As My Sister's Keeper 3-5

TITLE: As My Sister's Keeper: 3—5

AUTHOR: © Claudia MelGregory (claudia.melgregory@gmail.com)

DISCLAIMER: Original fiction. All characters, location, and plot owned by Claudia MelGregory. Any similarities between real people, places, and events are unintentional ... and probably a product of your over-active imagination.

SUMMARY: Only a thin veil of ignorance, separates the world of the Normals from the Supernaturals that walk among them. But that might not last long. Not when an imprisoned Ancient bent on revenge has been released. Ariel and Uriel are determined to put down the threat. But It'll take more then the Seoul twins, to stop him. The Powers That Be devise a solution which may prove as deadly as the Ancient.

DISTRIBUTION: Hell Fire Dreams

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, what is there to note?

WARNING: Dark fiction- Horror. Sexual Content. Blood-play. May have BDSM Content Strong. GLTBH and Inter-sexed themes situations, and characters. Violence. More Violence. Brief but disturbing imagery of sexual violence.

THANK YOU: To my wonderful partner/significant other, SweetGirl who is not only patient, but who continues to unconditionally love this barbed mind, and somehow manages to keeps me grounded.

RATING: NC 17 Not suitable for reader under 18. You have been warned.

FEED BACK: Welcomed and appreciated ... but reserve the flames for hell.

THREE

Noxxonville: The Commons

Eager human flesh crowded the Commons’ street corners.

Like small packs of puppies in a pet warehouse, young Normals stood huddles together, casting about with imploring eyes, begging for a master or mistress to take them home for obedience training.

Foolish cast-offs. Thomas sneered. If your world has no want of you, why would we?

He strode past those droves of beggars—no paramount worth a grain of salt would stoop low enough to make subordinates of street crawlers—they were strictly for pick up and discard.

Thomas smelled death.

And felt a gush of supremacy. Greedy eyes turned to watch him glide down the street of the diamond shaped area known as the Commons, the central hub of Noxxonville’s dark core. That core pulsed with ancient power. Magic, well aged and like a fine wine only got better and stronger.

One only had to breathe to tap into it.

With the enforcers away rounding up rabble-rousers in another part of town, it was open buffet on Commons ground. The back alley body count was already on the rise. A few lucky might survive the night but then again little attempt was being made at showing restraint. Sub-worlders less fearful of the enforcer’s thrown together little team then of the Circle born witch herself. Of course, those that died tonight would be avenged tomorrow.

Pity, Thomas thought.

But he felt obliged to have himself a snack or two. A little blow-back at the Normal invaders touching his world without permission.

One day they’ll all be in cages. It was a promise to himself. And we’ll no longer hide.

Thomas found the designated establishment and was lead to his seat by a lovely beauty of orange and black striping. He watched the sway of the feline tail with interest though his mind was gallery of musings. One thought standing out among all others.

Witches.

A derogatory sneer touched his lips. That Circle of hens and cock-a-doodle doos could stand being brought down a peg or two.

They strive so hard for the Normal facade.

His guide departed after taking his drink order and assuring a servant would arrive with the beverage. He settled back in his seat.

Thomas’s gaze danced across the bar’s patrons. Sub-world wasn’t completely hidden—it had gained quite the following, cult following among a hand full of Normals. Both embracing and negative. Eager sub-junkies. Pretenders and those whom the Sub-world had touched through violence or natural selection. Masqueraders. Victims or servants.

“Sire Thomas.”

He arrested the servant with a cold-eye stare. The boy’s hands shook; his eyes lowered. He set the glass on the table, just shy of sloshing the contents over the lip.

“Careful boy,” Thomas admonished in a voice thickly coated in southern molasses. He observed the nervous bob of the Adam’s apple. The frigid temperature of the bar was probably just tolerable for humans compared to the outside weather. The boy’s nipples had piqued and reddened, his flesh covered in goose pimples. The chill. The fear.

Total darkness of the bar was prevented by the low burning oil lamps on the tables. A careless move could set the whole bar, draped in silks and satin, aflame. But Sub-worlders couldn’t resist playing with fire.

The boy—can't be much older then fifteen or sixteen, Thomas guessed—stood at rigid attention. If it were possible for a being to do so while shrinking into themselves than this human servant had mastered it.

Thomas gloated. Every human should understand as well as this boy, their true place in the world.

Thomas observed the absence of marking claims. “Who’s your Paramount, son?”

“Ma’am Greyhorn.” The tremble was visible but the voice was steady.

“Show me your wares, boy.”

Trembling hands untied and peeled back the cloth of a tiny gold G-string. Candle light complimented the honey-toned flesh.

“You’ll do." Mischief twinkled in the Thomas eyes. "Stay boy. I’ll haggle with your Paramount later.”

Thomas smiled at the boy’s immediate pallor; but to his credit the young servant gave no other physical gesture of distress. Thomas laughed. “My reputation proceeds me, does it?" He stretched in the booth seat, like a lazy cat, his grin coy. “Well no fears little man. You’re not for me.”

The boy took his place on the opposite side of the booth standing with his back to the side of the booth seat while he faced the outer area of the bar.

Thomas took a sip of his drink, felt the forceful shimmer upon the air, an unnecessary show of power. He grimaced with displeasure. He stood, brushing non-existing lint from his white shirt and blue jeans.

With condescending nature, undeserved, she coasted through the establishment weaving around tables of Kin, demon and Vampires.

Thomas tracked the woman’s approach; the perfected smile on his lips never reached his eyes.

Pricey rings adorned pale fingers tipped with dragon nails, painted red, when only a single ring bore any true weight in Sub-world. Gold chains with power charms dangling from them, draped her neck and fell between a set of well preserved breasts. For all her borrowed high-brow manner, she had dressed for comfort, rather to impress. He found that admirable, at least. Probably didn’t want to set curiosity to spark about her destination.

Thomas thought it unnerving but visually appealing seeing her out of the long robes he’d become accustomed to over the years.

How old is she, now? Sixty? Seventy? He’d forgotten. A baby still. A spoiled brat.

A storm brewed in the turbulent gaze, her expression pinched as she finally allowed him her visual attention.

“Thomas you, bloodsuckin’ sonuvawhore,” the Bette Davis voice spewed the insult in thick country twang. “You best have good reason for requesting this meetin’.”

“You always way were quite the charming thing, Amelia.”

“Matron Dethshed to you, Vampire.” Her eyes flashed indignation, the latter word spoken as though it were a vile curse.

And you can kiss this bloodsucker’s prick, you soured old hag.

“Ooh, poked a rattler tonight, did I?” Thomas laughed. He gestured to the boy who had not moved in all this time. “Simmer down darlin’. I’ve just the thing to warm you.” The anger in Dethshed’s eyes was interred by a spark of interest. “I’ve laid no hands or fangs on the boy. Consider him an ice-breaker and a gift of truce.”

Greedy eyes crawled over the youth, like oil creeping through vinegar.

“What’s this about, Tommy?”

She directed a suspicious and curious look to the Vampire who gestured graciously for the Matron to be seated. The boy immediately extended his arm, Amelia took it, but her eyes had drifted lower ... again.

Thomas could picture the mental drool.

Witches.

He smirked inwardly.

Not so different in vices or in appetite from us lowly critters, after all.

Thomas’s lips compressed into a smile. He’d get a look up that peasant skirt before the night's end and those pinched lips would be wide and receiving, to seal a bargain. Of that he was certain.

“Well,” Amelia demanded, pulling the boy down onto the seat beside her, “What is this about, Tommy?” Her tone had lost its bite. Thomas sat opposite her, reclaiming his seat and then waved a server over to take Amelia’s order.

“Power.” He offered a smug grin. “Why else would I put us both through the torture of meeting outside magistrate chambers?”

Dethshed chuckled darkly, though her eyes narrowed with irritation.

“I have power.”

The ring on her right index finger, a black onyx encased in silver suddenly glowed red. Static filled the air, the scent of ozone was thick.

The hair on the back of Thomas’s neck became rigid. The hair of his nostrils tickled. Glasses shattered upon every table, startling the human Normals present, leaving only Thomas’s drink and the oil lamps upon every table untouched.

Amelia’s smug grin crinkled the corners of dark blue eyes, ice filings.

Thomas attempted to appear impressed with the mediocre show while thinking there was at least on enforcer who had more fire works in the tip of her pinky nail, than Amelia had in her whole body. But it wasn’t likely he could manipulate what he wanted from Uriel Seoul ... not yet. The Matron Amelia Dethshed, Second head of the Circle, would have to do.

For now.

“But is it, enough, Amy?” He leaned forward, pinned the witch with a knowing stare. “Is it really enough?”

FOUR

She slipped, steadied herself, balancing in high heels, and regained her footing. A little too much to drink before setting out.

The streets were sheets of ice. The rain had ceased, but the air remained damp. She hugged the coat around her tight and shivered.

The road crews were already at work on grid lines and down poles. Monstrous trucks and machines that looked like angry metal dinosaurs come to life lit the world as though it were day time.

There were whistles and crude remarks. She chuckled gaily. A few times, she parted the coat, hiked up her skirt, to show a bit of thigh. The reward was appreciative calls, telephone numbers and praises for her looks. The better reward was the hungry throb between her thighs, the pooling moisture and the tingle of contraction. Her nipples ached and were hard.

She’d never felt so decadent, so free...

She was tempted to show them what they’d done for her with their appreciation. Pictured it in her mind, so clear—stopping under those bright lights, opening her shirt to reveal the erect nipples, pulling up the skirt and giving them a nice little impromptu performance. Maybe she’d let one those hungry workers sneak her behind a monstrous trucks while the others watched.

Hell, she smiled, why not take them all? She groaned at that image. The throb was severe. Centered. She smirked. Who says males are the only creatures who think below the belt?

The search for release quickened her pace to a favorite pub.

He followed her into the establishment, so close he could smell her freshly showered skin, and the sweet aroma of arousal. So close he could reach out and touch.

~Naughty girl. Such a treasure to find. My first night in town. ~

She found the bar stool, settled in and ordered a drink. She hiked the skirt higher up on her thighs, facing the dance floor. The shirt, once she removed the coat, was gossamer, and revealed dark nipples, erect and punching at the material.

~So needy, Beloved?~ He asked, though she could not hear him. No not yet. But she could feel inside stirring the embers of passion.

He brought a hand up to her cheek; it passed through her face.

~Dance for them.~ He turned from her to the patrons of the bar. ~Dance for them.~

She downed a shot of liquor and then another as he whispered more things into her ear. The dark places where she kept all secrets, heard him and responded. She stepped out onto the floor and danced.

He watched a moment, letting the hunger revel through him.

~I will taste you.~

He found the men’s restroom easily enough, only had to follow the smell. He passed through the closed door, studied the three men lined up at the urinals and made a choice.

Black hair, blue eyes, and flesh the color of a regal Sultan. Tall. A real eye-pleaser. He decided. An rather pretty.

The male stood frozen, unnoticed by the strangers wandering in and out, hands on his zipper.

He stepped into the body, pushing the essence of its former occupant out. He zipped the pants up the rest of away and then grinned.

"There now." He practiced using the voice out loud. "Much better."

He stepped out into the main room and found his treasure. He approached her from behind, meeting her grinding hips with his own; she pushed back against him and then groaned as his hands found her hips.

“Hello Beloved,” he whispered into an ear, feeling the delicious shiver of need. “I want to taste you.”

FIVE

“Exactly what is it, you have in mind?”

Curious, Amelia settled back comfortably on the down pillows, sipping her drink. Silk sheets draped across her lap. She studied the boy, Thomas’ gift, lying across the foot of the bed, sleeping.

Thomas drank from his wine glass.

“Uriel Seoul.”

Bare foot, he padded across the marble floor, dim lights kissing his naked alabaster skin.

“You mean kill her?” Amelia smiled wolfishly, her eyes raking over the vampire's smooth flesh, tall, lean and well defined. She knew he wouldn’t look half as beautiful if he’d been born human. Instead he bore that ethereal beauty which naturally graced full blood Vampires. Dark locks of chestnut brown fell to his shoulders.

“Now why would we do that?” He smiled broadly, observing Amelia’s expression darken. “I think we both know what an asset an enforcer could be in the right hands, Amelia.”

“They’d be a better assets dead.” Amelia observed dryly. Thomas draped himself on top of the sheets and then stretched out on his side beside the witch.

“If you want power, Amelia,” he smiled and then reiterated, “More power. An enforcer’s the key. One in particular. Uriel.”

“How?”

“A simple matter of control.” He brushed the hair back from her face.

“There’s a small problem with that scenario.”

“You mean the other Seoul Siblings?”

“Ugh,” Amelia grimaced at their mention. Her brow arched and even then, "Neither Ezrael nor Ariel are dangers to take lightly."

“Well ...” he set his wine glass aside. “We shall have to solve those problems.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You have a plan?”

“Two or three.” He ripped the sheet away from her. “I always like to plan for contingencies.”

“Mind cluing me in?”

“After," Thomas spread Amelia’s thighs, "we’ve finished sealing the deal on our partnership.” He moved to lie between them. “We’ll talk more about the Siblings Seoul and the long past due reviving of the League,” he grinned, “with you as its high priestess.”

Her eyes had grown wide with disbelief, “Is this a joke?”

“I never joke about power, Amelia.” He lowered his head and dipped his tongue into her sex, eliciting a sharp gasp. Her hips bucked, rising to meet the oral muscle. “Last chance to turn me down.” His tongue stroked between the weeping slit.

The Matron groaned; her fingers entwined in his hair. He teased, twirling his tongue, using it to penetrate her sex, as he impaled her with a long finger. “If you stop now,” Amelia growled whilst writhing beneath him, “I’ll render you to ashes.”

Thomas laughed, glancing up at the Matron's glazed eyes

"Then I’ll take that as a signed on the dotted line.”

TBC

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