Two Polluted Black-Heart Romances

by Kevin James Breaux

  “Thanks.” Sabrina smirked, then responded with a sarcastic twang and exaggerated bow. “These wings are the result of being otherworldly royalty.”

  “Oh, I was talking about your tits not your wings.”

  “Fucker!” Sabrina laughed.

  While she brushed her hair, she looked at Weston in the mirror. His outline had faded again; she could barely see him at all.

  “Take shape already,” Sabrina ordered him. “Who was that guy you used to mimic, that soccer player? He was hot back in the day.”

  “David Beckham.” Weston’s voice was suddenly filled with defeat. “You know I can’t.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked as she turned around.

  “I can’t take human shape anymore. Not like that.”

  “Why not?” Sabrina asked and then it occurred to her. “No…he didn’t.”

  “Right before you left Europe. He did.”

  “My father stripped you of your ability to mimic people?”

  “For elementals it is a privilege not a right. And that privilege is granted by the fairy kings.”

  Sabrina had no idea. All these years, and she’d had no clue. It wasn’t enough to punish me; he had to punish Weston too.

  “I told him what we did was—”

  “I know.”

  “He promised only I would be punished.”

  “Well, he lied to you.”

  If Sabrina had not already been deeply disappointed with her father, she might have screamed and smashed something.

  “Sometimes, I just want to punch him in the fucking face.”

  “Don’t get angry.”

  “Too late, I’m pissed!”

  “Then release your wings. Make them shine big and bright,” Weston sung.

  “What?”

  “Your wings. Make them shine bright.”

  Sabrina had all but forgotten how Weston used to help manage her anger by singing about her wings. His voice may have often sounded like a gust of wind over an empty bottle, but it refocused her.

  Doing as he asked, Sabrina popped her wings for the first time since the other morning. He was right, with them out she was able to relax some.

  “Come on, you can make them glow brighter than that,” he urged.

  “Thanks, Weston.”

  “Do you remember this?”

  Sabrina watched as he dissipated, and a second later she felt her entire body enveloped. She did remember. Weston used to wrap himself around her—encase her in an airtight bubble. He only did it when her wings were out, as all their heat was reflected back on her. It felt deliciously warm, like a sauna, and it helped relax her further.

  “Mmm…I missed this.”

  “Feels good?”

  “It does.” Sabrina allowed herself to go numb, and Weston held her up. She no longer felt so heavy; now, she felt like she was floating.

  “Does it tingle?”

  “It does.”

  She felt more than just her heat reflected back at her. Weston was caressing her arms, her legs, and her lower back all at once. She knew she would melt away if she didn’t stop him.

  “Put me down. Turn off the water.”

  Weston placed her back on her feet and unwrapped himself from her. She watched as the handle on her garden tub turned and the water shut off. I need this, she bluntly told herself. I deserve this.

  Sabrina turned around slowly, and after looking at herself in the mirror again, she placed her palms on her cold, granite top vanity and bent over.

  “Fuck me, Weston.”

  “About time.”

  Throughout the length of her relationship with the air spirit, they had only ever had sex when he was in his natural form. Sabrina would not have had it any other way. There were things he could only do like this, and those were the things she’d wanted the most back then—and now.

  When he entered her, it was slowly at first—filling her bit by bit. Oh, I forgot how good this could feel.

  “You’re soaking wet.”

  “What did you expect?” she teased. “You did scare me a few minutes ago.”

  “I missed you, Sabrina.”

  Sabrina reciprocated his sentiment, regardless of her mind being on other things. “Do it. Get bigger.”

  Weston, like Mira, could increase his size by drawing in similar elements. Being made of air, he could grow instantly. But, of course, Sabrina didn’t mean for him to get taller; she only wanted one part of him to grow in this instance.

  “Oh, fuck! Damn, that’s good,” she moaned as he began to piston into her. “Bigger…”

  “Bigger?”

  “Yes. I’m not the eighteen-year-old schoolgirl you used to know, Weston. I fuck like a woman now.”

  Weston’s cock swelled inside her, filling her in ways no man could. She felt herself getting wetter. Damn this feels so good.

  “I bet you’re thinking just how glad you are you called me now, aren’t you?”

  She was, but not entirely for the reason he thought. “Yeah.”

  “And how good I feel inside you.”

  She paused a moment before she answered. “Yes.”

  “And—”

  “And you get to be inside my head or inside my pussy, but not both.”

  Weston snickered. “Understood.”

  “Good. Now, do something for me?”

  Weston reached from her waist to her breasts and cupped them tightly. At first his hands felt like nothing more than a tight sports bra. Concentrate, Weston. Ah, there’s your fingers, she thought as they gently pinched her nipples.

  “You want me to tug on your wings?”

  “No,” she said sharply. That was something she had never done with him. “Form up. Do the best you can. I want to see you.”

  Weston’s answer was to fuck her harder. Sabrina thought she might have insulted him, made him mad, but he did take shape. Although slowly, she could see his features form. Instead of looking through him, the pink and white bathroom behind him began to vanish and turn a light shade of baby blue.

  “There you are,” Sabrina said with a smile. “Can you hold it?”

  Weston didn’t answer her question. She understood. It was a painful topic for him and the best way to forget your pain, she always said, was with pleasure.

  “Get bigger.”

  “I might hurt you.”

  “Just do it.”

  Weston grew himself again, and it was all Sabrina could take. She shouted with pleasure as she reached her climax. “Fuck!”

  He’s slowing. He’s almost there too.

  “Sabrina, do you remember what I taught you?” he said as he switched his grip back to her waist.

  I knew you were going to ask that, Weston. “I do.”

  “Will you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you ready?”

  Sabrina took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  Weston withdrew himself from her and when he was out, Sabrina turned and knelt. She could see his penis now; it was huge, but shrinking in size so better to fit in her mouth.

  “R-remember to inhale,” he said just before he placed the tip of himself inside her open mouth. “Here I come.”

  Once he was inside her mouth, Sabrina inhaled deeply and Weston dissipated, allowing himself to be sucked into her wholly. She felt her lungs sting as they expanded; it felt like she had taken a deep breath on a frigid day. The longer she held her breath, the more pleasure he would have, so she did her best not to breathe.

  She got to her feet, turned, and faced the mirror again. She felt a sudden twinge of regret as she looked at herself.

  What am I doing? I loved you. I loved you and you left me. You left me again. Cade Robert Lawton. You motherfucking vampire. You made me do this. You made me want this.

  Unable to hold her breath any longer, Sabrina exhaled with a puff that ended in a deep cough. Weston, in his entirety, came out of her mouth like cigarette smoke and floated up and over her.

  “My lungs…” She choked as he ref
ormed. “I don’t smoke like I used to.”

  “You never held me inside you that long before.”

  “Really? Huh,” she said and then coughed. “And how did that feel?”

  `“Amazing. It’s so freaking warm inside you,” Weston said as he wrapped what felt like six arms around her from behind.

  “I bet.” Sabrina’s gaze at herself was filled with contempt and her voice lacked emotion.

  “What’s wrong? You okay?”

  Sabrina took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m fine. Probably just need a drink.”

  Retrospection

  Sabrina gathered her notes and tried to organize them in her notebook. Weston was busy picking up all the scraps of paper she had thrown to the floor—making sure there was no more than scribbled words, one or two lines of text max, before he threw them away.

  She’d also asked him to clean up where she had broken two bottles against the wall. She didn’t mean to treat him like a maid, but she needed him occupied. It’s better this way, she told herself. I need to think.

  When she’d called Weston the other day, she had no intention of rekindling a relationship, or even having casual sex. He was simply the only person she knew to turn to.

  You never forget your first, he used to tell her, but that was when he was simply her first bodyguard. Weston had been there during some of her most difficult years, assigned to her right after she hit puberty. She remembered crying. She remembered screaming and throwing things, but her father would never listen. She hated being told she needed a guardian, and given his nature, she considered the air spirit little more than a spy for many months.

  It took time, but a teenage girl learned to trust an invisible man. Sabrina shook her head as she thought back to those first days with him. I was so young, so angry. I didn’t want the responsibilities being forced upon me, and I hated-hated-hated being told to grow up.

  Sabrina looked at Weston as he floated across the room. I fought him for so long. I treated him like shit. I tried to get him fired…and all he ever did was his best to protect me. It took awhile, but I grew up.

  Sabrina had never understood why the fairy kings employed elementals from other kingdoms to guard their children; something her father jokingly referred to as “checks and balances.” But she didn’t have the time to think about it now. She had to focus.

  After rereading some of the lyrics she had jotted down yesterday, she looked up again at him again. He’s there and he isn’t. Sabrina recalled having had that same thought thousands of times before. There’s no guilt in doing something with someone who’s not really there. It’s what she’d told herself then, oddly enough, the excuse felt just as valid now—or did it? Sabrina never loved Weston; she loved Cade, and now she had betrayed him.

  Sabrina grunted with frustration. She wanted to hate Cade, and was certainly angry enough to, but something else nagged at her. She didn’t know if Cade had been in the hospital when it collapsed. He could be dead-dead-dead. Short of going downtown to the sinkhole, to see if she could sense him, she did not know what to do. But that area was being carefully watched. The news had said it continued to spread and sink deeper.

  There’s probably all sorts of otherworldlies prowling around the destruction. Cave Gnomes and swarms of pixies: scavengers and thieves, all of them. No place for a fairy, especially one who might be recognized as…

  “What the hell?” Sabrina shouted, aggravated.

  “You okay?” Weston asked from across the room.

  “Fine. I’m fine,” she snapped.

  “Need any help with your lyrics?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” Sabrina dropped her head into her hands.

  “When’s your appointment tomorrow?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m gonna need an outfit.”

  Sabrina looked up. His comment caught her attention. “Outfit?”

  “Well, if you want to present me as your guard. I mean, since I cannot mimic anymore… Hey, can I make a suggestion?”

  “Sure.”

  “Grab your laptop.”

  Sabrina picked up her laptop from the floor where it sat. The device flashed on, the keys clicked, and a web page opened up. On the screen was a picture of someone she could only describe as a cosplayer.

  “You want a costume?”

  “That’s no costume, Sabrina. That’s a ballistic vest. Military grade body armor. And the key is the helmet with the full face mask.”

  “This guy looks like a video game character.”

  “Like from Metal Gear 8.” Weston’s voice spiked with excitement.

  She groaned. “You still play those games?”

  “I do.”

  Sabrina shook her head.

  “Simply put, with this on, no one will know who or what I am.”

  “So you’ve worn something like this before?”

  “I have several sets of armor back home.”

  Sabrina smirked; she loved that she was right, but the interaction reminded her of her times joking around with Mira and that soured her mood. “Hey, do me a favor, Weston. Can you get me some bottled water? There’s a case in a cabinet in the kitchen.”

  “Sure thing. Be right back.”

  She sighed as she slumped down in her chair; it was hard to keep up appearances sometimes. Sabrina glanced at her cell phone. No messages. They really must all be dead.

  “Sabrina?” His voice, although coming from the other room, seemed to be in two places at once.

  “Yeah?”

  “Which cabinet?”

  “Next to the pantry. Eye level,” she paused a moment. “Find it?”

  “Yeah, and there’s a really nice bottle of Dom hidden with the water. You want that too?”

  Sabrina heard him, but had trouble accepting what he said. “Did you say Dom?”

  “Yes, I’ll bring it.”

  Weston returned to the room so fast he brought a gust of wind with him. Sabrina had to slap her hands down on her papers so they wouldn’t blow away.

  “That blood-fucker!” she shouted as she snatched the bottle from Weston. “He told me there were no more. That’s why he left. He fucking lied to me.”

  “Sounds like he wanted to leave without arguing—” Weston’s words made Sabrina hiss. “Or maybe fighting about it,” he finished.

  “That’s it, Cade! I’m done! I’m done with you!” Sabrina screamed. “You ain’t gonna taste my flesh no more. You ain’t gonna drink my blood no more. You ain’t gonna steal my soul no more!”

  Weston formed up more than he had before. Although blurry, she could finally see his facial features.

  “What the hell are you smiling for?”

  “Because I just heard your best lyrics yet.”

  Sabrina replayed the words in her head. He’s right…

  The Sleeper

  Jackson awoke with a gasp.

  Wherever he was, it was pitch-black. His first thoughts: I died. Kintner killed me. We tried to save Sabrina from that sick bastard and we failed. This must be… Is this… Jackson inhaled deeply. The air smelled damp and somewhat moldy. I’m underground? Was I…was I buried?

  “H-hello?” His voice was weak.

  So hazy… Stupid—jumbled—mess of memories. I was killed.

  He wanted to reach his arms out to the sides, to confirm that he was not laying inside a coffin, but his limbs would not respond. Jackson felt paralyzed.

  He closed his eyes and realized he couldn’t be dead. He could hear movement and laughter. His heart began to pound. Jackson could see the attack again.

  A virtually invisible spike, no wider than a pencil but the length of a yardstick, striking his shoulder. The translucent shard pinning him to the wall as his body jerked with unbearable pain. Those things—like spears. Kintner laughing as he magically summoned and fired them at me.

  Two more spikes struck—one skewering his other shoulder, the second the meat of his right leg. Such pain. Worse than I’ve ever felt.

  “Now
, rabbit, do you understand your place on the food chain?” Kintner asked him. “Do you understand my power? Do you see how nothing you can do can stop me?”

  “No…please. Not again.”

  How much time had passed before he finally saw a hint of movement in the darkness, he didn’t know. He wanted to stand, but the best he could do was sit up. The shuffle of feet in his direction made his racing heart feel like it might beat right out of his chest.

  “Who’s there? Kin—Kintner?”

  “Jackson, darling, it’s me.”

  Her sweet voice calmed him.

  “Moselle?”

  “Yes,” she said as she fumbled with something in the shadowy distance. “Who were you talking to?”

  His mind cleared.

  “I—I must have been dreaming…or maybe remembering. Are you okay? Are we okay? Are we safe?” he asked, trying to calm himself. “Are we safe, Moselle?”

  “We are now.”

  “Where are you?” he asked while he waved about. “What are you doing?”

  “I am trying to light the torches, my love, but for all my efforts this worthless flint will not spark.”

  “Where are we?”

  “My home,” Moselle replied and then sighed. “Well, to be more precise, we are underneath it.”

  “Underneath it?” Jackson vaguely remembered Moselle mentioning there were several floors beneath her home. “Your basement?”

  “Subbasement.”

  A flicker caught his eye and soon he was watching a torch ignite. There she was, and yet, for the briefest moment, he feared it would be Alexander Kintner standing before him…laughing.

  “Moselle, you look…tired,” he said when she moved closer.

  “It has been days—”

  “Wait, days?” Jackson was alarmed. “How many days?”

  “Since you were left for dead by that-that fiend or since we left the hospital?”

  “Kintner… His offices… I died there.”

  “Nearly. The hospital repaired you. You were in a coma for several days.”

  Jackson heard her words but had to repeat them to make sense of them. “A coma?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did I wake up…um, come out of it?”

  “You didn’t,” Moselle answered as she placed her cold hand on his head. “Not until just now. I had to take the tubes—”