Heat snakes up my spine, shooting into my extremities. Every finger and toe tingles, every inch of my skin sizzles with delicious fire. This isn’t the slight burn I feel when I touch Amelie’s skin that has become so natural to me; this is something different entirely. It’s an inferno of emotion, concentrated and converted into sensation. It floods my veins and attacks every nerve ending, making my whole body tremble with uncontrollable pleasure. The fire begins to burn hotter and brighter, building into a firestorm of unparalleled ecstasy.
We move together faster, harder, hungrier than ever before. Her clit rubs against my pelvic bone over and over, and Amelie’s pussy clenches with every stroke. She’s fucking me, taking me, possessing me. Making me hers forever.
The fire inside blazes out of control, and, before I can stop it, or contain it, it explodes. For the first time in years … decades … maybe even a century, I explode. Every muscle cries out, as I spill into Amelie, fighting her fire with my own. She’s right there with me, clawing my back, as she tenses and convulses. Her pussy walls squeeze even tighter, drawing out my orgasm, refusing to let go. She pants and whimpers, and her body sags against mine in exhaustion and complete bliss.
When my muscles have finally unwound enough to move again, I lay us down, me on my back and Amelie on top of me, her body still connected with mine. I kiss the top of her head while my hands caress her sweat dampened back.
“Amelie,” I breathe. Even after what we’ve shared, even after all our secrets have been told, saying her name is still a novelty to me. “Amelie, baby.”
“Oui, Monsieur.” She looks up at me, and smiles, her chin resting on her hands.
“How badly do you hurt? Are you sore?” I know I should keep this moment lighthearted, but shit, knowing that I hurt her, even in intimacy, fucks with me.
“Not sore enough to not want to do it again,” she grins slyly. “But sore enough to know I should wait.”
I lean forward and kiss her cute, little nose, and she giggles. “And yes, I want to do that again,” she adds.
“Me too. Shit, truth be told, I could go again. But you need to heal. Next time, all I want you to feel is pleasure. No pain.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. “Something the matter?” I ask, brushing her hair from her face.
Amelie shrugs, yet her eyes go glassy and distant. “It’s just … in my dreams, whenever you were with other women, you did something. Breathing, I think you called it. And when you did, you looked so … so hot. And sexy. Like it felt good to you. And with me, you didn’t. Like maybe there’s something wrong with me? Or maybe it wasn’t as good to you? I mean, I know it was my first time, and I’ll get better, but I…”
I swallow her words in a kiss, refusing to let her speak such blasphemy. When we come up for air, I grasp her face in my hands. “Baby, I would never do that to you, and it has nothing to do with you not feeling good to me. Because Amelie, you do. You were amazing, baby. Breathing is a necessity for my kind. It’s how we stay alive - by literally sucking the life out of others. I don’t have to do that with you, and I won’t, because you already brought me to life. With your smiles, your kisses, your laughter. I won’t take an ounce of that away. It’s what makes me…”
…love you.
The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say them. I’ve never said them, not even to my parents. Not even to my brother, the only other person who deserved my affection. Love is not something the Dark speak freely about. We don’t say it because we rarely feel it. And when we do, when we capture that rare and precious emotion, we lock it up tight and cherish it. We live for it. We die for it.
Placated with my explanation, Amelie rests her head on my chest, drawing circles with her fingers against my skin. “What’s this say?” she asks, tracing the dark blue ink embedded over my heart.
“My last name. Skotos.”
“It’s beautiful.” Then she leans over and kisses the Greek lettering that signifies my people … my sin. The mark that represents this monster of a man.
We both fall asleep some time later, with Amelie still nestled against my chest. And for the first time, after an immortal lifetime of starless skies and moonless nights, I dream.
Something pulls me out of slumber in the middle of the night. I’m lying on top of the comforter where Amelie and I made love, yet she’s not there in bed with me. She isn’t lying on top of my chest or even curled against my side. No. She’s standing beside me, her eyes ink black and completely shrouded with evil. Her arms are raised above her head, her hands holding a twelve-inch blade.
I roll away just as the knife comes plunging down, sinking hilt-deep into the mattress. Amelie looks at me, her face contorted unnaturally. “You will burn, demon. Everything you love will burn. Heed this warning: Vengeance will be mine.”
She pulls the blade still speared in the mattress and raises it again. I know I can fight her off, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to hurt her. But right now, I’m not facing my Amelie, the girl that just gave me the most sacred part of her. The girl I have given the most sacred part of me. My Amelie is trapped somewhere inside herself, unable to break free. I have to save her. I will save her.
“Amelie, baby, wake up!” I shout. Only the width of the bed separates us, and I can see her – or it - trying to calculate a way around it. “I know you can hear me. Baby, you have to fight. You have to come back to me.”
An inhuman screech bubbles from her chest, and the sinister voice laughs. “Your girl is lost forever, demon. She is as dead as you are.”
Hearing those words awakens my own vicious beast, and cold sweeps over me, touching my fingertips and eyes. I can feel them transform as magic awakens inside me, and I tremble with the magnitude of its power.
“Leave her,” I spit back, my voice as cold as the blue flames licking my hands and arms.
The voice cackles again, and a shiver snakes up my spine. She grips the blade as if she is about to lunge, and I raise my hands in preparation. But instead, she holds out her arm and sinks the edge into her forearm, spilling Amelie’s dark red blood onto the floor and comforter.
Those black, desolate eyes find mine, and she smiles. “Everything you love will burn.”
The knife clatters to the floor, and Amelie crumples in a dead heap. But before her head can hit the ground, I catch her and cradle her to my chest.
“Amelie! Amelie, talk to me, baby! Talk to me!” I shout, shaking her lifeless frame. Finally, she jerks awake, gulping oxygen, her wide eyes horrified. I thank the Divine, God, and every deity known to man.
“Oh my God!” she cries. She looks down at her arm, still gushing blood, and the knife just inches away. “What happened? What happened, Niko? What did I do?”
“Amelie, listen to me. Do you remember anything? Did you dream of something? Of someone? I need to know how to help you.”
“No! I don’t know what’s happening to me! I don’t know anything!”
Amelie wails into my chest, as I grab my discarded shirt nearby to wrap her arm in. It’s still bleeding, and while I can numb some of the pain, I can’t heal her. I need to get her medical attention.
“Baby, we have to go. I need to get back to the city so we can prepare. And you need a doctor.”
I pick her up and carry her to the en suite bathroom. The faucet turns and fills the tub with warm, soapy water. I step inside with Amelie still in my arms.
“This is so not how I imagined our first bath together,” she mumbles, as I cup water and pour it over her chest.
“I know. Not how I imagined it either, but this won’t count. We’ll get a redo. We deserve it.”
I clean her tenderly, refusing to put her down. When my hand brushes her sex submerged in water, her breath catches and she groans. Gently, I part her folds, cleaning her carefully, however, I can’t deny my hardness pulsing against her ass. Amelie smirks and wiggles, but instantly winces, and I know she is in too much pain to even think about sex right now.
>
Minutes later, we’re dry, dressed, and headed back to New Orleans. This far from civilization, the road is pitch black but, of course, I see clear as day.
Amelie turns to me, sadness etched in those amber eyes. “I hate that this happened. I wanted it to be perfect. To be special. And now … now the dream is over.”
I grip her hand between us, interlacing our fingers. “It was perfect. Outside of what happened to you, it was the best night of my life.”
“Really?”
“Really. You are my dream, Amelie. It’s not over. It’s just the beginning.”
By the time we arrive back in town, the feeling of warmth and serenity has been rekindled, and we fall into our usual easy exchange. It’s not until I pull up to the house on Bourbon Street that a sense of sheer dread sweeps over me. Amelie looks over at me, her morbid expression telling me she feels it too.
“Something’s wrong,” she whispers.
“Yeah.” I get out of the car and listen for any sign of malice from inside, yet everything is quiet. Too quiet. It’s as if there is a spell around the house to contain noise. I try to communicate with someone – anyone – from inside, but there’s a block. No one is strong enough to do something like that. No one except me.
I go around to Amelie’s side of the car and open her door. “I want you to stay here. The key is in the ignition. If I’m not back in three minutes, I want you to drive. Drive as far as the car will take you. There’s cash in the glove compartment. Just drive and you’ll know when to stop. You’ll know when you’re safe.”
“No,” she cries, shaking her head. I’m not surprised; I knew she would object. “I’m not leaving you. Come with me. You don’t have to go inside.”
I stroke her hair before running a finger over her full bottom lip. “I do, baby. My people are in there. Those girls … I swore to protect them. It could be nothing, and I’ll probably be out here to get you in a few seconds. But I won’t risk it. Just promise me you’ll drive away, baby. I’ll find you, I promise.”
“You promise?” Tears streak down her cheeks, and I lean forward to kiss them away. Not for pleasure or to feed some sick, inner need, but to comfort her. To ease the trepidation that lies in her heart as well as mine.
“I promise.”
I walk into the house, not knowing what to expect. I’m unsure of what lies in wait for me, what could be lurking behind a dark corner. But I know one thing for certain: Death is thick and heavy in the air. It’s fresh, unforgiving and potent. I silently say goodbye to Amelie, knowing that in a few minutes, she will drive away from here. Away from the brutality that greets me in this place.
I scan the foyer, expecting to see bodies scattered about, but all is clear. Nothing is out of place. Not even a speck of blood. But, I know it’s an illusion. Carnage is close by, waiting to surprise me at any given moment.
I make my way into the living room and stop dead in my tracks. Bodies. Dozens of corpses, frozen in petrifying death. They’re all positioned throughout the room as if life still flows through their veins. Women fully dressed in ball gowns and cocktail dresses are propped in sitting positions on the couches. A man sits at the grand piano, outfitted in a crisp tuxedo, his pale fingers resting on the keys. People stationed at the bar, their cold, dead hands wrapped around crystal glasses.
The people that work for me, respect me, even care for me. The very ones that relied on me to protect them - all of them a part of a show set up just for me. All of them slaughtered, their eyes completely opaque, signifying their gruesome death.
Precious life was selfishly sucked out of them. They were probably awake for it all - felt as every one of their internal organs shut down one by one before liquefying. They felt their blood run cold, as their heartbeats stilled. They felt the fire in their lungs, as they took their last breath.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice says from behind me.
I turn around slowly, meeting the sparkling blue eyes of the one person who was supposed to stand by my side, no matter what. The one I thought shared my vision of what this life should be. The one I once called my brother.
“What the fuck have you done?” I sneer.
Varshaun descends the staircase wearing his finest suit, his black hair meticulously slicked back. He’s dressed for the occasion as well. Hell, he’s made a fucking meal out of this massacre.
“Isn’t it obvious, old friend? It’s a grand ball! In your honor, no less. Don’t tell me you’re surprised.”
“Surprised? Motherfucker, you’re delusional. You’ve killed everyone - every employee. Every human…”
“Right!” he barks with a clap of his hands. “You’re absolutely right! Humans - weak, pathetic, sniveling. They’re no better than animals. And I killed them because…because I can. Because we can, Niko.”
He steps in front of me and grasps my shoulder, his eyes dancing with excitement. “We are gods, brother. Fucking gods. We can do whatever we want. And you know what? I felt like having a little fun. But don’t worry; it gets better. I didn’t stop there.”
I shrug out of his hold and narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean … I killed them. Not just the humans. I killed them all. The guards, your council, even precious Nadia.”
“You killed Nadia?” I hiss in disbelief. “You killed my people? Your people?”
“Eh,” he replies with a wave of his hand. “Collateral damage. I told them not to interfere, but somehow, they’ve all become just as self-righteous as you.”
“Varshaun, you do know the crime you have committed. You do realize I can’t, and won’t, protect you.”
“Protect me?” he laughs, slapping his thigh. “Now why would you need to protect me, when there’s no one here to protect you?”
I stare at him, speechless. What has happened to the man I considered my family? Have I been consorting with a deranged stranger this entire time?
“So it’s you? The soul-sucker? You’re the fucking fiend.”
“Ding, ding, ding!” he jibes. “But I wouldn’t put a label on it. Let’s just say, I’ve got a hearty appetite, and lately, I’ve been craving something new. Something soft and sweet. But a little spicy. Maybe with a splash of Voodoo? And you know what would be extra tasty? Laveau blood. Oooh, I haven’t had that in decades.”
Writhing blue flames instantly snake up my arms at the mention of Amelie’s bloodline. I take a step back as a feeling of overwhelming fury washes over me. We, the Dark, may crave fear to get our rocks off, but what really gets us going? What kicks our power into overdrive, making us nearly unstoppable?
Rage. Wrath. It’s the ultimate deadly sin.
“Watch your tongue, motherfucker, if you want to keep it,” I grit, my jaw tight. Burning frost collects behind my eyes, almost like a bullet in the chamber. I’m ready. If Varshaun thinks he can get to Amelie, he really is off his fucking rocker.
He smiles, looking every bit as sinister as a snake in the Garden of Eden. Blue fire engulfs his own hands, and I notice it’s fuller. Denser. Even his eyes shine brighter than ever before. “Well, of course I want to keep it. I’ll need it to lick that pretty, pink cunt before I fuck it until it bleeds. And where is our Amelie this evening? She’s missing her party.”
At the sound of her name on his lips, I growl, causing the ground to shake. Everything rattles around us, emitting a low roar. Crystal glasses and liquor bottles crash to the ground, and the carefully positioned corpses fall over in stiffened heaps. Wind billows the curtains and whips around us, spawning whirlwinds throughout the vast room.
Varshaun looks on in wonder, completely oblivious to his impending ass-kicking. “Bravo, Nikolai! Bravo! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you worked up. I must admit, I was afraid you were losing your edge. Growing soft, if you will. But now… now that the old you is back, how about we go fetch your little French maid and handle her together? We’ll fuck her brains out. Fill that pretty little mouth with two cocks. Rip open every tight, little hole and wat
ch her cry and bleed. Then, when we’ve used her all up, we’ll breathe in every drop of that Laveau blood. Send a message to those bottom-feeding vermin.”
“No,” I growl. My whole body quakes, intensifying the tremors under our feet.
“No? Fine. Suit yourself. I didn’t want to share anyway.”
He strikes first, launching a ball of white-hot flames at me that I block, but only just so. He’s stronger. Stronger as if he had been storing power for weeks. Stronger as if he had killed dozens of our kind.
I attack with my own current, chanting a spell in our native tongue to weaken him. It’s useless. My words don’t even penetrate him. He’s been protected, but I don’t even have time to execute a counter-attack before he’s rushing me, right through my stream of electric fire, as if it doesn’t even hurt him. As if he is impervious to my magic.
“Fuck you!” he grits, tackling me to the ground. He punches me in the face with enough force to decapitate a human. I throw my own powerful blows, aiming for every exposed vulnerable spot.
We roll on the ground, punching, kicking, scratching for survival. The gruesome sounds of ripping flesh and cracking bones are muted by the roar of deadly winds around us. Everything around us shakes, and the floor beneath us cracks open, creating a fissure that runs through the length of the house. A Category 5 hurricane is about to ensue, right here on Bourbon Street. Our blood is not the only that will spill tonight.
Pain and exhaustion seizes my body, and somehow, Varshaun overtakes me. He pins me down, and bares his blood-stained teeth. His hair is wild and matted with the thick, red substance, and he has a deep gash over his eye. I’ve injured him, but I know I don’t look much better.
“I’ve wanted to kill you for decades, you spoiled little fuck! You don’t deserve this power. You don’t deserve the crown. You aren’t worthy to call yourself Dark!”