by Riley Moreno
“Yeah, she can be mean,” Demelza nodded.
“Are you like them?” Dorothy asked and Demelza noted her use of ‘them’ not ‘us’.
“No,” Demelza swung down from the branch and landed on her feet. “I’m their worst nightmare. Tell me Dorothy,” she walked over till she was inches from the girl, “what would you like most in the world.”
“To die,” Dorothy said immediately. “I don’t want to live like this.”
“I can oblige,” Demelza said respectfully. “But if I were you I’d like to take as many of them with me when I went.”
“I’d like that,” Dorothy’s eyes were sparkling.
“Good,” Demelza said, “do exactly as I say and we’ll have all your friends and family safe from them in less than three days!”
~*~
The house was shrouded in darkness, but it was as Demelza had expected. Adrian and Sarah were probably burning the midnight oil getting everything prepared for the assault. Demelza raided the cookie jar then thought better of it and lugged the whole thing up to her room. She pushed her bedroom door open with her shoulder; her hands too busy stuffing cookies from the jar in her mouth.
“I see you still eat like a glutton,” the shadow on her bed said and Demelza nearly choked on her cookie. Dorian was lounging on her bed, the moonlight from the open window played across his face so it was alternating between light and shadow. The remnants of the thunderstorm still blazed in the western horizon and a soft breeze was lulling the curtains. “You’ve got mud on your shoes.”
Demelza kicked her shoes off in the corner and sat gingerly at the foot of the bed, the narrow bed giving her very little space, she felt the heat rise where she imagined his body would touch hers if she shifted a little.
“I’m surprised you still want to talk to me, what with me murdering you and all,” she said then winced internally for acting like a child by bringing up old grievances. Dorian didn’t react; he only looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time.
“I want to believe you,” he finally said and Demelza turned to face him, her hips grazing his ankles.
“Then believe me when I say that I have spent my entire life on this Earth avenging you,” she said, “I tried to kill myself when I thought I had lost you forever and knew the awful truth of my immortality. Since then I have fought demons, banished spirits and killed vampires just to cleanse the world of the evil that took you from me; always looking for Ameera to settle the score.”
“And how would you go about settling the score?” he asked sitting up, his body parallel to Demelza’s, his dark eyes boring in to her violet ones.
“I would cut her heart out with my sword and stuff it in her mouth till she chokes on it,” Demelza said without missing a beat as Dorian came closer and brushed the crumbs from her lips, his hand sliding to the back of her neck.
“Good girl,” he whispered and pulled her in to him, his lips kissing hers with an intense desire that she matched with her own. Demelza’s lips were on fire as she tasted the sweet nectar that was Dorian; his powerful hands tore at her clothes and traced her skin pulling her roughly to him.
It was carnal and lustful; their union deferred for centuries was like a cosmic meeting of two stars colliding with each other; the consequences catastrophic but their destruction in to each other inevitable and the creator of the most wondrous star-fall.
Dorian felt like he had come home. The scent of sea spray permeated from her hair, and the tightening of her body around him, her hips rocking to her own rhythm was harkening to the sea of his youth that buoyed him forever on to the horizon where there was no perceivable end. At the peak of passion he bit in to her neck, her back arching as she cried in ecstasy, her full breasts blooming with every touch, every thrust of him till she could have no more and she felt like her wings had been returned to her and she could fly to the Heavens and back.
They lay entwined together after, the sheets crumpled on the floor, their legs and fingers melded together, their noses touching as they sighed in relief, no eagerness to cover up what they knew to be beautiful and natural, only the present need to look in to the others eye to convince their heart that their lover was there, real and in their arms.
Chapter Six
Revenge
The house was full of Priesthood Warriors and Demelza was having a hard time keeping them all in line. It was protocol that dictated that the Chaperons had the authority over the Warriors and this was true. However, Demelza felt that she pulled rank on all the Chaperons and the Priesthood combined because of her status as one of the founders of the organization. The Chaperons didn’t take too kindly to her authoritarian world view.
“We only need five Warriors at Pensmore Castle,” Demelza said, “I’m telling you, more would be a waste.”
“But your source said that there were a little over a hundred vamps in there,” said one of the younger Warriors, fourteen, with a smattering of pimples across his nose. “How can you expect five Warriors to flush them out without losses?”
“I have a plan,” Demelza said.
“Let’s hear it,” Adrian said. All of them were in combat gear. It was half an hour till sundown and they were getting ready to leave.
“I need a promise first,” Demelza said, “the vampire who helped me is off limits. He is on our side and will be protected. I will have your word on this!”
There was shuffling of shoes and a lot of grumbling but they gave their grudging consent. Ever since Demelza had changed the plan when she learned of the intricacies of Pensmore Castle the Warriors had been on edge and fidgety. They didn’t trust her source but it was enough that they trusted her. She couldn’t have her cake and eat it too.
They don’t have to like it, they just have to do as I say, she thought.
“The Castle is huge and well-fortified,” Demelza said, “It is bulletproof, flood proof, hurricane proof. I’m pretty sure they have ways to keep Warriors out too. So we concentrate our force at the exit cave so we can maul them down as they come out of hiding. One of the covens is a reluctant vamp, and is willing to help us out. My source pointed her out and helped me get in contact with her. Once she goes in and clears the area for us we start project clean up. Let’s sync our watches,” there was a flurry of wrist checking. “When you hear the bomb be ready for an onslaught of vamps.”
They packed up in to cars, the four Warriors that were on the Pensmore mission came with her. She parked a mile away from the Castle and waited for Dorothy to show up. It was a risky plan with so many ifs and buts and many things left up to chance but it was the best thing they had at such short notice.
The leaves of the tree overhead rustled and there Dorothy was, peering down at the spooked Warriors who instantly drew their blades.
“Stand down!” Demelza commanded and they reluctantly sheathed their swords. “Hi Dorothy!” Demelza called, “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” the girl was practically skipping tonight, her eyes were glowing and her skin was a faint pink. Demelza handed her the vest and Dorothy slipped her clothes off without any shame to fasten the vest around her waist before putting her clothes back on.
“Go on,” Demelza said, “we’re right behind you.”
Dorothy nodded and ran so fast they thought she’d vanished on the spot.
Demelza and her team followed on foot, keeping to the cover of the trees. Once they neared the Castle they saw Dorothy standing at the entrance, her lithe body silhouetted by the open front doors, light spilling out and on to the gravel drive, music and laughter drifting on the air. It was a formidable house, rich and manicured to perfection and Demelza could feel the resolve of many of her team ebbing away.
Then Dorothy walked in to the party and three minutes later the bomb turned the music in to keening silence, laughter turned to screams, the smell of ash and melting flesh was on the air. Shadows began to dart out in to the night and the Warriors charged. Hacking left, right and center Demelza saw the silver arcs of blades s
weeping through the moonlight and in to pale bodies in different stages of decay. Her own sword sang as it slashed and hacked, making her way steadily in to the heart of the ruined castle.
There was no more trace of any living vampires, all of them having fled to the caves underground. Demelza still checked every room just to make sure and found most of them empty till she came to the last one. Staring at the ruins of the castle and her coven from a large bay window was Ameera, her beautiful face a mask of pure loathing and hate.
“Well if it isn’t the damned angel,” Ameera sneered. “Come to claim your lover? Or have you come to gloat?”
“You don’t claim what’s always been yours, Ameera,” Demelza said calmly, “you would know that if you weren’t such a heartless monster.”
“Ooh,” Ameera mocked, “now you’ve hurt my feelings. So I’m going to have to hurt your pretty face!”
Ameera was fast. Her nails clawed at Demelza’s skin, tearing away a large chunk of her cheek before she even realized that Ameera had moved. Demelza put her sword up, her eyes darting around to find where the fiendish coven master had gone. Ameera cackled from her right but when Demelza slashed her sword in that direction she got a nasty kick from her left.
“You’re pitiful,” Ameera jeered, “I can see why He let you fall. What good are you to anybody?” Ameera dove in for a blow but was knocked off her feet midflight.
Dorian stood between Ameera and Demelza, his hands curled in to fists. He was breathing heavily and Demelza could tell the effort it had taken to defy his Creator. She knew that feeling well.
“You can do it,” she whispered, “I know it’s hard but you have something to defy them for.”
“Oh stop wasting your breath,” Ameera said stepping forward confidently. “Dorian can’t do anything to me. He’s too timid and I have too strong a hold on him, don’t I baby?” she had her hands on Dorian’s tense shoulders now, “You lose again Demelza, Dorian will always be my spineless, pathetic pet.”
Ameera’s scream was choked back by the blood that was flowing out of her neck where Dorian had bitten a big chunk out of her throat. She stared at her bloody hands, staggered back and stared at Dorian, bewildered and perplexed.
Demelza stepped forward and brought her sword forward.
“You never learn do you?” Demelza said and slashed her sword severing Ameera’s head from her lifeless body. She stepped back and watched the corpse turn to ash and Dorian ease as the little control Ameera’s spirit had departed with the last specks of her burnt soul.
~*~
Demelza breathed in the salt laden sea air and smiled broadly. Dorian was studiously ignoring her. Demelza puffed up her lips and made smacking noises, and then she began to hum off key. Dorian refused to acknowledge her presence.
“I’m hungry,” Demelza finally whined.
“For the love you owe me!” Dorian cursed abandoning his fishing pole and rowing them back to shore. “I mean your stomach’s growls were loud enough to scare all the fish away, so what’s the point!”
“I can’t help it if I get hungry,” Demelza said, “You should have packed more snacks!”
“I did,” Dorian exclaimed, “I packed enough for four people. You ate it all! I haven’t eaten in days, do you see me complaining?”
“You’re not delicate like I am,” Demelza mumbled and Dorian snorted trying hard not to laugh. “I am delicate!”
“You look delicate, my love,” Dorian said, “but you will never be that,” he pecked her nose with a tiny kiss then kissed her lips tenderly.
They rowed to shore where a small hut with a small vegetable garden and surrounding mountains awaited them. After fighting evil and enduring the heart of it for centuries they both believed they had earned the respite, a chance to explore each other, a prospect that had been denied to them all those years; a chance to satisfy all curiosities, to share all their tales, some funny, some heartwarming but mostly heartbreaking; for who in this wide world would understand a fallen soul except another?
THE END.
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Desired By Two Alphas
By: Riley Moreno
Chapter 1
“The myth of the dragon is found in almost every culture around the world. The Chinese dragon representing power and good fortune. The Indian dragon, sometimes called the Naga, persecutors with great strength and prowess. But I’m going to tell you about the dragons of Celtic lore. The Celts believed that dragons lived in a world parallel to our physical world. Druids taught that a dragon’s powers affected the very balance of the land itself, the great creatures could imbue areas with their vast power…” Beatrice King slowed in her walk back to the giant tasseled tent that housed the den of iniquity simply known as The Tavern, as the deep, masculine voice rolled over her, almost hypnotizing in its musical cadence.
In the three years that Beatrice had worked at the Whitebridge Renaissance Faire she had heard Finn Macmillan’s stories of dragons countless times. Yet, she never tired of listening to the magical lilt of his thick, Irish accent as he told of St. George and the Dragon, or Merlin being outwitted by the dragon chained under Uther Pendragon’s castle. Although Finn liked to tell the stories from the dragon’s point of view, enchanting his listeners with his charming, witty, and sometimes scandalous renditions.
She let his words sweep over her, not really listening to the story as much as the sound of his voice as she watched him. Finn was tall, towering over her five and half feet by at least another twelve inches. He was taller than most of the people standing in a loose half circle around him, as equally enraptured by his inexplicable charm as she was.
Her dark brown gaze drank him in, starting at the thick, wavy, jet black hair that curled slightly at the nape of his neck. His skin was pale, but flawless. Most women she knew would be envious. She glanced down at her forearms crossed in front of her chest, looking at her softly tanned skin bronzed by hours spent in the sun. She thought of the contrast of her golden skin against his pale and shivered, quickly casting her eyes back towards him while trying to banish the image of her and Finn, skin against skin.
Beatrice thought his most startling feature was his eyes. She had never seen eyes that green, like cut emeralds ringed in thick black lashes that when they looked at you felt like they could see all of you. Every hidden thought, every sinful fantasy. When he looked at her, she felt like she couldn’t breathe, definitely couldn't think. At least, not of anything remotely decent.
Not that he looked at her often, which she couldn’t quite decide if it was a blessing or curse. Since first laying eyes on him almost three years ago, it had been impossible for her not to fantasize. What it would be like to touch him, or be touched by him. And she wasn't the only one, she knew. He was like a pretty flame that drew women like moths. And then you get burnt to a black, ashy crisp, she thought, mentally shaking her head. She had seen that happen too. A lot.
Oh, but how wonderful it would feel getting burned. She drew a relieved breath as he finished the end of his story with a flourish of bows, looking completely natural in his Renaissance Faire costume of tight black leather pants that were dulled with use, but clung to his body showing every flexing muscle as he now moved briefly among the small crowd, shaking a hand here and there, and thanking everyone for listening as they still stared at him raptly.
His broad shoulders were covered with a soft looking green fabric that made his eyes seem somehow impossibly greener. She couldn't tell what the material was, but it draped like it was tailored for his tall but lithely muscled physique. In fact, it looked a lot nicer than the regular costumes with its subtle gold embroidery that looked hand sewn, and incredibly intricate, depicting two large dragons winding up each sleeve and a solitary creature clutching…something on the back. She was too far away to make out exactly what it was, but she was suddenly insanely curious, wanting to walk up, smooth her hand over the delicate stitches and sleek muscl
es underneath, and find out exactly what it was.
She wondered which one of the seamstresses here had made his costume. Not Rosie, whose main job was bossing everyone else around, or Brinna, who was sweet, but completely scatterbrained. Bea thought of her own costume which she had picked up this morning, and had suddenly become about two sizes two small after asking for the cord holding the bust together to be fixed.
Out of time as she had already been running late, she hadn’t had an extra minute to go get it replaced with the right size, and as such had been walking around all morning with her arms crossed in front of her chest trying to keep the inordinate amount of cleavage that the dress made of her already large breasts under control. Her normal size twelve was shoved and laced into a size eight, which resulted in a ridiculous amount of flesh rising out above the burgundy corset, barely covering her nipples, and about four inches of ankle peeking out what should have been a floor length brown skirt.
The only thing that seemed to fit was the waist, which actually fit better than her old costume had, hugging her waistline and emphasizing the flattering flair of her hips. She glanced down quickly just to make sure some of her chest was still covered, at least as much as possible with the minuscule fabric of the top. She sighed, knowing she wouldn’t have time to change until mid-afternoon, after the lunch rush died down. Well, maybe she would get more tips this way, she thought, sighing again as she looked back up, realizing that Finn had disappeared back into his own smaller, personal tent.
He was one of the few people who lived on site. Most of the employees were locals like Beatrice, who drove in from surrounding towns. She had wondered more than once what the inside of his tent looked like. She steeled herself as she turned to continue on to the Tavern, the day had just started and it already felt like she had been wrung out and left to dry.
