by Poppet
Putting my arm around her again, pleased when she slumps against my side the way Eve pressed against Adam's missing rib, I look down at her, “Raising the dead was normal for God. He's got power we don't fully comprehend, but there's no denying he raised the dead over and over. The dead walk as the living, and you can call it rebirth if you want, or the modern equivalent of vampires and zombies, but raising the physically dead is an alchemist's secret. One he'll never share with the likes of me.”
Finally engaging with me, she looks into my eyes, “He's your dad. He loves you. Don't be so hard on yourself.”
“Like your parents loved you?” I counter, knowing full well how her parents are seriously lacking in the love and compassion department.
“Tell me more,” she says, avoiding the conflict and truth of our dilemma. We're suited on so many levels. Levels she refuses to acknowledge… yet.
Flipping with my free hand, I read for her, “The time is coming when all the dead will hear his voice and come out of their graves. John 5:28 But now Christ is risen from the dead, the firstfruits of them that sleep: For by a man came death, and by a man the resurrection of the dead.” 1 Corinthians 15:20
Pausing, I explain, “The firstfruits of those that sleep. What in vampire novels they call hibernation. It's simply a period of rest for the immortal.”
She looks interested, a little spark of life returning to her dulled eyes. Eager to engage and keep her returning to me, I smile, flipping to the next verse, “And this, it reads like a zombie story for sure; Their people will become like walking corpses, their flesh rotting away. Their eyes will rot in their sockets, and their tongues will rot in their mouths. Zechariah 14:12 . Don't let her become like something born dead with half its flesh eaten away. Numbers 12:12. See Shauna? How would they know what a zombie looks like, unless they'd witnessed them? There is a race in the Old Testament, offspring of the Supernatural men, called Rephaim. Their name means 'the dead ones'. They were the first race of zombies. The first race reborn to live from death. God works in mysterious ways, but everything that seems new has been done before. Ecclesiastes even says as much, saying, 'Whatever happens or can happen has already happened before. God makes the same thing happen again and again.'” Ecclesiastes 3:15
“Born dead? Since when is anything born dead with half its flesh eaten away – unless it's been a corpse for some time before being 'born'. Like something long dead suddenly brought to life. What the fuck?” she says, staring at me, incredulous.
I nod, giving a smile of encouragement.
“Tell me about the Rephaim,” she says, finally dropping her pride and touching me, resting her petite hand on my leg.
“Like the Anakim they were also known as Rephaim; but the Moabites called them Emim,” I say, quoting Deuteronomy 3 off the top of my head. “You see, all Anakim were offspring of God. Of supernaturals. In fact calling them Anakim was like calling all humans mankind. We come in many colours and sizes, from short Asians to tall Vikings, we are diverse as 'humans', just like the Anakim were diverse supernatural men. There were the Rephaim, the Nephilim, the Elioud, and the broader term Anakim. The word nephilim means 'the violent ones' and they were all sons of God. They are his sons. Here at home he now calls them disciples, but earlier you experienced the natural tendency of the Nephilim for yourself. They are violent, big and strong, intimidating and indomitable. The Elioud are demi-gods, and they have six digits on each hand and foot. ”
She looks at me, her gaze flicking between my eyes, her grip on my leg tensing, “Seth? Oh my god! How come we're not taught this shit?”
“Because you turned away, you stopped asking questions, your bitter heart wasn't seeking answers or truth. You lost yourself in the pursuit of coin and pleasure, but all men are gods. This is our history, these are our ancestors.” Leaning close, curling around her, I press my finger between her breasts, “The power within you is unlimited potential. But first you have to acknowledge it.” I have to remind her of facts I take for granted, “The Nephilim were on the earth in those days, and also afterward, when the sons of God came in to the daughters of men, and they bore children to them. Those were the mighty men who were of old, men of renown. Genesis 6:1.. The people whom we saw in it are men of great size. There also we saw the Nephilim; and we became like grasshoppers in our own sight, and so we were in their sight.” Numbers 13:32
“Tell me about the vampires,” she pleads, excitement filtering through her stubborn misery.
Easing into our familiar companionship, I tease, “What defines a vampire? Describe him to me.”
“He can't die. He's immortal.”
Nodding, I flick to the back of my father's book, “Okay. So then does this fit your view of a vampire? They will seek death but will not find it; they will long to die, but death will flee from them?” Revelation 9:6
She nods, “Oh my fucking god! I can't believe this!”
“What else? Would you say that a vampire is twice born? He lived as we do, only to resurrect as something entirely different, but still looking like himself? One who can't die a human death again?” I challenge.
She squeezes my leg and her touch is doing wicked things to me, “Yes!”
Smirking, I wish I could kiss her, instead I look down at the next passage, reading, “Blessed and holy is he that hath part in the first resurrection: on such the second death hath no power, but they shall be priests of God and of Christ, and shall reign with him a thousand years.” Revelation 20:6
She gasps, “Living long and immortal lives. Priests of Christ? So immortals, vampires, they're his! Holy shit. The death has no effect! How come I've never read that?”
Looking back into dewy sapphire eyes, I mutter, “Because you weren't looking for it.”
Offering her my hand, I coax, “Can we finish this in the comfort of a chair? My bones are objecting to this hard floor.”
Instead of answering, she stands, helping me up, supporting me as we hobble to my quarters. Pausing with her halfway into my lounge, I pull her into me, kissing her forehead, “I'm truly sorry, princess. I never wanted to hurt you.”
I'm euphoric when she hugs me back, encircling my waist with delicate arms, “It's okay.”
It's okay!
She needs loosening up, so I offer as I lead her to the couches, “How about a stiff drink? I know I could use one.”
To kill the desire to lay you down and do it again, and again, and again. God damn, you felt so fine.
I forgot what a woman feels like, and now it's all I can think about.
Slumping into the closest chair, she smiles, “Sounds good. I'm getting a motherfucker of a headache. If I'm going to have a migraine I may as well make it worth my while.”
I'm so tempted to tell her sex releases endorphins that'll cure her headache, but daren't. Instead I'll get her so shitfaced she won't know when I do it again, in private, without an audience, slowly.
Looking up at the camera trained on the lounge, I mouth to Alpha, thank you.
~ Chapter 13 ~
I will take firm control of you
and make you obey my covenant.
~ Ezekiel 20:37
Seth:
Leaving a pitcher of potent vodka and raspberry juice next her chair, I settle opposite, pretending to drink the same, except mine is just juice.
“Ready for more?” I tempt my eager pupil.
She nods, getting comfy, guzzling her drink as if it's cool-drink. Alcohol companies got it right when they made inebriation in a bottle designed for women.
I love dad's bible, I wish mine was this opulent. Looking for my place, I say, “We're still on vampires. Those immortals men who are changed from mortal to immortal with the 'change' wrought by God?”
“Ah huh,” she says, stretching out lithe legs and resting her heels on the coffee table.
Now that I've crossed the boundary I'm finding her very distracting. Clearing my throat, I read, “For they cannot die anymore, because they are equal to angels and are sons of G
od, being sons of the resurrection. Luke 20:36 . Since you have been born again, not of perishable seed but of imperishable 1 Peter 1:23. For they have shed the blood of saints and prophets, and thou hast given them blood to drink; for they are worthy.” Revelation 16:6. Looking across at Shauna, she's looking drowsy, her head rested against the padding, “It's pretty clear when they start talking about blood. I gather dad read to you the passage about their sharp teeth and how they devour men?”
“Yup!” she slurs, smiling, pouring another drink for herself, consuming the sedative in no time.
Just twenty minutes more and she should be passing out with the mingling of medication and that much alcohol.
Biding time, I read, “Listen to this secret truth: we shall not all die, but when the last trumpet sounds, we shall all be changed in an instant, as quickly as the blinking of an eye. For when the trumpet sounds, the dead will be raised, never to die again, and we shall all be changed. For what is mortal must be changed into what is immortal; what will die must be changed into what cannot die. 1 Corinthians 15:51. Truly, truly, I say to you, if anyone keeps my word, he will never see death; John 8:5.”
Putting the book aside, sitting so my right leg obscures her vantage of my boxers, I rest my cheek on my fist, watching the angel. “Only god can make you immortal. Follow his laws Shauna, and you might become the very thing you like to watch on TV.”
“I don't wash telly. I like choo read blooks. Vampires are sssshexy.”
“You sound like you could audition for James Bond,” I laugh, grinning at the cute imp who's lost her inhibitions, bending her legs and giving me a full view of what hides beneath her kimono.
My lust is becoming overwhelming so I grip to passages, warning her, “Pay attention, baby. To those who by persistence in doing good seek glory, honour and immortality, he will give eternal life. Romans 2:7 He put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live forever. Genesis 3:22”
“What choo they look like?” she slurs, readjusting, giving me the side view of a plump breast and a pink nipple.
God alive woman. You're torturing me here.
Taking a sip of my drink, I speak to the painting behind her right shoulder, “For a nation is come up upon my land, strong, and without number, whose teeth are the teeth of a lion Joel 1:6. And they had hair as the hair of women, and their teeth were as of lions. Revelation 9:8.”
“Are they pretty? Are any of them women?”
Hiding my giggle at how fast my chick is going under, I quote, “And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs: and when I saw her, I wondered with great admiration.” Revelation 17:6
“Oh!” she hiccups. “So truthfully dude, they reeeeally had vampiresh back then?”
It's safer to stare at the book next to me, so I recite because I was raised on this book as my daily bread, “My God forbid it me, that I should do this thing: shall I drink the blood of these men that have put their lives in jeopardy? for with the jeopardy of their lives they brought it. Therefore he would not drink it.” 1 Chronicles 11:19
“Sooo, how come people make out like they're evil? If God shanctioned it?”
“Because they have the power of God in them. They are made into his own, into immortals, and stupid ignorant savages got their allegiances messed up when faced with the stark beauty of a raised immortal, a transformed one. They lived freely amongst people for a long time, until they displeased Alpha by accepting worship because they are glorious and beautiful.” Like you. Finally staring at her, at that gorgeous temptation displayed to my greedy gaze, and her heavy eyelids, I blurt, “They sacrificed unto devils, not to God; to new gods that came newly up, whom your fathers feared not.” Deuteronomy 32:17.
Slipping off her chair in a graceful swoop, she clings to it for support, mumbling, “I have'ta pee.”
Watching her go until she's out of sight, I slam my head back on the padding, exhaling a frustrated sigh.
Tapping my fingers on the armrest, I make the decision. She's mine, she may as well get used to the idea. If she remembers, so be it. If she doesn't, then that will be a mercy.
Rising out of my chair, I move stealthily to wait outside the bathroom. It's en-suite to my bedroom, just four easy steps away from a mattress, to the marital bed.
Leaning on my arm, I block her escape, staring down at where I think she'll reach when she opens the door. Listening to her washing her hands the rage in my veins ratchets my excitement into twitching painfully against the cotton of my boxers.
The door flings wide and she stumbles right into me. Hooking my hand under chin, grasping her throat, I push her against the wall, sliding over her, dipping my head and sucking her lip into my mouth.
Staring into drowsy eyes, her gasp is encouraging. It hurts like a bitch to lift her, but I do, manoeuvring the hand on her neck to her nape, hoisting her with my right arm between her legs, wrestler style.
She squeals when I plant her on the mattress, shoving my knee between her thighs and forcing her legs to splay, crawling over her, holding her arms down, licking the raspberry flavoured mouth parted with laboured exhalations.
Keeping her pinned I lower in a stretch, nudging cotton aside, sucking her nipple until it gets hard enough to bite.
“Aaaauh!” hisses loudly, her strain against my hold on her arms weak enough to be laughable.
Adjusting, getting both her wrists in one hand, I use the freedom to unbutton my boxers, lowering and aiming, pushing into a body wetter than she was earlier.
Slamming into her in an easy slide, the sensation is heavenly. Leaning all my weight on her pinned arms, I use my free hand to rub her clit, sliding in and out watching myself, thrilled when of her own volition she widens her thighs, tilting her hips to meet the pressure of my hand.
God! It's too much!
Dropping to lean on both elbows, I pummel into her, the friction sinful and divine, cutting lines of rigid heat down my spine, bolting to the tip of my dick, crimping my balls when I tense and bellow as the wave of paralysing pleasure freezes me. Euphoric fever coasts through my muscles and the juicy heat enveloping me resuscitates my libido faster than god juice.
Looking at the sweet face poised underneath me, I dip, sucking her neck, nibbling into it, licking up to suck her earlobe, savouring the salacious surrender when she moans in my ear.
Releasing her wrists, I hold her face, kissing her long and deep, pulling out of her wet pussy just far enough to pump back in, hard, ramming in and out with the force of an alpha claiming his mate.
One day I will be the alpha. It's time I acted like one.
Stalling long enough to suck her other nipple hard, I bite into the plump breast, tracing her chest with kisses, to her neck, biting into the nubile skin, murmuring, “You like vampires huh? They fuck like animals, baby. Turn onto your knees so I can show you how good it feels.”
When she doesn't argue, I sit back, amazed when she does as ordered.
This will indeed please God.
Standing on the floor I pull her to the edge of the bed, hooking my hands under her hips, sliding back in, watching my obedient woman when she slips to the hilt. This view is enough to make a man cum instantaneously. Fuck me! Curling her hair around my fist, I harness her head, wrenching it right, bending over her to get a grip on her neck with my teeth, and I fuck her like I never want her to walk again.
The groans, the pique of her nipples, the wet becoming so hot and viscous all around me, engulfing me, quivers seize me and I cum like a teenager, with the force of a nuclear explosion, feeling it on a cellular level; I vow to keep her a raging alcoholic if this is what awaits me when she's drunk.
My brother's wife is a vixen. Jesus! I've been denied for too long.
Sweating, sheened with it from neck to crotch, I release her, standing upright again still deep inside her perfect suction, to look directly at the camera, knowing he's watching.
When it comes to Shauna, he is always watching.
She flops, twisting, complaining, “I'm dizzy.”
She still sounds bombed out of her skull, so I pull out, loving the smell of lust and hormones and pussy and sex, prowling back over her, squeezing her breast, sucking on it, squeezing the other one, resting on my side next to her, pulling her head onto my bicep, cradling her against my body, I lift her chin and kiss her… this time the way I've always wanted to kiss a woman. Slowly, gently, exploring the velvet heat of her tongue, the silkiness inside her lip, roughing up her soft skin with my stubble.
Her eyes close, and I know she's passed out.
Closing my own eyes and resting my chin on top of her head, I bury my free hand between her legs, slipping two fingers inside her, whispering, “This is mine. You are mine.”
All mine.
~ Chapter 14 ~
Photography is an investigation of both the outer
and the inner worlds.
~ Ansel Adams
Alpha/The Watcher:
Visually boasting about his conquest makes me want to smash my fist through the monitor. Immature little prick. I know it's my own fucking law that opened the door for this, but he's desecrating an altar, one I readied for myself. This is her fault. If she hadn't been so quick to instigate discipline I would have been the first to break her new hymen. Rage burns a blaze in my chest and I stride away toward my gym to take my anger out on a punch-bag. He's a cunning snake, a clever one. He so easily diffused the explosive situation by distracting her, by pampering her mind. I never thought I'd be taking notes from my delinquent son. However, it is required that she be complacent when he returns to work and her brainwashing begins.
Seduction is in order.
Fuck, I'm not accustomed to working for anything. People do as I say, I don't have to be subversive and manipulative. My respect for Victor grows exponentially.
He turned her into his willing slave.
She willingly caved to his authority, right before my eyes, I witnessed it.
