The Plan Commences

by Kristen Ashley

  The priest had shifted carefully away, but his back struck stone, and he realized he was stuck with no escape as a gaggle of women came forth out of an opening in the wall of this strange cave.

  And dear gods, some of them were wearing Go’Ella shifts.

  They started clucking and cooing over the terrified sacrifice as they helped her to her feet and took her back where they came.

  “Now, you,” the woman stated.

  On his arse, back to stone, he darted his eyes up to the woman.

  The fair one was standing behind her but just to the side.

  His face was sheer beauty.

  His expression was chilling.

  They both were looking at the priest.

  “I should introduce myself,” she said, and he looked immediately back to her. “I am Marian. Mistress of the Beast.”

  “Oh, my gods,” he breathed.

  “Yes,” she grinned sassily “Didn’t see it playing out that way, did you?”

  “Are you…did you…how…?” He couldn’t finish, and he couldn’t decide who to focus on.

  Her.

  Or his Beast.

  Not his Beast, no.

  Hers.

  “Now, where shall I start?” she began, crossing her arms on her ample chest and leaning back a bit as if settling in to tell a long tale. “I hail from Wodell. We won’t talk about my early years. They’re miserable. I entered a profession I didn’t care for, opening my legs for men for a few coins. We won’t speak about that, as it’s dismal as well. I made the excruciatingly stupid decision to attempt to escape that life by becoming a Go’Ella.”

  Oh no.

  She suddenly threw her arms out to the sides and the priest flinched in fear at the abrupt movement.

  “And now here I am,” she declared. She then lifted a hand and tapped the side of her chin with a finger before adding, “Oh, yes. And I’m a witch.” She indicated the creature behind her with a flick of her hand. “Apparently, a powerful one.”

  “We are…these men you just murdered, we are servants of the Beast,” he shared.

  “Oh,” she whispered, a gleam in her eye he did not like, “you will serve the Beast.”

  After uttering that, she turned, dipped her chin, and said softly, “You may have him, my brutum.”

  The man-like creature smiled an unnerving smile, turned his attention to the priest and started moving toward him.

  He scuttled to the side, twisted to his hands and knees in a mindless attempt at escape, and this was a grave mistake.

  He was caught, and he was such in the wrong position.

  He was not killed.

  His robes were torn from him.

  And he was used.

  Brutally.

  The creature was very tall, but lean.

  And his member was enormous.

  And the priest was not ready nor were precautions taken against harm.

  But regardless, this was not something he wished.

  Not at all, but especially having it happen to him with her watching.

  In the end, when the creature had finished on a mighty roar that seemed to shake the stone all around, collapsed atop him for so long, he thought he’d suffocate from the weight, and then pulled out, the priest lay naked on his belly in the dirt, used, in pain, and feeling a sense of humiliation so strong, it quite suddenly simply defined him.

  He curled into himself, feeling the trickle of blood coming from his arse, pain so intense there, he worried he’d never be the same there again.

  He closed his eyes tight, wrapped his arms around his calves and clenched his teeth when he sensed her draw near.

  “You didn’t enjoy that?” she taunted. “He is very large, I will admit. It took me some time to get used to that big cock. But he and I enjoyed the time it took. Then again, I have natural lubrication.” She paused. “Oh, and I was willing.”

  He said nothing.

  “Doesn’t feel good, does it?” she asked quietly. “When it’s not something you want. When it’s the last thing you ever wish to happen to you.”

  He remained silent.

  “He’s told me,” she went on. “My precious darling has shared much this glorious time we’ve spent together, getting to know one another, him showing me all his many special talents, me sharing what is happening above, some planning, some plotting, etcetera. And I did the math. Over six thousand, five hundred.”

  He had no idea what she was talking about.

  “But that was only the number of women you and your kind raped and murdered over the centuries,” she said.

  Oh gods.

  “They were each used four times, well, at least in your reign of terror. Prior to that, it was five before they were relieved of their pain…and their lives. That’s over thirty-two thousand times.” He heard her take in a sharp breath before she said in a much less conversational tone. “Over thirty-two thousand rapes.”

  “It is the ritual,” he whispered.

  “It is savagery,” she hissed.

  He needed to focus.

  He needed to find his magic.

  He needed to cast a spell. Any spell. Some distraction, so he could get his bearings and find a way to leave this place.

  He had no idea if he could move, but he would it if it meant escape.

  “We’ve decided to wait,” she shared. “You foolishly notified everyone up there that he has roused, annoying him with your ‘rituals.’ They must come to think this idiotic prophecy has been fulfilled and it will keep them safe. So we will wait.”

  He felt her get nearer to him before she spoke on.

  “I had wanted to take their vengeance. Those women you violated. Those women you slaughtered. Giving him use of your flesh as many times as your people took their flesh. But we can’t wait that long. Violating you thirty-two thousand times would take years. It might take centuries.”

  He released a hand to start to draw in the dirt, the beginnings of a spell.

  “Don’t be stupid,” she murmured, and he could tell she was drifting away from him. “Do you think your magic works here? The merfolk have bound him and bound his magic. I can sink to his lair, and I can rise to the surface, and take him with me, or the girls, but we don’t know how. He’s been powerless for millennia. Until me.”

  “We were only doing what—”

  All of a sudden, her hand snaked out and caught him by the jaw.

  She forced his neck into a painful twist so he would look at her.

  She was crouching behind him.

  “Don’t,” she snapped. “There is no excuse for what you’ve done. There are no words you can speak. Do you think its these rituals that roused him? How bloody man of you. They had nothing to do with it.”

  “Wh-what did?”

  She pushed him off and his cheek struck stone.

  “It was time. He wakes, he sleeps. He wakes, he sleeps. It’s just that he sleeps for over a thousand years. And he needs someone, that someone being me, to bring him to the surface. We’ve had a few forays, just for him to get the lay of the land and for us to recruit some helpers. But our base will remain down here. At least for a spell.”

  He carefully began to drag himself away from her, but when her eyes narrowed, he stopped.

  “If you can get to the surface, then I have great power up there,” he informed her. “I’m sure I can rise too. I can help you up there. I know people. And you know I know people who serve the Beast. I have connec—”

  “Oh no,” she murmured, reaching out again, and he quailed, but she only stroked his hair. “We’re keeping you. Our little pet. When you aren’t serving him, you’ll serve his harem.” She tipped her head. “Do you know how to cook? They’re mostly quite lovely, but none of those ninnies knows how to cook.”

  “I don’t,” he cleared his throat, “I don’t know how to cook.”

  “That’s all right.” Her gaze moved down his body, and a sick smile curved her lips. “You have other uses.”

  “I want his mouth,
” the creatures deep, velvet voice sounded.

  He was like a godly seraph.

  And yet, he was a monster.

  That smile remained in place as she studied the priest. “He has a quick recovery. And he can come, and come, and come.” She rolled her eyes with exaggeration before she bent over him. “And wait until you see what else he can do when he is not bound to this under-realm. He has such power, such awesome power. And not just with his cock.”

  “You are wasting a great resource,” he tried. “I am—”

  “Yes,” she sat back on her heels, “who are you?”

  “G’Jell of the Go’Doan.”

  “No, you aren’t. That’s the name they gave you when they stripped you of who you were so you could be theirs. Who are you?”

  “Jellan of Airen,” he whispered a name he hadn’t spoken in decades.

  “And you are a great sorcerer?” she asked.

  “Yes. Yes, I am. I have much power,” he told her fervently.

  “No.” She shook her head. “No, you don’t. You did. But like those girls, all those many girls over the centuries, you have nothing anymore, Jellan. As they were pushed to the point they wished they were dead, you will be pushed to the same. Except your torment will last a great deal longer.”

  She then stood, nodded to the Beast, moved toward the opening the other women disappeared through, and he moved toward G’Jell.

  Jell scuttled away, but he was caught by the hair at the top of his head, yanked up in a way that caused excruciating pain in his scalp, and then he was force fed cock.

  And thus, his torment continued.

  77

  The Sacred Horn

  Melisse

  Northwestern Border of the Veil of The Enchantments

  WODELL

  Gagged, bound, her shoulder having been dislocated somewhere along the way, not having had but minimal water or food for days, Melisse was tossed to the ground within feet of the veil of The Enchantments.

  There were a number of men in this party.

  Too many of them.

  By the goddess, how had they missed this many Go’Doan conspirators?

  She was woozy. Concerned about her head wound, dehydrated and ravening, often traveling belly down on the back of a horse, and when she wasn’t, she’d been sequestered with a guard.

  Thus, she couldn’t get a lock on how many there were.

  One hundred?

  Two?

  “We are ready?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Torches?”

  “Yes.”

  Torches?

  Did they think they would burn The Enchantments?

  Did they think they could even breach them?

  They could not.

  Not even with her, for she would not open them, even upon threat of the certain death.

  And they might have bound her hands, her mouth, and weakened her focus so she could not cast, but they could not steal her magic.

  “The last Nadirii patrol?”

  “Moved out of this area six hours ago.”

  “They’ll be quite far by now. Send the order. Men in positions.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Melisse searched the area as best she could from where she lay with only waning light to see by in hopes to observe, well…anything.

  She had not seen Seph since he’d lured her to that place.

  Though she’d thought often of his hands.

  How had he lost his hands?

  And if it was this faction who took them, why was he still allied with them?

  She could not think on that now, nor should she have thought of it then.

  Ophelia had always told her, mind the curiosity of a cat. Cats were agile and limber. The scrapes they could escape were vast.

  People were not the same.

  She should have listened to her queen.

  Or at least brought backup.

  She should also have listened to Rebecca, who told her Fern of the Great Coven had sensed bad omens for Melisse.

  So intent was she on the safety of the prophesied, she did not dwell on her own.

  She could not think on this either.

  Melisse attempted to focus on clearing her mind so she could endeavor a spell to loosen her binds. Or communicate with the veil to send a warning, no matter how weak. Those in treehomes close to this location, and the patrol, even six hours away, might sense it and come to her aid.

  But…

  What did they think they could achieve?

  This was no small operation.

  One, two hundred men?

  On a fool’s errand of violating The Enchantments?

  “Men are in position, sir.”

  Damn it, she’d lost focus.

  She closed her eyes, sought the veil.

  And lost her concentration at the tone of voice of the leader.

  “Excellent,” he whispered, sounding nearly feverish with anticipation.

  Hundreds of years, The Enchantments had never been breached.

  Why did he sound so…certain?

  She felt movement close and she ignored the pain in her shoulder as she twisted to her back to better her position so she could put her heels in the turf and push away.

  Or kick out.

  But she stopped dead when she saw him, the leader, a priest she had not, before her capture, met.

  They called him Nath, G’Nath, which meant his born name was probably Nathan.

  He was tall, likely in the middle of his third decade on earth.

  And right then, he was holding a unicorn horn.

  He had a sacred horn.

  Oh, by the great goddesses, how had he gotten hold of a sacred unicorn horn?

  They were forbidden in every realm!

  “Ungag her, we will need her pain,” Nath ordered.

  Another one came up behind her, and she twisted her head this way and that, not believing she wished to keep the gag, but now she had an inkling of what they were up to.

  She would almost certainly not survive it.

  But that wasn’t the only reason she had to fight it.

  Using every ounce of strength she had left, she struggled, twisting her body, kicking out with her bound feet.

  Another man had to come to assist, and another.

  “Control her, hold her down, and take the gag!” Nath shouted.

  She was too weak, she could not fight them physically.

  She gave up and closed her eyes in order to attempt magic.

  The gag was released.

  Immediately, she was struck across the face, closed fist.

  And again.

  A third time.

  She shook her head, blinking away the stars, and ended with her eyes open.

  He was standing above her, a foot planted at each side, the horn raised.

  “No,” she whispered.

  He brought it down in a vicious stab.

  “NO!” she shouted.

  It pierced the flesh and her breastbone, driving through.

  Agonizing pain scattered from wound throughout her frame as she screamed her anguish and glittering white sparks mixed with the amethyst hue of Melisse’s own magic shot high and wide, lighting the area all around, all the way to the dusk sky.

  “Yes!” G’Nath bellowed.

  Through the draining pain, Melisse heard hoots, hollers, cheers.

  She turned her head and her agony magnified as she saw the rift form in the veil from where she lay. Its edges sizzled white hot as it rose from the earth where she lay and expanded.

  Up.

  “No,” she whispered.

  Out.

  “No,” she breathed, her lids drooping as a weakness so profound, she knew she had no hope to fight it pervaded.

  Up and out, she watched a rough two-foot square of the veil open.

  Then three.

  Four.

  Five.

  Seven.

  No.

  And then…

  Melisse blinked at what s
he saw beyond the disintegrating barrier.

  “What—?” G’Nath started in shock.

  The gap was ten feet square and expanding.

  But beyond it, Melisse clearly saw Ophelia sitting her steed.

  Behind her, at least five battalions of Nadirii warriors.

  Her eyes drifting open and shut, Melisse’s lips curled just as Ophelia released the Nadirii yell.

  It was echoed by five hundred Nadirii sisters.

  And the call of the Sisterhood rent the air.

  It was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.

  And then they rode.

  Even fading, she noticed that, as the Nadirii attacked, charging through the rift into Wodell, pressing the Go’Doan collaborators back and into disarray at this surprise attack, the hooves of every sisters’ horse flew over her, not a single one striking.

  They sensed her.

  They might be sacrificing her.

  But she would do the same.

  Their home must be defended at all costs.

  Death was close, she knew as her blood seeped into the soil, and all she wished was to drag herself a few feet so she’d die in her beloved home.

  Instead, before she could begin her last endeavor on this earth, she felt herself dragged farther away from the melee, but on the Wodell side.

  She was then lifted.

  Put on a stretcher.

  A man ordered a terse, “Go. Fast.”

  She blinked up at him as he jogged beside the stretcher.

  She knew him.

  “Please, I wish—” she began.

  G’Liam of the Go’Doan, their Education Minister, looked down at her.

  “Don’t speak. Save your strength,” he ordered. “I am uncertain I can repair the damage. This effort will be impossible if you do not help me.”

  She was near to losing consciousness, therefore she’d have no choice but to “help.”

  She was also confused.

  “You wish to repair the—?”

  “We are not all like them, and we are not all ignorant of their intrigues. Last, there are some of us who do not fear them, but instead are intent to do something about it. Now be quiet. I have a makeshift operating theater up ahead. It is not the best, but it will have to do.”