by Kay Williams
“Relax, Hannah,” Carson said softly. “Bespelling affects everyone differently and I have seen a lot of strange ones, don’t worry about putting me off, just enjoy the moment.”
“Can you be put off?” How did he know I was going to worry about that before I actually started worrying about it?
“No. I don’t care what you act like when Bespelled, though most people tend to act like they do when they are drunk.”
“I’ve never been drunk.”
“Never?”
“Never,” I agreed stepping in closer to him so I could cuddle my head into his shoulder and close my eyes. I wasn’t tired, but I felt weak and warm like I did after a long hot bath. “Like when they are drunk?”
“That’s what I said,” he answered sounding amused.
“What happens when you get a violent drunk? When you Bespell, do they try to club your head in before you Bite them?”
“They try but they don’t succeed,” Carson chuckled and I could feel it in his chest.
“Do you always hunt with your hands?”
“Mainly.”
I felt his lips on my forehead then, not in a kiss, sex had nothing to do with his need to Bespell, Bite and feed. It was just a touch, a taste. I knew that as with all Dependants his lips and his tongue were the most sensitive parts of his body to taste with, which made sense since his fangs were in his mouth and he needed the extra sensitivity.
“Still good?”
“Still good,” Carson sounded like he was going to laugh at me again. “Your taste isn’t going to change in the space of a couple of hours.”
“Not even after onion rings?”
Carson was laughing this time, deep and honest and utterly delighted, and it made me relax a little more, give a little more of my resistance over to his Bespelling.
“Not even after onion rings.”
“You can taste with any part of your skin?”
“Yes,” Carson’s admission strangely reluctant.
“And if you mainly use your hands does that mean that you are more sensitive tasting with other parts of your body?”
“Like where?”
Carson’s question was a long time in coming and I wasn’t sure if he was reluctantly answering my questions or if the Bespelling made it feel like more of a delay.
“Your elbow.”
“My elbow?” Carson repeated.
I lifted my head out of his shoulder to take in his incredulous expression.
“It’s covered by clothes and it's not like you can rub it against your meal without them thinking it very strange. Bespelled or not.”
“So you are curious to know, because I don’t use my elbow usually, if the shock of tasting with it will amplify your taste?”
“Yes.”
I watched uncertainty momentarily blank Carson’s face before interest flicked to life in its place. As if no-one had ever asked him the question and it had never occurred to him either, he tugged off his jumper tossing it over the end of the lounger and rolling up his shirt sleeve.
“Give it a go.”
I ran a finger over his cool flesh, we both waited and disappointment dented his gentle Bespelling when he remained unfazed.
“Guess that’s a no.”
“Don’t look so disappointed,” Carson chuckled, rolling his shirt sleeve back down and absorbing me back against his chest, his hand coming up to brush my hair back from my neck and rub his knuckles soothingly on my nape. “It was a question I didn’t know the answer to, that hasn’t happened to me in ages.”
“How many ages?”
“I’m not that old!” Carson complained.
I found myself giggling at his mock long-suffering sigh and let him tug me gently towards the lounger.
I took off my shoes and curled up half on the pillows, half on his chest. His fingers continuing to work their Bespelling gently against my neck. My mother had told me once just before I had gone to college that some men had magic fingers, I knew this wasn’t what she had been referring to at the time but the memory came to me now and it made me smile.
“You sound peaceful.”
“I’m not saying anything,” Carson replied. “Is that a non-subtle insult about my conversation skills?”
“No! I don’t mean talking, I mean you sound peaceful here,” I corrected him, laying a hand on his chest. “No heart-beat, no little noises, gurgling and grumbling I would make if you listened to me, just the rush of the air moving in and out of your lungs. It's peaceful.”
“Not many people notice those things, Hannah.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing that I had, he sounded distant and soft, so I turned my attention down his long body and frowned at his feet.
“You shouldn’t have your shoes on.”
“No,” he agreed, sounding a little shamed this time though I wasn’t sure why.
It didn't feel as though he had rushed me to the lounger, or that he had been in a hurry to feed and move on, but maybe we didn't have all evening and I needed to help move things in the right direction.
I sat up and ignored the way he shadowed the moment and protested as I undid the laces and carefully worked off his soft leather shoes.
I frowned at his feet, they were encased in simple black socks but the sight of them brought back my original thought; if there was one place on a Dependant's body that they would not be able to taste, scent or feel through in a general or a Bespelling sense then it would be their feet. Carson seemed more amused than worried when I began working off one sock without touching the skin.
“What are you doing, Hannah?”
In answer I ran a slow finger from his heel up to his toes.
“Holy shit!” Carson swore yanking himself away from me and cradling his foot, rubbing his hand across it and if trying to dislodge whatever I had inspired.
I grinned though I was surprised at his use of language. It wasn't the profanity, anyone who said they didn't swear was a liar in my view. It was the 'Holy' part.
After the Pause, when magic had begun to ripple back on to Earth, and the Races of Favlas began to flitter back and forth across the Nexus. Earthlings soon discovered many of them featured in our old myths and legends. Dragons, fairies, werewolves and epic battles of good and evil had come to the Earthlings in whispers which the Waking Night allowed to be embellished by the ignorant. I only had to compare old stories of the Vampire, to the Dependant sat beside me to know first-hand how the Waking Night had kept Earthlings dumb.
Once Earth had accepted these differences they had begun to listen to other things Favlians wanted to teach. That was how we had first learnt of the celestial battle between the Old Gods of Above and Below. How their collision in the midst of a war that had spanned hundreds of years divided the world in two, created the Nexus to join them together, and how their almighty power rained down as the gift of magic to the Race of Man below. How it allowed for thousands of years of genetic and magical evolution until we were left with the races that we knew today.
If abstracts like mine were anything to go by, that evolution was still happening.
The old Religions of Earth began to vanish as people took to magic and the Prime powers of Favlas. As the religions diminished, the few who still believed withdrew into places the media dubbed Compounds of Faith, and they lived isolated and sheltered from the rest of the two worlds. Leading to the slang fading, and the words people had taken up when doing things like swearing were no longer woven into profanities. No-one, save those old enough to remember those old times, used words like 'Holy', God' or 'Christ' anymore.
It was a clue as to how old Carson could actually be.
“It’s nice to be right,” I commented, shaking off the thoughts to concentrate on the moment. I probably didn’t taste any better through his foot than I did through his hands but his feet were clearly sensitive as he never used them.
Carson looked up, his eyes dark with bloodlust and his fangs peeking out from beneath his lips, a part of
my brain that was hurriedly shaking of the Bespelling was telling me that I had pushed too far. That he was as unprepared for his reaction as I was unprepared to deal with it, it told me to retreat and wait for him to calm down, it told me to get myself into the bathroom, shut the door, and call for help.
I had barely moved and inch before Carson lunged, I had time to turn before his arm snaked around my waist and dragged me hard back into his lap. I managed a yelp that was silenced as he swept my hair away from my neck; one scrap of his knuckles from his free hand against my skin was enough for his Bespelling to hit me with such force that it
took my breath away.
My limbs felt weak and heavy, pleasure ran liquid beneath my skin, tingling through every pore, heightening my ability to feel every millimetre of flesh I possessed, the way his mouth nuzzled at my skin had me submitting to his desire and tilting it further away giving him access to my neck.
“Don’t ever run from a predator, Hannah, we give chase.” Carson whispered his words against my earlobe and each time his lips brushed skin I had to resist the urge to whimper.
I had had sex before, and either the men I had chosen had all been completely useless, or Bespelling opened up a part of my sexuality I had never been aware of. It was strange, I wasn’t turned on, but at the same time I had never felt so good, the strength in Carson’s hands reminded me I had never been so possessed or commanded.
I didn’t want sex but at the same time if Carson asked me to strip naked and present myself on an altar I would have done it.
It was this strange conflicting desire that was causing a desperate part of my brain to fight it; this self-preserving part of my psyche was trying to get my telekinetic ability into gear; it was trying to tell me I was in danger.
I focused long enough to see the lamp on the table beside the couch. Concentrating I closed mental fingers around the lamp and prepared myself to break it over his head. I couldn’t kill Carson, he was already dead after all, but I had to be careful not to break his skin. The virus that infected his reanimated body was in the blood from his last meal that was running beneath his skin, if even one drop of it got into my system I would become infected as well.
I was ready to throw the lamp, to knock Carson off me, right up until I felt the promising scrape of his fangs against the skin of my neck, and I gave up on anything but pushing myself back into his arms and holding my tongue against the need to moan.
“You should be punished for trying to run,” Carson whispered.
Having him tease me with his fangs without penetrating my skin felt like punishment enough.
“I didn’t get far enough to be punished,” I argued. “Give me a five-minute head start and I promise to make you work for it.”
Carson snarled, but the sound felt more born of desire than of anger and the vibration of it across my skin made me tremble and my breaths shudder out.
“You’d run for me? Let me hunt you down?”
His hands tightened on hips that were so skinny I hadn’t thought I actually owned a pair, and the rough pressure of it under his Bespelling caused pleasure to ribbon up and down my sides. My eyes slid closed, one of my hands stroked his shirt covered shoulder, I stroked his cheek, ran my fingers through his short hair, and slid my touch down his neck, hoping to encourage him closer.
One of his own captured my chin in a possessive hold, the firm touch skittered pleasure up my face until I could feel it in my mouth, in my tongue, in my gums, in my very teeth. It caused a blush to heat my cheeks and with a delicate touch, he tasted the stain with a swipe of his tongue, under normal circumstances it would have had me shoving him away in disgust, but under the weight of his Bespelling it only made me feel desired and delicious.
He brought his own mouth near to mine.
“Open,” He demanded his fingers running gently over my lips.
“You want to kiss me?”
Bespelled or not that threw me.
“I want to taste you,” he answered. “Open.”
I opened.
Carson lowered his mouth but he didn’t kiss, he just rested his mouth on mine and dipped his tongue inside to explore. Lapping little touches that caused him to hum and hiss in hunger, when he backed off clearly satisfied I pushed my mouth against his and returned the favour, he snarled but tightened his grip on my chin allowing me the intimacy of exploring his mouth.
But it wasn’t his mouth I was interested in, it was with the things he was teasing me with. He stilled when I found a fang, I touched it carefully, the smooth surface, the rounded shape, the sharp tip, temptation got the better of me and I dug my soft flesh against it.
Carson pushed me away, at the same time pulling upright, and I fell against the lounger panting against the pleasure pain of it as a hot sensation raced through my mouth. It made little white spots of sheer delight dot my vision, I panted trying to remember to breathe, how to think, how to move, how to remember my own name.
Why had I never done this before?
I looked up and saw my own pleasure mirrored in the way Carson had his head thrown back and was clearly sucking on his own tongue trying to prolong the taste he had had from the few droplets that had fallen into his mouth. With a groan and with dark eyes full of bloodlust Carson moved. He threw a leg over my thighs straddling me gently he grabbed my wrists and lifted them to his mouth licking at my skin, rubbing them against his lips claiming them for his own before pinning them to the lounger, he bent over me and I gave him my neck both submissively and willingly.
He dragged his fangs down the flesh, I wanted to wrap my arms around him but he tightened his grip warningly.
“Would you run for me, Hannah?”
I frowned trying to make sense of the words.
“Would you run for me, Hannah?” He repeated the words almost as an order instead of a question.
He was still lingering on that?
“Yes.”
“Promise me.”
I turned my head catching his dark gaze.
“I will run for you, I will let you hunt me, I will try not to make it easy and when you catch me you can Bite me.”
He nudged my head to one side and once again brushed his lips against my ear as he spoke.
“I will hold you to that, Hannah.”
Leaning up I had just enough leverage to draw his earlobe into my mouth and tug on it sharply with my teeth which finally inspired him to use his own.
My back arched, my breath moaned out, the white spots returned and a burning heat of pleasure rippled out from where his fangs had pierced two holes deeply into my throat. Even when I was helpless to do anything but whisper helpless begged requests for more. Even beyond the way my body began to move against his firm hold in lush waves in time with the way he pulled my blood from my veins and into his mouth.
Behind all of it, I could feel his smug smile against my skin.
Carson had boasted that after one Bite people only wanted another, and now I understood why.
# # #
I sat with my hands wrapped around a mug of tea and wished I was still under my duvet.
I remembered the night before in vivid clarity, Carson’s bloodlust, his dominance, and the exquisite pleasure pain of his Bite. I remembered his tenderness when he had finished, the soft licking he had given the puncture marks before he had gathered me into his arms and his soft comforting tones when he told me to rest.
I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I remembered awaking to a trilling alarm from the intercom that was set to warn when the room's pre-paid limit was near.
I had struggled up and switched off the alarm, shocked to discover that its built in clock was flashing up that it was almost midnight, and flicked off the television that was still switched on and playing soothing tunes in case it was disturbing anyone else in the complex of rooms above the bar.
Carson had been on his back, arms thrust under the pillows, he hadn’t been breathing which had caused me a mild panic attack until I managed to get enough bra
in cells engaged to remember that Dependants were dead. They taught themselves to breath as a reflex action so they didn’t lose their sense of smell and to help them blend in with those around them, which had been especially important Pre-Pause when Earthlings hadn’t known the difference between a Dependant and the Vampires out of story books.
However when they slept they didn’t need either a sense of smell or to blend in so they didn’t need the breathing reflex and it stopped.
I had spent a couple of minutes trying to wake Carson, which didn’t get me anywhere so I wasted several minutes more opening a second account on the purchase pin and buying him another two hours, turning the alarm up to maximum I decided to leave him to sleep off the rest of his meal, before gathering up my things and slipping out.
As a parting thought, I left my card tucked into his jacket pocket.
The bar itself was winding down by this time and I had been grateful to be able to leave without being propositioned a second time.
The late March air had been chilly and damp as I hurried home on foot but it had served to clear my head and I had been grateful for it.
Knowing I had to be at work in the morning saw me give up on my usual bedtime routine in favour of collapsing on my blankets and letting sleep take me.
I had risen earlier than usual to shower and indulge in a bacon and egg sandwich before leaving for work.
Now as I sat at my desk at work trying to force the words and figures on the spreadsheet back into focus with tea and determination, but I couldn’t help but wish I had my blankets and pillows with me.
A pop-up on my screen and a buzzing from the built-in speakers disturbed my thoughts; someone was calling my direct dial. I adored my computer on a normal day, contrary to popular press opinion the Pre-Pause Society did not work in paper strewn, dysfunctional and out-dated offices. All of our equipment was state of the art. But that didn't mean I was in the mood to deal with whatever work based problem was on the other end of the call.
