master bedroom of the Fallamhain Estate, although the water valve featured only one lever rather than two knobs and a bypass. Quite simply, she needed only to turn the lever from Off and over toward the right, the temperature being indicated by color from Cold to Hot. It was a bit of a relief not to find it necessary to spend a few minutes turning two different knobs up and down to find a suitable compromise between water pressure and water temperature. The showerhead was a detachable type connected by a length of hose to the outlet and mounting, and it featured several water flow settings that varied from streams to sprays to an almost harsh pulsation from three nozzles. She set the showerhead to the strongest jet-setting, grabbed a nearby bottle of liquid soap and loofah sponge, and immediately set about the task of removing the filth of last night’s debauchery.
She scrubbed and scrubbed with excessive vigor and firmness, and she kept the water temperature almost scaldingly hot, so much that her skin became reddened with irritation. She cleansed every part of her body that she could reach two times over, and she shampooed and conditioned her hair twice. The hair care products she found in the shower seemed to be the source of much of the delicious fruity scents that often surrounded Serenity, and in applying this to her own hair, she felt as though she were putting on some vague bit of the Elder’s personal identity – an idea that was both unsettling and comforting.
Finding herself thoroughly clean by the time she rinsed her hair for the fourth time, Raina finally began to feel a little bit more relaxed and a lot less gross. She unhooked the showerhead from its perch and used the pulse setting to massage her neck and back for awhile. Chasing a few stray suds that clung to her thighs, she lurched back with a gasp as the water struck her at an angle and with a certain kind of pressure that instantly felt far too pleasant. She was no stranger to the magic of a good massaging shower attachment, but she was neither in the mood nor was she in a proper place for that sort of thing. Besides, hadn’t she already indulged in that sort of thing enough, given what had (apparently) taken place the night before?
Raina finally shut off the water and opened the hinged door to the shower, gasping loudly and nearly letting out a shriek of alarm as she found someone standing right outside. The humidity of her hot shower had fogged over the clear glass of the shower doors, and the rushing water had masked most other sounds, so that she had not heard someone entering the bathroom. In a familiar situation that had never ceased to make her feel awkward, a blonde Commoner was standing patiently in wait with a couple of towels in her hands.
“Svetlana…” Raina blurted automatically. She closed her eyes, slicked back her hair with a sigh, and opened them again as she accepted one of the towels. “Sorry … Sophie … you know I don’t expect you to do this.”
“I’m just doing what others expect of me, your grace,” Sophie replied.
Raina met her gaze directly as she wrapped the first towel around herself. “Olivia put you up to this, didn’t she.”
Hesitantly, Sophie admitted, “She did make me promise to be on my best behavior. And since I am now your servant…”
“You’re not my servant,” Raina said immediately. A moment later, though: “Are you?”
“I was told that you had released Svetlana from your service and that she is now Duke Marco’s servant,” she answered with a shrug. “There was a vacancy, and I so volunteered to take her place.”
“Vacancy? Sophie, the House of Fallamhain isn’t a business, for crying out loud. It’s not like I fired…” Raina rolled her eyes and waved it off. “Whatever. Look, you don’t have to do this, okay?”
“But I want to,” she insisted softly. Raina could sense that she was being sincere.
Raina accepted the other towel from her and dried her own hair for a few moments before wrapping it about her head and finally stepping out of the shower. Great, so Olivia had pushed her niece into Svetlana’s shoes. She appreciated Sophie’s kindness and Olivia’s professionalism, but she had honestly been a bit relieved for awhile to not have an official servant. The idea of having yet another person waiting upon her like a virtual slave was not only frustrating, but it also made her think a bit less of Olivia for pushing her own niece into such a committed role of servitude. She felt like asking if Olivia had asked or ordered her to do this, but she wasn’t sure Sophie would have been able to answer honestly. While Sophie would have seen it as an honor of sorts, being that she was attracted to Raina’s celebrity status, she might have misconstrued a forced obligation as instead being a lucky opportunity.
Raina was stricken by a distinctive sense of déjà vu as she found all of her things laid out neatly upon the countertop beside the sink – comb, brush, deodorant, lotions, toothbrush, perfume, and so forth. Apparently, Sophie had been given more than just a crash-course on the whole Grand Duchess’s servant routine. Raina had thought her awakening had merely been a coincidence. Apparently, Sophie had been anxiously awaiting her return to consciousness and had sprung at her first opportunity to really play the part.
Raina hated to be virtually worshipped like this, but she did not want to upset Sophie by refusing her, and she was still too dazed to really offer protest. She allowed Sophie to remove the upper towel and set about the task of combing out, drying, and brushing her hair. Raina more or less simply tolerated all of this attention while she busied herself with the task of applying her own makeup, ignoring Sophie’s offers to apply it for her. She had liked the reaction she’d gotten after doing it herself the other night, so she decided to stick with the look for awhile.
Alas, conversation between them seemed inevitable, and it finally arose when Sophie got out the ceramic heating iron and began straightening Raina’s mildly curled hair. However, it was Raina that found the silence unbearable enough that s
he felt the need to first break it.
“Did we…?”
Sophie looked at Raina’s reflection in the mirror with a raised eyebrow. “Did we … what?”
“Did you and I … you know?” she hinted awkwardly. Sophie shrugged. “Did we have sex last night?”
“Oh, that!” Sophie chuckled. Her smile quickly faded. “No, we didn’t. You weren’t interested. Remember? You sent me away.”
It was a small relief, but Raina couldn’t help cringing as she asked the bigger question: “Who did I do it with? I mean … besides Thomas?”
“Nobody else, as far as I know,” Sophie replied calmly with a shrug of one shoulder as she took another bunch of strands of Raina’s hair into hand. “You and Thomas went at it quite awhile, but that was it.”
Raina found that hard to believe. The smears of blood, the dried and sticky things…
“Are you sure?”
“You two were the only ones up here the whole time. Everyone else stayed downstairs until it sounded like you were done,” she explained casually.
Raina struggled to recount what had happened after Serenity had escorted Sophie downstairs. “What about … Lord Redhorn?”
Sophie smiled, saying, “I think you two both wanted to give it a go, but Serenity wanted a bit of him and the other blokes first. I think you were already asleep by the time she was done having her DP fun.”
Raina blinked. “DP?”
“Double penetration,” Sophie explained with a bit of a shy giggle. “What, you’ve never heard of it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You know … a DP, pulling a choo-choo, having a meat sandwich, playing both sides…?”
“Oh, that.”
“So ,you do know what it means…?”
“I get the idea,” Raina answered with a sigh. Hesitantly, she admitted, “Actually … I was thinking I did that last night.”
The Darkest Colors- Exsanguinations Page 32