by Tiana Laveen
“Suck it, bitch.” He gripped the back of her head, wound her hair around his fist, and shoved himself within her mouth. “Show me how a Queen swallows a sword.”
She greedily accepted him, rolling her tongue along his length, slurping and tasting him as he wasted no time fucking the hell out of the back of her throat with ruthless abandon…
Victor would do in the meantime, but in a moment she was certain her question would be, “Motherfucker, what have you done for me lately?”
Donny Hathaway crooned ‘Love, Love, Love’ in the dank cellar furnished with two old card game tables, a collection of historical vampire novels, cases of rare cigars, and a lit oval fireplace, the flames within glowing a vibrant orange. Whiskey tossed the pictures onto the glossy, diamond-shaped red table in the center of the room where Alexandre sat. The place was located deep within the recesses of Marseille Mansion. Alexandre looked at the photos with a lazy glance and ran his fingertips down his exposed chest. His sheer, button down white shirt hung open, and a light breeze from a ceiling fan gave some reprieve in the stuffy private room, created just for conversations such as this. After a long silence, they looked at one another and burst out laughing.
“It’s a bullshitty thing, ya know? Bull-fuckin’-shitty, but I like it.” He grinned as he brought an emerald green and silver cigar to his lips and leaned back in his chair. “Right at this moment, I am just about certain that Fawn has already seen Victor. They’ve probably even fucked by now. Victor has a voracious sex drive, similar to my own, and there’s no way he’s going to let that tight piece of ass slip on by. Right now, she thinks I don’t know that she bugged my office, contacted the Council on my brother’s behalf, and is oblivious to the fact that I am the one that ensured she wasn’t allowed into my home… Some places are just off limits to her.”
“Shit, that was ballsy of her, the camera, ya know?”
“Yeah, but desperation makes one do shit like that. I wasn’t surprised. As soon as the Council said they had tapes, I knew who’d done it.”
“If Venus knew what the bitch had been up to all of this time she’d probably kill ’er on the spot.”
Alexandre nodded in agreement.
“Definitely. See, this is what I was talking about, Whiskey. Fawn’s arrogance is so outrageous that she believes she is smarter than me… than anyone, actually.” He rolled his eyes and grinned as he plucked a photo off the table of Fawn going into the hotel, a scowl on her face. “She and Victor are so much alike, it’s sickening. I can time each of them by my damn watch.”
“What is crazy to me though is that she probably actually believes he is going to marry her, even after all of that has happened.”
Alexandre shrugged and propped his legs on the table, ankles crossed, and began to swivel back and forth in his seat.
“She doesn’t believe that.” Whiskey’s eyes turned black as he shook his head. “Again, she’s a cat, remember? Always on the fucking prowl, loyal to no one. Beautiful seductress, witty, devoid of anything you can hold in your fucking hand…” He picked up a small gold vase in the middle of the table and crushed it in his palm. Sparkly dust particles fell between his fingers onto the floor. “You have to know her next move before she does, Whiskey.” He tapped the side of his skull with his fingertip. “But her creature comforts keep her predictable. That’s why I was thrilled when Victor chose her for his scheme, believing she’d be the rat, instead of what she truly is. He could never read women like Fawn well.” He yawned. “She goes wherever the power, money, and lust are… just leave breadcrumbs and she’ll follow.”
“Follow the sardines and yarn balls…”
“Exactly.” Alexandre chuckled, reached for a smoky black cup with white billows of smolder floating from it, and took a sip. “Shit. This isn’t so damn bad.”
“I told you it was good! It’s that, uh, ice shit, with the warm water below, giving that nice mist… and then they add a little dab of lamb blood, gives it sweetness. And some goat milk. Just a drop, nothin’ to make ya sick or hurl or anything.”
“They’re getting creative, aren’t they? Blood lattes on the rocks ’nd shit!” He and Whiskey burst out laughing again… though his gut turned with rage. He wanted to taste his brother’s pain.
Patience…
“Well, either way, she has to know she’s in way over her head now. She’s in deep shit. How is she going to try and get out of this? Victor is outed; the Council now knows what he did.”
Alexandre tossed his lit cigar from one hand to the other, rolling it around between his nimble fingers, doing tricks before bringing it back to his mouth and taking a hard draw.
“One of two things will happen. She will attempt to do whatever Victor asks her to do then turn on him, or two, she will pretend to be in agreement and as soon as his back turns, rat him out to me, absolving herself of all guilt. Either way, I’m going to play along because she’s my key to getting him just where I want him. He won’t make this easy for me. He knows I’m after him so he is preparing.”
“What about the Queen mother?” Whiskey removed a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and took several puffs. “I heard she’s pretty upset about all of this.”
“I cannot speak for her, but I am certain she expects me to do just as I am doing because I can’t stop being what I am…” Alexandre looked down at the blood red table, catching his reflection in shades of crimson. Venus had unraveled him and given him strength like he’d never known, all at the same time. Jorja Smith’s ‘Beautiful Little Fools’ played through the speakers. And now, he also felt something for Geneviève besides a sense of betrayal…
He couldn’t deny how seeing his mother hold his Bloodmate, stroke her hair, and press her close to her chest broke him down inside.
Mother was not affectionate. She was not sweet. She was not loving. She was a callous warrior Queen with a heart made of pure black cracked ice. But he saw another side of her now, one that showed protection and warmth.
Had Venus somehow infected both of them, too? Had she turned his mother, as his mother had turned her? Did her kiss and her pussy get inside of him, rewire him, make him see things in a way he never had before? He no longer had tunnel vision; he felt more in the know, wiser. She had to have done this to him… it was a reciprocal poisoning… Venus was in his system. It felt good. He didn’t think he wanted to be cured.
He gritted his teeth and slowly got up from his seat. Grabbing his leather jacket, he slid it on. He and Whiskey didn’t say a word—it was understood.
The show must go on… dead or alive…
Syà waved a black cape in the air, letting it fall around Venus’ nude body as she sat in the glass chair. The woman tied it securely at her nape like a barber cloak.
“I’m in charge of your wedding planning from now on. Fawn the Fucktress is fired. Forget whatever she told you, whatever you two had planned. This is my show now,” she stated with a stern expression as Gary Clark Jr. sang ‘Bright Lights’ in the small, cave-like room with cobblestone walls. They were somewhere in the entrails of Paris, near the catacombs. Red lights swung from silver ropes and chains hung from the low ceiling, swaying from the hard and heavy dancing from above. There was some party going on, a gory fuck fest that Venus wished she could spy on. The French were fabulous freaks!
The room was full of Vamps, most beautiful and half naked, sliding their tongues along each other’s bodies, their necks adorned with fresh bites and shiny chokers and dog chains.
“These bitches will do what I tell them to do,” Syà snapped as she pulled out a drawer full of sharp needles, bottles containing what appeared to be black ink and other strange odds and ends. “They are your wedding party.” A couple of them nodded then turned right back to one another, feeling on each other’s breasts and sucking on flesh. A lovely Haitian one with skin like black glass, a crown full of dark brown soft curls, winked in her direction and puckered her lips, as if to say, ‘You’re next.’
“Your hair, your makeup, you
r dress, jewelry, all of it has to be done a certain way, Venus. Did Alexandre tell you about any of this?” Syà paused, looking at her as if she were a mere confused child in need of assistance.
“Uh, no. He just said that—”
“Typically your mother would do all of this for you, but you have none, so here I am.”
“Thank you. I love you, Syà.”
“You’re all right, I suppose.” Venus giggled at the woman’s words. “Okay, let’s get this bride something to drink, get her body prepped. Now!” She loudly clapped her hands, causing several of the young Vamps to scurry away. When they returned, they brought platters of small glasses filled with blood. Venus reached for several of the drinks and downed them quick. She had a feeling she was going to need it. Syà kneeled before her and snatched her knees apart.
“Yeah… this will never do. I’m going to widen your pussy.”
“What?! What for? I’m not a virgin and Alexandre and I fuck all the time. I know what to expect.”
“You’ve never been married to a King Pure Blood Vampire, Venus.” Syà rolled her eyes, as if she didn’t have time to explain. She grabbed a speculum from the tray and slid it within her. Venus’ eyes widened as she clutched the arms of the chair. Dull pain radiated throughout her body. “How men like Alexandre fuck on any given Sunday is far different from how they fuck when they’re trying to knock you up.
“The intent makes all the difference. King Vamps are pussy killers when it comes to making their spawn, babe. It’s serious business for them… they do not plan to fail. It’s a beautiful time, fun, deliciously good loving, but it’s rough, baby… real rough. Now, let’s see here…”
Venus swallowed hard as the woman worked her busy fingers between her legs, pushing and pressing.
“Be glad I can help you. In my mother’s day, whoa! What a big surprise.” Syà cackled. “Okay, all done… and what a pretty pussy you have, Venus.” She felt the air from the kiss the Chinese Pure Blood Queen blew towards her vulva before getting back on her feet and standing straight, her fingertips tinged with blood.
“Tonight, you will be tattooed… your king’s initials on your inner thigh. It’s tradition. Right now though, we will pick up your gown from the seamstress. She alerted me, let me know she was finished.”
“Huh? How’d you get my measurements?” Venus asked with a smile. She reached for another drink and downed it, wishing there was a way to get high off of blood alone.
“I can look at you and see what you are. 36D, 26 inch waist, 37 in the hips.”
“Well, shit! I’m impressed.” Venus rose to her feet, then sighed from the stinging between her legs. “What the hell did you do in there?”
“You’ll be fine in about ten minutes. You got up too soon.” Syà grabbed her jacket and handbag. “We’ve got places to go. Stand, sit, whatever, for a few seconds… and then we’re off. We’ve got limited time to pull this all together. I have an entire team working with me to get this done.”
“Does Fawn know she’s fired?” Venus asked with a smirk. “I don’t like her anyway, so trust me, it’s no love lost.” She reached for her satchel and placed it over her shoulder, crossbody.
“Oh, she’ll know soon enough.” Syà winked and headed out the place with Venus following close behind…
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Would you be mine? Could you be mine? Won’t you be my neighbor?
Victor’s neighborhood was nothing like Mr. Rogers’.
Alexandre, Zhang Wei, and Whiskey stood on an underground street deep below Rue Saint Denis. For this venture, he had to go small in numbers. The less of them the better—more inconspicuous. They’d passed the groups of heavily painted human prostitutes wearing little more than a lacy thong and sick junkies looking for a fix, right before opening up the manhole and worming themselves into Victor’s private sanctuary, a world within a world. A horrible place, populated by the dredge of their society—the stuff of nightmares. His brother was known for this sort of shit, for favoring the bizarre, over the top, appalling and foul creations, all a part of the world he created with his demented brain. He presented himself as well put together to the public, articulate and artful, even. But, behind closed doors he had a secret. Alexandre knew the fiend’s true fears and desires—and at times, they were one and the same.
“This kinda reminds me of the place you said you grew up in, Alexandre,” Whiskey whispered as they trudged through the muddy, tight space wedged between the human realm and his brother’s carefully carved out abode.
“Yeah, my family lived under ground for centuries… Historically, we didn’t start mingling with humans on a consistent basis until our bodies could take the sun. We just hunted at night. Now, we blend right in with society… as it should be.”
Victor, however, seemed to have an affinity for the ‘old school’ ways. His heart was tied to their rich Marseille heritage, living beneath the radar, dancing on Hell’s ceiling just like their ancestors, going way back. Those old aristocratic homes filled with jewels and money, beautiful thoroughfares and elite districts had been long abandoned, but many years ago Victor had created a new one, in his own name.
Alexandre slid a gold cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lit it. Bringing it to his mouth, he took a hard draw. The light from it illuminated the strange area they’d stepped into—a surreal place inhabited by frolicking freaks and deranged deviants. Here was a fitting home to the desperate, rejected, and mentally unhinged.
Small Victorian style houses lined each side of the lopsided, cobblestone street, all of them fairly similar in color and design. Posters were placed here and there, some curled at the edges. All of these consisted of paintings, glossy blown up photos, and various artistic renderings of Victor Marseille, often depicted with a crown on his cranium.
“Son of uh bitch,” Whiskey mumbled under his breath as he drew his knife, taking it all in. Even to a Native New Yorker such as Whiskey, who’d had to fend for himself on the hard streets of the city, this shit had to be somewhat over his head. “Egomaniac, much?” Whiskey chuckled dismally observing his surroundings, while the vampires walking around were lost in their own little worlds.
Their footsteps echoed as they kept going in the dead of night—the best time to have a chat with Alexandre’s dear old brother. Though they were Daywalkers, nighttime was still preferred to mingle, handle business matters, and of course validate a timely kill. At that time, they had the most energy, feeling high off life.
Victor had a rather strange set of rules for the residents of his three-road village—one of them being that, at night, the houses were required to have open curtains. Voyeurism at its best. Victor enjoyed perusing the streets late in the evening or early morning from time to time, peeking in on the residents, watching them in the throes of violence, feeding, and fucking. Vampires weren’t modest; no one seemed to give a damn, but he made it worth their while. If they allowed themselves to be viewed at all times of the day, lower rent and mortgages were guaranteed.
They kept moving, ignoring the arguments between some of the residents, the racing cars and neglected youth roaming in the night. Alexandre and his skeleton crew walked past one home in particular that caught his eye…
A greenish-gray-skinned bloated Vamp was lying on a bed, prominent red veins, purplish bruising, and angry welts covering her body. Patches of dark hair, knotted and wet, lined her hairline. A bright light shined down between her open, thick thighs, revealing a pulsing, swollen pussy while a surgeon kneeled before her, cradling a heavily deformed Vamp child, its barrel chest covered in paper-thin skin, the heart clearly seen pumping beneath. The baby’s head was abnormally large, the dark eyes far apart and the limbs limp. Those small, spacy eyes stared back at him… He stiffened, feeling frozen in time for a moment, then, snapping out of it, he motioned for them to continue.
Another home a little farther down the road had on the wall an American poster of some campaign against drug usage with a Black preacher and an athlete sha
king hands. French graffiti, mostly swear words and slang for body parts, practically covered the whole damn thing. It was strange how it just hung there, tattered, as if some vintage living piece of art, something to be treasured.
“Hold on,” Whiskey stated as he moved a few steps ahead of them, his hand on his gun.
Standing in the middle of the road, about twenty feet away, was a naked Pacific Islander vampire, a middle-aged, confused male. He moved oddly on the cobblestones, on his tippy toes, like an animal on its hind legs. He then paused, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a speeding car. He had sparse, poker-straight, short black hair, flaccid chest and limbs, a thin frame with the exception of his gut, which looked like a water balloon filled to capacity, as if he’d just devoured a large meal. Blood was smeared across his chest and chin, dark, as if it had been there for quite some time. The bastard blinked hard, then moved quickly away, dodging into a building, and slammed the door behind him.
“What in tha fuck is going on here?!” Zhang Wei asked, holding tight to his sword. “Your brother is… I don’t even have the words.”
“I do. Victor is royally fucked in the head. That’s about as Royal as he is,” Whiskey teased as he ran his hand along his gun. The man was serious though, despite his light tone.
“Fellas, this is my brother’s playland… his toy world.” Alexandre shrugged and took another drag of his cigarette. “I don’t believe he sees anyone here as real. It’s all a game to him. He made his own tiny biosphere to rule over, I suppose. I didn’t know about it until one of the residents complained to the Council Magistrates, filed a grievance that he’d doubled her rent because she closed her blinds when she and her lover were fucking one evening. I knew he’d been working on some private sanctuary for less fortunate vampires to live in, but I never knew it was actually a place like… well, like this.”
