” Ellen gasped. Crack. The nine tight-braided thongs of the silk whip hissed through the air and slapped against her lower back. It melded into the aching glow that stretched from her shoulders to her thighs after the slow, deliberate lashing. The pain was much more than a sting, considerably less than agony. That lurked, though, if the damage didn’t stop. Already her sweat stung like fire in one place where the skin had been broken a little. And I can’t make it stop
. Some corner of her mind thought that, as she slumped against the padded cuffs that held her arms spread above her head. Vision blurred with tears and sweat; the smell of her own was heavy in her nostrils, and the subtly ranker scent of Adrienne’s, under the flowers and clean linen of the casa grande
’s main bedroom. The chain-rack was suspended a few yards from the foot of the great bed, running up through a pulley on a rafter. There’s no safe word here. “That’s because I’m not a tame tiger, Ellen,” Adrienne’s voice laughed in her ear. “I don’t jump through hoops when the whip cracks. You do. That’s the way this
circus works.” A hand traveled down her back, cool and delicate, fingers lingering at the base of the spine. “Have you ever thought of a tattoo here, chérie
? A phoenix, perhaps, or a monarch butterfly, or some Celtic knotwork to emphasize these little dimples and the curve . . .” “A tramp stamp?”
she said incredulously, shocked half out of her daze. “Well, you are
such a pain-slut, Ellen. Yes, I definitely think it would work. We’ll do it tomorrow.” The hand clenched hard on one buttock. Ellen arched again with a strangled grunt. “Hurts good, doesn’t it?” the taunting voice said. “Yes.” Which is true. God, how I hate you! That’s true too. What are you doing— “Unhh! No!
” “Delightfully dual-purpose.” “No, please!
” “No, what?” she laughed. “Is that: No, stop! Or: No! Don’t stop!” Ellen let everything but the flood of sensation drop out of her mind. When it receded she forced her legs to lift her again. Adrienne stood before her, and looped the whip around her neck to draw her close. The gold-flecked eyes stared into hers after the kiss, and her skin twitched at the sensation of her mind being riffled through like a collection of pages. The silk slid free and was tossed aside. “Shall I feed?” “Yes,” Ellen said, bending her head back to bare her neck. “Oh, please
, yes.” Lips and tongue touched her throat, caressed the vein. Then: “As the sadist—which I am—said to the masochist—which you are—no
. Not yet.” “Oh, God, how I hate
you,” she whimpered The thought resounded in her head with the iron ring of certainty, beneath the burning need
. Adrienne walked over to a table—eighteenth-century French, stone on cast-bronze legs—and wiped her hands on a hot damp towel scented with lemon and tossed it into a hamper. Then she poured herself a glass of a pale yellow wine and turned, leaning with a bare buttock braced against the smooth stone, eyes sparkling and taut nude body sheening with sweat. Her gaze fixed for a second, and the tumblers inside the cuffs opened with a click
as the dance of stress and molecules aligned precisely. Ellen fell to the linen cloth that covered the carpet and tried to make her limbs work under her own command again. “I’m going to feed later, so don’t worry. Crawl on over. Start with the toes,” Adrienne said, extending a foot. Perfectly nice toes,
Ellen thought, as she did. Nothing wrong with kissing clean pretty toes, in the abstract. Nice high-arched feet. Nice ankles, for that matter. Very trim calves. Muscles like a ballerina. Thighs, OK, skin like satin, a little salty with sweat . . . “You’re stronger than you seem, Ellen,” Adrienne said thoughtfully, some time later, stroking her hair, her voice slowing as her breath did. “You’re enjoying parts of this a great deal, aren’t you?” You know I am. Though I’d much rather it was Adrian and it was my idea. Sort of odd to be talking mentally with your nose pressed into someone’s navel and your arms around their ass, but what the hell. “It’s not that you don’t really hurt,” Adrienne said. “You do, but the reactions to it go off in all sorts of intriguing tangents inside your head. I wouldn’t have thought that a masochist would be so much fun for a real sadist, but it’s actually quite a delightful romp in a wholesome Girl Scout sort of way.” Well, it isn’t as if it was consensual
, Ellen pointed out. I’d bolt in a minute if I had a chance and have nightmares about you for years. You must be enjoying my fear and sense of boundary violation and the emotional contortions I have to go through to keep from getting really incoherently angry at being treated like a toy. I’m not enjoying any of
those one little bit. I just . . . suspend them. “Yes, that’s all extremely nice. And the deeply buried feelings that you deserve to be treated like this, which you continually deny; that’s exquisite. Like a hint of red chili in a creamy sauce. We can build on that together as our relationship deepens.” Ellen gritted her teeth as the other laughed with delighted cruelty at the uncontrollable surge of anger/guilt/pain. Though there’s actually a sort of erotic frisson from being completely honest with someone I hate so much, too
, she thought. It’s a bit like talking dirty but more so. And knowing you’re reading my mind and sensations is like being naked twice. Naked inside, not just skin. I’m starting to see what you meant about devouring me and it’s scarier than anything else. “And there are the images you keep having of driving a stake through my heart. I’ve seen that one quite often and it’s very entertaining. How did
Adrian like this sort of thing? The ritual, so to speak.” He was . . . conflicted. Afraid to let himself go. I understand that better now. Adrienne laughed again and sipped. “Long-denied desires are
hard to contain, which is one reason I don’t deny them in the first place. Stand up.” She put the glass to the other’s lips; it was sweet and cold and had a fugitive taste of flowers in Ellen’s mouth, clearing the salt and musk. Then a quick flick poured the last of the wine in a cold stream along Ellen’s collarbones. Adrienne began to lick up the droplets; Ellen shivered at the slight gentle contacts, running a hand up the back of the other’s neck. “Mmmm,” she sighed, hugged the Shadowspawn’s head against her breasts and thought: That’s nice, but oh, God, stop dicking around and
bite me, will you! It’s been a week! But not
there! Please! “In due time. Your blood would be too sweet right now; a savory—some garlic butter, so to say—will make it taste better. Perhaps it’s time to move on to a little horror? Ah, now that sent some real fear through the system!” She stood back and gestured to the huge bed. Ellen got into it and lay back, the cool cotton grateful against the heated glow of her skin. Adrienne lay down too, arranged her head on the pillow and then crossed her arms on her breast so that each hand rested on the opposite shoulder. Her eyes closed and she let out a long breath. That’s the horror?
Ellen thought, holding back a flood of relief. We go to sleep? I need the feeding, but maybe I could sleep first . . . “Over heeeeere!
” Adrienne’s voice called. “Shit!
” Ellen leapt convulsively and scrabbled backward against the carved African ebony of the headboard. Adrienne was back by the table, arms folded and grinning. And
she was lying beside Ellen . . . Oh, shit. She’s hardly breathing. That’s not sleep. It’s trance. She’s night-walking. That’s her aeth-something over there. “My aetheric body. Exactly, ma douce
. And that little shriek and the way your heart went pit-a-pat and the emergency clench of those superb buttocks was worth the effort in itself.” She looked at her tranced physical self, and made a little punching gesture upward with both fists along with a mmmmph
of wordless satisfaction: “I am such
a hottie
! You’re a lucky lucy, Ellen, truly.” Ellen swallowed and swallowed again, edging backward until as much as possible of her was crammed against the wood. “Of course, I admit that sometimes I can be a complete bitch
, too . . .” This time Ellen follo
wed the instant of transformation; a wavering glittering flow more sensed than seen through the eyes, like a prickle . . . and a bitch-wolf was sitting and watching her, yellow eyes gleaming, gray-black fur, tail curled around its front paws. She shrieked again and wrapped her arms around her shins, trying to cram herself into an invisible ball, but she couldn’t make her own eyes shut as the wolf came to its feet. It’s huge, it’s huge
, she thought. Big and elegant, dark fading to brownish-cream on the belly, eyes golden. The teeth were very white as it snarled, the sound low and guttural. It stalked forward, insolently slow, head down and ears laid back, the fur bristling. Then another step, faster, faster, crouching, the long smooth leap— Ellen did shut her eyes then, screaming wild and high as she waited for the fangs to close in her flesh. There was a thump
as weight struck the bed . . . and then nothing. Terror made Ellen will her mind to stop operating at all, but terror also made her force her eyes open. Adrienne was lying on her side, head up on one hand, like an impossible double vision with her slumbering physical form beyond. She winked. “Now admit it. That
was scary. Woof-woof-woofity-woof !” “You vicious shit
! I hate
dogs. They scare
me, since I was a little girl!” “Technically that was a hundred-and-forty-pound Canadian timber wolf, not a dog.” Adrienne laughed. “Consider it a literalized metaphor. Didn’t they cover that in your English Lit courses?” Then she sat up and stretched, looking down at her own body and stroking the slumbering form’s cheek. “I learned how to do this when I was about thirteen—young to be night-walking. Think of the auto-erotic possibilities.” Ellen forced her breath to slow. Was that the faintest rank dog-scent still in the air? Could scent molecules come off a body that’s made out of random energies? Oh, shit! “Ah . . .” she said, collecting herself. Get into the conversation or she’ll think of something else to make your mind leap and quiver
. “Not real practical for a girl, I’d think.” Oh, eww!
she thought, at images that sprang unbidden. Autonecrophilia? “Oh, there are ways. But, of course, if you can turn into a wolf or a tiger, human beings are easy, provided you’ve got the template. That’s probably how the legend about turning into a vampire or a werewolf if you were bitten by one started, but it’s really the other way ’round. For example . . .” Ellen blinked. Then she was looking at a woman taller than Adrienne, blond, full-figured . . . That’s
me! “In the pseudoflesh,” Adrienne/Ellen said, wiggling closer and giving her a lingering kiss. The lips were fuller and softer, the taste of the mouth subtly different. “Have you never wanted to make love with yourself? I can assure you that you’re very good in bed. Ah, Monica warned you, I see. Still, there’s some interesting fear and horror there.” Oh, God, now I’ve got to fuck my own ghost? “It’s more like making it with me wearing a you suit, but let’s give it a try, eh?” She took one of Ellen’s hands and placed it on a breast; the firm-soft fullness was eerily familiar/not . . . Half an hour later Ellen whimpered: “Well, don’t stop . . .” Then she opened her eyes and screamed again. Adrian was kneeling between her legs . . . Adrian to the last detail, except for the wicked slyness of the smile, her/his hands busy again. “I could be this
form when I was thirteen too. Just think of the possibilities. Autonecrophilia indeed!” “Oh, God
!” “Let’s play a game, chérie
. You pretend I’m Adrian, and I’ll pretend I’m you pretending I’m Adrian. I warned
you this was going to be a carnival of the perverse.” It’s not going to hurt. I know what’s really happening. Get a grip, Ellen
, she thought, repeating it like a mantra. Get a grip. Don’t lose it. Get a grip. Pretend it
is Adrian. You’d be going berserk with joy if it was. Get a grip. “That’s exactly what I had in mind,” she/he said, grabbing Ellen’s ankles and levering them back and up. Weight pushed her down, shoving the sensitive bruised skin of her back and shoulders against the cloth until a flash of fire ran across them. Adrienne looked down at him/herself for an instant, poised above Ellen. “This is easier because it’s a Shadowspawn body and one so similar to mine except for the XY thing, but there are the most intriguing
differences. On the downside, the sensations are all so much more localized; the rest of your body might as well not exist. On the up, there’s this tremendous focus
. As if everything in all the world was reduced to the need to . . . thrust
.” “Uhhn!” “Like that. Now move with me . . . and grip . . .” Later, a panting whisper in her ear amid the hard mutual effort: “Your mind is opening like an orchid of glittering light . . . not quite yet . . . Pleasure and pain and horror . . . are you listening?” “O . . . kay . . . yeah . . . mmm . . . please . . . bite me after . . . please . . . oh, please . . .” “Soon. Soon.” “God
. . . can’t . . . oh, God . . .” “I could turn into Adrian’s
wolf, right now
. Woof, woof, woofity—” Ellen felt her control vanish. She began to scream from the bottom of her lungs, over and over again as the scarlet mouth closed on her throat and teeth sliced.
“Right, we’ve got it all ready,” Harvey said. Adrian took a long breath and looked around. It wasn’t precisely a cave, but the overhang was steep where seepage had eaten the limestone away to leave a pocket of cream-colored rock. A couple of gnarled red pines clung to the surface above; a trickle of water ran out and down the slope, still living with the last of the spring rains. The evening was warm on this south-facing slope covered in dense maquis, but the growing evening shadows hinted at a cool night. There was an intense smell of sage and spice and pine-sap, of cool rock and cold spring water. He dipped a hand into it and drank to wet his dry mouth, tasting an intense mineral cleanness. He felt empty and light; he’d been fasting for two days with only water to drink, good preparation for prolonged night-walking. A healthy body could go without food for a week or so anyway, and in deep trance for far longer. “It is time and past time,” Adrian said grimly. “I can feel my base-link with Ellen. She is being hit . . . very hard. Particularly the last few nights since we met in Paso Robles.” “Pain?” Harvey said. “Not so much that. My sister likes to rend and break minds more than bodies, to sculpt the self
until it is as she desires, and she is extremely good at it. Ellen is very strong, very resilient . . . but consciously she is without hope while her memories are blocked. Much longer, and there will be permanent damage.” “Now’s as good a time as any. Lucky for Ellen, Adrienne’s gonna be distracted with her social obligations.” He ducked under the camouflage tarpaulin that he and Harvey had rigged. When they fastened it behind them the darkness was intense even to Shadowspawn eyes, and the older man clicked on a dim blue light. Adrian lay down on the air-mattress, and Harvey zipped up the thinfoil sleeping bag. With his body heat, that would keep him from losing too much to the earth. Then he held out his arm, and the other man arranged the saline drip. The slight sting of the needle as Harvey taped it to the inside of his left elbow awakened him from the seductive voice of the trance. He smiled as his arm was arranged. “Tucking me into bed again, Harv?” The Texan chuckled. “Hell, you weren’t that
young when I pulled you out of the Brézé stable. Just into your obnoxious teenaged years as I remember. Remember real
well.” The older man held a small tube of liquid to his lips. “Puree of Wilbur Peterson,” he said. “Probably they got the DNA for replication from strands of hair or the bone marrow, considerin’ how old the body was.” Adrian drank the neutral-tasting liquid. “Thank you for that thought,” he said, and concentrated. Within him mechanisms that had evolved long before the age of polished stone assimilated the paired helixes of a man who had decided that immortality was too much to bear. “Since we’re probably going to die in the next thirty-six hours . . .” he said, when he was ready. Harvey grinned like a gargoyle. “Shit, you don’t have to pay me back that twenty bucks you borrowed for
beer. Forget it.” “Then just let me say that if we make it, I’m back in the war full-time. After
my honeymoon.” Harvey froze for an instant, a blue-lit troll. “You are? Any particular reason?” “For one thing, I don’t think Ellen will stay with me if I don’t, or anyway, I find I can’t stand the thought of her bad opinion of me. For another, I have been infected with the delusion called hope. It is more comfortable than sanity, in the long run.” “Glad to hear you’re back in.” “On my own terms.” A chuckle. “I always sorta liked approaching it that way myself. You ready?” Adrian sighed. “I am reluctant. It is not the danger, you understand . . .” “The danger of possibly eternal torment? Hell, that makes me
reluctant, ol’ buddy. I do it anyway, but I’m reluctant as shit.” “It is pretending to be a Shadowspawn predator. The things I must do to avoid suspicion are too hard to forget.” “Adrian, I
don’t wish to do anything much but go back to Pecan Creek, retire, go fishing and watch football and drink beer, and amble down to the crossroads for some BBQ now and then. With an occasional trip to Arles. I certainly never became much attached to blowin’ people’s heads off.” Softly the older man finished: “I see their faces sometimes.” “True. Moi aussi.
SM Stirling Page 28
