by Erin Hayes
“Isaac, I need to feel you!” she whimpered.
“Aren’t you?” he teased, moving away long enough to strip the last of the more resilient garments front of her.
She watched as his broad chest expanded as he raised his arms to pull his already bunched-up shirt off the remainder of the way. His tan skin shone from the bright moonlight coming through their window and she watched the shadows play across his torso. She felt her fingers twitch with her desire to touch him.
“Now you,” he grinned.
She nodded, moving to stand in front of him and began to slip her top off. The contrast between their skin tones was ever more present under the moonlit room. She smiled, unhooking the front clasp to her bra, allowing it to fall to her feet and, with it, letting her breasts to spill out for Isaac’s pleasure.
“Fenrir’s fang!” he exclaimed with a shudder, “You are so beautiful.”
He kissed her hard enough to spark an image in her mind of a wolf tackling an unsuspecting prey.
Unsuspecting, she thought, but never unwilling!
If he had them waiting any longer, she might’ve jumped him for his touch. Not that he would’ve minded that, she knew. Those sorts of games were not beyond him, but they were, at that moment, beyond the point of playing games. Isaac moved his hands up from her waist and took her breasts in his palms, rubbing his thumbs across her aching nipples, wetting his lips as he did. His touch set her aflame as he began to kiss down her neck, moving to her breasts and finally replacing his thumbs with his working mouth. She moaned, feathering her fingers through his thick, dark hair as he continued.
“Isaac! Don’t make me wait!” she gasped as his onslaught on her nipples drove her back. Her moans spiked, startled, as the back of her legs caught the corner of the bed and they both toppled onto its surface, Isaac’s mouth never once leaving her breast as they did. “Mm! P-please!” she begged, “Give it to me!”
He smirked up at her at that, starting to creep back inch-by-inch, every motion a wolfish one, while keeping her pinned under his wide frame. She shivered under his persistent gaze, feeling much like a lamb that knew it was about to be consumed.
And was she ever consumed!
Finally breaking his predatory gaze, Isaac’s head dipped between her legs and his hungry mouth seared her. She cried out, arching up against the bed as her wolf ravished her. Every sweep of his tongue brought her closer to the edge and as she was brought to brink of climax. Knowing her and how to prolong every moment to his will, however, he carried her along that edge without once letting her cross it. It was only when he’d had his fill of her that he pulled away and, face glistening from his “meal,” smirked up at her.
“Isaac!” she whimpered, panting with desperation. “Please! I need you inside me!”
His response came in a flash of movement that brought him over her once more, now face-to-face, and she felt his massive cock flare against her entrance with the threat of entry.
Impatient and desperate, she bucked against it and offered it entry, instead.
Surprised by the sudden motion and surge of sensation, he gasped at the feel of her around him and instinctively met her with his own thrust, filling her the rest of the way. Zoey’s head swam with pleasure as, all at once, she felt the unmatched fullness invade her depths, and the sensation only grew from there as her body worked to accommodate the length he’d yet to bury. When they’d first started being intimate years earlier, she’d been unable to accommodate his full size and, even still, had always awoken the next night sore (but never sorry). Since then, however, her body had grown accustomed to his large size. There was no frame of reference to know how Isaac compared to others of his kind, but she’d soon learned, through her friends’ playful taunts, that it was a common trait in male therions; a trait that made them both feared and revered as lovers for any who weren’t female therions. It was that fact that had Zane using terms like “missile” and “baseball bat” towards Isaac while playfully inquiring how Zoey had either been able to walk in the aftermath or, moreover, how she’d even survived.
But survived she had, and if there was anything that matched the pleasure that Isaac’s body could offer her at that point it was her pride at finally being able to take his entire size.
Inch after inch vanished as they each worked against one another, and when they finally reached the hilt there was a mutual groan of satisfaction that rang with the added achievement. Zoey’s vision faded as her lids fluttered, the pressure in her stomach sending waves of pleasure to every nerve ending in her body. Her legs, motivated by their own need, wrapped around him before locking together at the ankles, and her pelvis worked along his length as she blindly reached out to bring his lips to hers, kissing him with every bit the same ferocity he’d shown her earlier. Soaking in the energy of the moment, she found new strength then, her vision clearing and her stamina doubling, and she looked into his forest green eyes and got lost in the emotions behind them as they seemed to melt together.
If only it could always be like this…
Sending A Message
Human police continued to patrol about the garage that the brothers had visited the night before. Crime scene tape was littered about, some strips, which seemed to be replaced at least every hour, still hung taut across whatever areas they felt created the greatest illusion that they weren’t just as clueless as the rest of the human sheep bleating about the area. Though the bloodsucker genes in their veins made standing in the daylight an uncomfortable burden, the brothers would’ve considered it an even greater burden to miss the show. A few of the bodies that the two had entertained themselves with had yet to be discovered, but most of what remained of their victims had already been passed between a variety of channels to finally find their way into the hands of their real targets: the therions that believed they ran things here. Between the stories of their hostile takeover and the obvious influence that their “business” had, it was obvious that the previous night’s slaughter would be brought to their attention. Ezra would have liked to think that it was a simple enough deduction, but the truth that haunted him was there was no certainty that he or Jerrick would have come upon it on their own. How much of their newfound cunning, he wondered, was the product of their own planning and how much was owed to their Messiah?
Beware the violet-headed harlot!
How long would they have bumbled around without realizing there was a vampire nestled within the wolf den? The stink of The Council was all over her presence; they’d not only predicted the brothers’ intentions, they’d some dyed-up, mind-raping whore to intercept them!
And they’d nearly mistaken Messiah’s warning of her presence as one of violence!
The joy of watching the chaos of the humans or imagining the shock and fear of the therion pack looking over their handiwork was robbed from Ezra as he wracked his brain uncertainty.
Just who was the Messiah?
How could he know what he knew?
And, most vexing of all, had they just become pawns in whatever game he was playing?
But if Ezra felt it—thought it—it was only a matter of time before Jerrick did, too, and then even less time before…
You waste your time by simply watching, the painfully familiar voice chimed within their heads. And you waste your talents by thinking.
Ezra couldn’t have asked for a more definitive answer to his most vexing question.
But it was too late now; too late to do anything but what Messiah told them and hope that, in some way, it fit into their own goals.
“What would you have us do?” they both asked in unison.
A bald man in a black and red shirt turned his head to face the two when he heard this, exposing a partially concealed swastika tattoo under his collar. Spotting this, the two instinctively drew back their lips, the teeth they exposed already well into the process of lengthening and sharpening as they did. The bald man’s eyes went wide as dinner plates at the sight and he sprinted away, nearly falling over
in a tangle of his own legs as he went. The urge to give chase—more than just the thrill of the hunt, but a burning need to rip the skinhead apart and tag him with their own brand of his beloved insignia—was stifled by a low, angry hiss in their heads as Messiah scolded them without words.
FOCUS!
The voice nearly brought them to their knees and they regained control of their rampant emotions.
You’ve made it this far, Messiah reminded them, and that’s already more than you would have done without me. Begin questioning my commands now and you risk far more than your own ends, do you understand? There is much to gain beyond what you alone seek, and you two can either play a role of great importance or play no role at all. Should I believe for an instant that you’re not an asset, I’ll deem you a hindrance and terminate you where you stand.
He was bluffing. He had to be. None were powerful enough to…
Ezra stilled his thoughts and flashed his brother a glance to be certain that his doubt hadn’t reached him yet. When Jerrick showed no sign that he’d “overheard” him, Ezra let out a slow sigh of relief and nodded, sure that Messiah would see it in his own way.
“What would you have us do?” he repeated, this time without Jerrick echoing his words.
His brother looked over at that, sensing that he’d been fighting his own thoughts, but, without any way to see what those thoughts had been, could only trust that Ezra had made the right decision in not letting them linger long enough for him, and by extension their mysterious companion, catch wind of them.
It’s time to send a message, Messiah mused within their heads. The establishment that the wolf-bitch holds so dearly… the vermin that frequent there mean something to her—to all of them. They’re… there was a flurry of words that echoed in the brothers’ minds before Messiah seemed to choose one that rang louder than the others: customers! Strike any merchant at the source of their income and they’ll inevitably come seeking their lost wages, be that in coin or in carnage.
“You want us to kill all those people?” Jerrick frowned, the idea of so much wanton murder seeming too risky even for him.
And he was usually the first to throw caution to the wind for the sake of bloodshed.
But this…
Ezra nodded to no one in particular before saying, “There’s no way we could avoid capture if we tried such a large-scale attack. Especially not with The Council’s vampire likely there and waiting for us.” He scowled at the thought, realizing that the neon-stained bitch had probably connected him to the attacks. As though having an auric on their tracks wasn’t risk enough, she had a face to go with it. And his was not a face that was easy to hide in a crowd. Cursing himself inwardly for brazenly sauntering around the club the night before, he added, “And if we’re caught—if we’re exterminated by their hand—what role could we hope to play in your plans.”
The silence that followed in their heads was pregnant with tension.
Then the water broke:
There may be hope for you still, Ezra.
A twinge of jealousy and anger wafted from Jerrick’s mind and he cast a soured expression towards the ground.
“I… thank you, Messiah,” Ezra dutifully accepted the compliment, hoping not to cause his brother more shame as he did.
In that regard, he failed.
“Then what should we do?” Jerrick demanded, his voice a gravelly sound that barely sounded like words anymore. “Send a message? Don’t send a message? Kill them? Don’t kill them? How masterful can your plan be if planning this is such a—”
HOLD YOUR TONGUE ‘FORE I HAVE YOUR BROTHER REMOVE IT! the voice thundered loud enough to send the two staggering back, earning the attention of more onlookers around them.
Ezra caught a moment of defiant doubt from his brother—He would never!—before trying to forget and ignore any further thoughts. He didn’t doubt Messiah’s strength. He had tracked them down and gotten them this far, after all. Whether or not he could force him to cause harm to his own brother—if he’d seize control of his mind and steer his hands—or if he’d simply issue an order and force him to make the decision on his own he couldn’t be sure, but it was not something he wanted to find out. Before Jerrick could say (or think) anything else or Messiah could decide that he’d had enough of being patient, Ezra satisfied both of their desires:
“The women there,” he said the words slowly, still forming the idea as he went, “they go there to drink and flaunt themselves. They might as well be whores, putting on displays for any to see; displays that, from what I saw during my time there, could become much, much more with the right incentive.”
Incentive? Messiah questioned, seeming intrigued with where Ezra was going.
Again, Ezra nodded to nobody. “Yes,” he hoped his voice didn’t come out too excited, if for no other reason than the increasingly confused and concerned looking group of people staring at the two as they had their broken conversation with a third speaker who clearly wasn’t there. “Alcohol, drugs, money… even simple compliments seem to invoke a sexual response. Whether or not they intend to mate with these displays I can’t be certain, but if we could lure just a few of them out of the establishment and make a public display of them, then we can attack the wolf-bitch’s business without risking exposure.”
Jerrick gave a wicked sneer. “You want to crucify a few would-be whores up on the club’s walls? That’d certainly scare many others away and give the dogs something to snarl at.”
More than just snarl, simpleton, Messiah’s voice was already bubbling with laughter. It will make them rabid with rage! Imagine: your handiwork on display for human and Council alike; there’s no way they won’t take to the hunt with that sort of attention!
Ezra nodded, relieved that the idea had calmed both sides.
Now it was just a matter of seeing it through.
It was time to give this city and the wolf-bitch running it another gift.
They had spent the last of the night and full day setting up their new “home” in an abandoned building. “Abandoned,” in this case, being a homeless shelter filled with the diseased, the demented, the downtrodden, and more than just a few decrepit old war veterans. The brothers took particular joy in disposing of the latter, seeing them as being particularly guilty, though neither could have vocalized just what it was they were guilty for. In either case, they’d made short work of the previous occupants and gone to work setting up some new toys.
After all, what good was a gift if it wasn’t properly packaged?
True to Ezra’s predictions, luring a few of the wolf-bitch’s club goers was a simple endeavor. Knowing better than to advertise themselves within eyesight of the bouncer, they’d waited half a block away, favoring the shadows in a corner that was otherwise assaulted by the glow of neon gods and promises. Seeing the three stagger out of the Blue Moon, shrieking with laughter and vulgarity, Ezra and Jerrick shared a nod that they were the perfect prey.
The brothers had been waiting with money and the promise of alcohol and drugs, but all it had taken was their exposed torsos and a pair of “sexy” scars between them. It was only because of their staggering idiocy that Jerrick hadn’t found the rage from the three’s adoration of their greatest shame somehow attractive.
What was the old line? Ah, yes: ‘like shooting fish into a barrel.’
Jerrick imagined the bottom of that barrel coated in viscera and dripping with the pulpy remains of these three, and the shared thought started to give his brother an erection.
This, however, only seemed to seal the deal with the three, and it was a simple matter of pointing them in the direction of their “home.”
A short time later the shrieks of laughter and vulgarity became an all new breed of cries. They’d gotten naked all on their own, rubbing against one another and even making a display of floundering their lips against one another as though playing through a rehearsed display. Did American men really find such acts arousing? Once again the fish metaphor came to mind and the
scene turned comedic. The brothers laughed. Two of the girls laughed along, one dragging her fish-lips down the other’s neck before attacking her nipple like a trout lunging for bait; the laughter of the first turning muffled while that of the second melted into an obviously fake moan of pleasure. Rehearsed. The brothers laughed harder at this, and the third, who hadn’t basked in their laughter or bothered to join in, looked uneasy about where things were going. Breasts that had once heaved for one reason then started twice as fast for another reason altogether. Heart racing and breath catching in her lungs, she backed away; her fish-lipped, moaning companions not noticing as they barked their insincere moan-laughs into one-another’s tits.
Jerrick was tired of laughing, though, and he was tired of waiting.
In the blink of an eye he was gone from the panicking girl’s sight, leaving her gawking in disbelief at Ezra and his wide, inhuman grin. One more retreating step brought her into the missing brother’s chest then—into the exposed pecs and “sexy” scar she’d been so pleased by earlier—and a sound like a strangled cat squeezed past parted lips. The other two drew back, their lips still puckered and open like that of a fisherman’s prized catch, and saw that one of their “hosts” had somehow cleared the distance of the room in the short time they’d been nursing. Between the realization and Ezra’s rapidly shifting features, the two found an unlikely sobriety as their faces twisted in horror as they saw what came for them. Ezra moved to the right, knocking the two unconscious with a single backhand that caught them both across the sides of their heads. The third screamed at this and buried herself further into Jerrick, seeming to see him suddenly as the lesser of two evils, and began sobbing and calling out to her mother as he took her by the throat in one massive, clawed hand and pinned her to the neighboring wall.
