The Hunt (Of Blood and Magic Book 2)

by Delicious David

  Still, they had faced a few attacks. Such subterfuge couldn’t fool potent witches. They had instincts so sharpened that they could sense powerful sorcery in the air, years after it had been done. It was one of such witches that had canceled it in the first attack, fifteen years ago. She had worn a fiery pink cloak, and her eyes had looked dangerously intelligent. She had led a squadron of High Commission lieutenants into their ranks, and some of their finest men had fallen that day, but members of the resistance knew the tunnels like the back of their palms while the newbies could only rely on the limited instinctive advantage of military training. It was this ace they had used against the infiltrators, bringing them down from absurd angles and activating hidden booby traps, until they had been forced to retreat.

  The High Commission had come many times after that, sending different squadrons to take them down, but they had also risen to the occasion, intensifying their magic and developing powerful strategies. As if in a wave of green fortune, hordes of Wiccans and Lykae began joining the resistance. A bigger slice of the magical realm, more than ever before, had grown disgruntled with the iron fist of the High Commission. Even clans that weren’t being hunted down felt choked by the brash authority of an organization with insane powers and near limitless resources that seemed to care only about pursuing an ancient dream to perish the vampires permanently than anything else. Many of them began to find that they preferred the way things had been before the clans had formed a coalition, and agreed that it was time to liquefy the High Commission.

  So, the resistance, like a well-fed living organism, had grown, even to the point of establishing tiny annexes in strategic points all over Transylvania, so they could have ears on the ground above ground and monitor a lot more closely the goings-on on the surface. They expanded, so much so that they believed they were now ready to launch a full-scale attack on the High Commission and bring it to its knees once and for all. They had begun making plans, and raiding the Commission’s depots for weapons more than ever before. Things were beginning to intensify, building up to an eruptive climax, when, about a week ago, word had reached the tunnel from an outpost on the fringes of Transylvania that Lukai had escaped from his eternal prison.

  Tyrone had called a general meeting instantly. That night, the great hall was filled to bursting, as members of the resistance assembled in their thousands, their faces heavy with expectancy, their hearts hungry for clarity. What was next for the resistance, given this development?

  “My people, in an era of bland wonderlessness, a true wonder has just happened,” his voice boomed that night with the force of excitement, “As we live and breathe, Lukai, the King of Vampires, has escaped his prison at the center of the earth, and now roams free!”

  The hall had broken into mad chatter, not knowing what to make of the information. Was this good news? Or was this a symbol of bigger threats on the horizon? Tyrone had calmed them all down with a wave of his hands.

  “This is the last kindling we have been waiting on for forty years since we decided to sacrifice our personal interests and petty inter-clan conflict to take up a higher purpose and become the mighty force we are today,” he had bellowed, his voice rising with the force of an ocean wave, “The true king has returned. These last hundred years, I’ve merely held onto a borrowed crown, but now, the true conqueror and the one who will end this war and vanquish the High Commission for good is back amongst us.”

  Everyone noticed the tight, stiff smile that had suddenly overtaken Deidara’s face. She was clearly far from pleased by her partner’s declarations. It made perfect sense. Everyone knew how she loved being a queen. Though a superbly gifted fighter and strategist—the very qualities which had endeared Tyrone to her in the first place—she had grown to love the perks of royalty. As queen, she was attended to by a train of maidservants and personal guards. She loved having underlings run her hot baths and massage her feet with milk and bring her favorite platters in bed and respond to her every whim. She enjoyed power, relished it, misused it occasionally too. Deidara’s tendency to get swallowed up by luxury so much that she forgot reality had raised several questionings at the resistance’s inner council, which was made up of twenty-four diplomats headed by her husband and which played the roles of arbitration in times of dispute and the creation of rules and laws to maintain order in the hidden kingdom. Her excesses had only seemed bearable because her husband was nothing like her. Despite being king, he never abused his privileges, and would never be found having a meal when someone else in the colony was known to be starving. The council had pleaded with Deidara to soft pedal her proclivities for the sake of the greater good. But nothing ever really changed. Deidara was obsessed with being queen. She had tasted power, and it was intoxicating as the most mature wine. There was no going back from that.

  This was why, that night, as her husband publicly announced that the throne rightfully belonged to Lukai, and that he would step down from it the moment Lukai returned, she had clenched her fist so hard that her heavily manicured nails had punctured puckered, pink holes in her palm. He hadn’t intimated her the details of his impending declaration and she hated him for it. She would’ve dissuaded him, told him off for even thinking it. There had to be another way; like, say, Lukai would be allowed to lead the effort against the High Commission and draw up all the strategies, while Tyrone still kept his crown anyways. It was not as though Deidara believed so much in Tyrone’s leadership. He was a fine king, she agreed, but any idiot could be king with the right grooming. What mattered to her was the fact that if Tyrone was no longer King, it would automatically imply that she also was no longer queen, and she couldn’t let that happen. Not after having been queen for so long. Not after she had tasted this sweet grape wine and gotten addicted to its tang.

  So, as these men dragged the thieving vampire to the inner sanctum, where the king and his council administered the resistance and dispensed justice to wrongdoers, they knew that they would not be prioritized. The king and the council had been severely distracted since news of Lukai’s escape was announced. News had spread that they no longer slept, deciding rather spend their nights strategizing and planning and connecting complex dots together, even as they waited for the arrival of the legendary warrior king who would turn the tides and liberate them once and for all. They knew that the king and the council would rather that they weren’t made to try this case. These were desperate times. But these were also trying times. Since Lukai’s escape, the High Commission had doubled down on the protection of some of their prime assets, drastically cutting down on the supply of rations and weapons from the colony’s operations on the surface. Three teams had vanished in five days, and tempers were on edge. One of the resistance’s spies had come bearing news that the High Commission was planning an organized attack on the resistance at their base in the tunnel; an attack which would be much bigger than they had ever faced. These were times when true loyalty was tested, where people were forced to show their truest colors and reveal the depth of their commitment to the cause. By eating into central rations without authorization, the young thief had not only violated community rules, but he had also further shown that his quest for personal satisfaction overrode his sense of community safety. He had failed.

  So, they kept dragging him, relentless, even as blood poured from his every orifice.

  Unknown to the entire resistance clan, save for a maidservant named Tsami, on the night that Tyrone had made the declaration about granting Lukai the throne upon the appearance, and Deidara had punished him.

  That night, as he lay on his wide, kingly bed, thinking about Lukai’s return and what it meant for the resistance going forward, Deidara had walked into the room with a glazed expression. Without a word, she had yanked off her cloak, revealing a body-hugging outfit made of leather and netted clothing. Her voluptuous boobs stuck out the upper part of the outfit, jutting out sharply where the tits should’ve been. Wide, black netting covered the rest of her trunk, from the base of her wide boobs ov
er her navel until the arch where her pussy hair began, and then the leather continued, terminating a few inches after, and completed by netting up until halfway down her thigh. She had her long, jet black hair tied back in a ponytail, and her right palm massaging a thick horsewhip. She stood provocatively, her ass jutting out from the sides of her curvy waist, like the fat-ass ladies in the red-light districts who chewed gum all the time and kept their cash in their bras and gave the hottest head.

  Seeing her in this form, Tyrone had felt his cock jump. He was in for a wild ride.

  “You are deserving of punishment.” she had spat, her face contorted with derision that looked realistic enough to inspire a nightmare.

  “Yes, mistress.” he had responded, feeling his cock threatened to burst through his pants.

  “How dare you talk to me directly? How dare you look me in the eyes? How dare you even think of giving your throne away?” her voice cut through him with the force of a knife. There it was, he smirked, immediately realizing the source of this brash and unexpected development. He could tell that she was scared of losing a power she had come to love and cherish. He could understand why the thought of it made her insecure. He decided that he would take his time to help her realize why this was not as much of a huge deal as she clearly seemed to think it was; why it was necessary, in fact. But he would do so later. For now, all he could do was gape at the sexiness of her curves, feeling himself salivate.

  “Rise!” she called sharply, and he responded, jumping to his feet. And then she dragged him by the ear to their nasty room, swirling her whip through the air like a bendable sword as they walked. It was in there that he met the maid, Tsami, dressed exactly like his wife. Who knew her tits were so big.

  Deidara commanded him to strip and he did so, his dick standing erect like a flagpole on a mountain peak. She tied his hands securely at both ends of a wide, slanted metal bar, which she made him layover, belly first. And then she spanked him on his bare ass, over and over with the whip. She stuck her middle left finger into his ass hole, sending waves in a zigzag to his skull. She resumed spanking him with her horsewhip and fingering him, while he moaned until his throat ran dry.

  As the cocktail of pleasure and pain overflowed, she stopped spanking him and set her horsewhip on the rugged floor. He felt her stop, smacking his left cheek with her palm, and then his right. Then she motioned to Tsami, and went to the other side of the bar, where his turgid, sturdy cock stood, pointing straight ahead like a baton. Tsami took all of his cock in her mouth and began working it, choking on it over and over. Immediately, Deidara proceeded to tongue him off, eating the mouth of his anus from all sides, her tongue venturing into the depths of his ass, filling him with ecstasy. With Tsami moaning on his cock in front of him and Deidara tonguing him off from behind, Tyrone was transported to heaven over and over until he had thought his brain would split.

  Then Deidara had paused, smacked his butt, and then walked to the back of the room. In a moment she returned, with a dildo strapped to her hips. It was slightly longer than his cock and just as fat. It made her look even more imposing as she walked back toward him.

  “Wet me,” she commanded and he promptly obliged, gracing her palm with a dollop of spit. She rubbed his slime all over the dildo, and then she entered him, fucking him from behind so hard that he came in Tsami’s mouth, his body jerking with the force of a truck over a speed bump. Deidara heaved, smiling, moaning. Then she unstrapped him from the pole and pointed at Tsami.

  “Fuck her like a dog.” She instructed, and he obeyed.

  He walked toward Tsami with his cock still full and dangling, the dim yellow light painting shadows all over his gaze. While Deidara unstrapped him, Tsami had headed over to a corner of the room and lubricated her ass. Then she knelt, her face forward and her wide ass facing him, lubricant dripping from her ass hole to the floor. He knelt beside her and filled her with his cock. He pounded Tsami like a beast while she moaned heavily, fingers playing with her erect tits. He fucked her so hard her body quaked, and Deidara watched from a corner, a supercilious look in her eyes.

  Tyrone drove in an out of Tsami with brute force, holding her hip in place as he drilled into her like he was high on Viagra. She threw her head back as he climaxed, convulsing behind her, filling her with his cream. His body shuddered as he disengaged, brain roiling with pleasure. Still, on his knees, he had turned to Deidara.

  “Have you learned your lesson, you piece of shit?” she had asked with ice in her voice, looking at him like one would look at an errant stain on a white outfit.

  “Yes, mistress.” he had responded, his voice meek like honey in the ears, holding not even the slightest uncertainty or malice.

  She had regarded him for a second, her face still enveloped by disgust. And then, apparently finding his submission credible, her look had softened into what could pass as a smile. “Alright then,” her voice said in an uncharacteristic chirp, “Come to momma.”

  “Gladly.” Tyrone croaked as he crawled toward her on his knees while Tsami took the cue and left the room. When he reached her, he had risen from his knees until he reached her chest, and then he had felt his hands around her tits, unzipping the provocative dress from behind to reveal a pair of fleshy boobs with rock hard nipples. He took the nipples in his mouth, each one after the other, and sucked each like a lollipop until Deidara screamed. As he licked her boobs, he slapped the index and middle fingers of his right hand together and let them travel down the sides of her boobs and across the sharp curves of her hips, until he reached a spot that radiated warmth and sexual energy. He ran his fingers across the ridges of her vulva and found them moist, eliciting a moan from Deidara.

  Then he bent down, first taunting her wet pussy with his tongue, and then eating it as his life depended on it. He rammed his tongue in until he touched her clit, sucking all her juices as she moaned with mad ecstasy. Then, he led her to the metal bar, placed her on it with her pink pussy facing him, and strapped her against it.

  “Let me worship you, mistress.” he had pleaded with a husky voice, and with her eyes, she had assented. Then he had run his tongue all over her body, from the ridges of her ears to the nape of her neck to the curves around her tits to her belly button to her pink pussy lips to her toes. He lingered at her toes, worshipping each one with glorious dedication, sending waves of pleasure up to the recesses of her brain. And then, as she moaned loudly with her mouth open, he had blocked it with his and slid his cock into her welcoming pussy, driving it in and out, slowly, delicately. It was a partnership forged in the palaces of passion. Tenderly, they climbed the heights of pleasure, moaning in tandem, their skins hugging, their hearts racing, their breaths thickening. They came at right about the same time, hers a spasm of violent pleasure, his a burst of glorious light.

  The men dragged the boy across the last threshold before reaching the inner sanctum. There were guards patrolling each corridor at this point, questioning them at every turn. They passed a cabinet containing emergency supplies as the young vampire boy groaned, his body healing itself, his wounds closing up.

  When they reached the entrance to the sanctum, his face was no longer as puffy. The four guards at the entrance pulled back their enchanted spears, which had formed a barricade over the doorway, and let them in after verifying their identities by inspecting their resistance emblems.

  The inner sanctum was a large, domed hall, reminiscent of certain Roman theatres, with a dozen seats of cast stone on both sides and a glinting sword on a pedestal at the head of the room. The place radiated magic, power, and authority.

  The seats were empty, but the sanctum by no means was. The council members were crowded around the king in a far corner, poring over what seemed like strategy documents. Their voices were hushed, but they collided against one another in the wildness of argumentation.

  The king’s aide walked over to the convergence of council members and whispered their presence into the ears of the king. They watched the king frown and mutter wh
at seemed like two sentences back to him.

  The aide walked back with purpose in his steps. “As you may well know, the council is specially occupied right now.” He was a Lykae, but he spoke like an automaton. “The council shall now judge civil cases for the next fourteen days. The king has advised that you find a way to resolve the matter, or wait until then.”

  And then he walked away from them, heels pounding the floor, as he attended to the new entrants.

  ∞∞∞

  Chapter 5

  THE RETURN

  Becca screamed with excitement as the gush of wind whipped through her hair. Beneath her, Luke cackled, his brazen exterior giving way to a childish glee. The plan had seemed rigid at first, and a bit too boring and unidirectional. They would reach the edge of the Atlantian peninsula and then Luke would transform into a giant bat, then Becca would use a shrinking spell to condense her height and weight, she would mount him, and then they would embark on the long, tortuous flight over the ocean to Romania. And then, they would find a back way into Transylvania.