Rookery Cove: The Darkness
Stephanie Burke
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Copyright ©2006 Stephanie Burke
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ISBN (10) 1-59596-417-7
ISBN (13) 978-1-59596-417-5
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Editor: Katriena Knights
Cover Artist: Sahara Kelly
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Chapter One
“Please don’t kill me. I don’t want to die!”
Sobbing moans filled the dark alleyway, nearly drowning out the echoing sounds of water dripping from a leaking pipe into the shallow pan beneath it. The whole alley stank of rot and decay, the rancid garbage creating a soft blanket between the sobbing man and the cobblestones below. The darkness of the night sky seemed somehow fitting, the dank of the dead day giving birth to the horrors that roamed the night unfettered and hungry.
“Please,” the man cried, his chest heaving as he crouched in the farthest corner from the thing that hunted him so efficiently. “Spare me!”
He wasn’t a large man per se, more an average-sized person dressed in expensive leathers, his body ringed with pricey jewelry and baubles. Everything about him screamed wealth, refinement and taste; even his pleading seemed aristocratic, the slightly upper-class accent that tinged his words growing more apparent as the dark shadow that followed him grew longer -- so long, in fact, that it seemed to encompass his shaking form.
“Please,” he whimpered as he tried to hide his head beneath his hands, almost like a scared child running from the monsters under the bed. But here there was no comforting safety of cherished covers, the warmth of a stuffed animal to offer security against night terrors. No, here, there was no protection from horrors conceived and imagined by an adolescent mind. No, here the monsters were all too real.
“Mercy,” the man wailed, knowing no one could come to his aid, but the survival instinct contained inside all human beings forced him to try. “Mercy!”
Tears flowed down his face, mixing with the mucus that poured freely from his elegant nose. He tried to curl up into the tightest ball possible, sitting there in the garbage-filled corner, instinctively trying to protect all his vital organs.
“Mercy…” This plea a little quieter, as if his subconscious mind had already accepted the obvious thing that his conscious mind sought to deny.
He was already dead.
“Mercy,” came the whispered reply, the voice sinuous and deadly as it echoed down the damp stone walls that made up the corridor in which its prey was so neatly corralled. “Mercy is for those not already damned.”
Pained bellows of agony drowned out the wet, thick tearing sound of flesh being rent from bones. It covered the sounds of the thick plops as choice bits dropped to the garbage-strewn ground, and the sounds of snarling, salivating hounds that eagerly partook of this offering of flesh and pain.
Slowly the screams died down, though their echoes remained, bouncing off the walls, creating a warning to all. Death had been served this night, and the ever-continuing hunt would go on.
Soon the only sounds that desecrated the night were the sounds of gruesome feasting as master and hounds shared in their macabre meal, dividing up the best portions -- the heart, the liver, the brain -- amongst themselves, the choicest pieces being tossed to the hounds at the master’s feet.
All too soon the feeding frenzy ended and stillness was once again the order of the night.
“Human trash,” the master muttered, swiping one naked arm across his mouth, then flinging it out to the side, shaking away bits of bone, flesh, and blood. Even the bones had been cracked, the rich red marrow inside eagerly consumed.
The master and his familiars had feasted well this night.
There were other nightmares to feed, other nights to hunt, to chase, to revel in the capture and consumption of his chosen prey. But next time, he would choose his animal more carefully. Though rich, the flesh of this male was more tainted than he expected. “Comes from living a life of excess,” he explained to the two huge hounds that stood fast at his side, moving in almost perfect synchrony with each other.
“Next time, we take the hunt to the city,” he chuckled, laying a hand on each of the two beasts’ massive heads, ignoring the blood and brains now matted in their thick dark fur. “These country folk lack flavor.”
Then the master was leaving, walking away from the pitiful pile of clothing and bones, all that was left after the master and his minions fed.
And the night grew peaceful and still once again.
Chapter Two
“I don’t give a fuck, Manx.”
Manx, for lack of a better name to call him, reclined in his chair, observing the pissed off phoenix as she slammed her well-formed body into a leather appointment chair.
“I’ve been protecting this island for the better part of a hundred years. Christ on a crutch.”
Manx fought to hold in a laugh as she pursed those full lips -- her mouth looked so innocent but could suck the brass off a doorknob -- and childishly blew at the wild tendrils of short hair that fell in disarray over her forehead.
But when you were as old as Manx, everyone looked young.
“Bernard, not that bastard Phillip, asked me here when he first settled this place. I don’t know who Phillip thinks he is, but he isn’t my Master.”
Manx raised one eyebrow and resisted the urge to smirk. He had mastered the fiery phoenix on more than one occasion. Her need to submit was almost as great as his need to dominate. But now she was continuing.
“Rookery Cove Aphrodisiacs are something I do for fun, end of conversation. I won’t be pressured or undermined in order for that greedy pup to get what he wants.”
Manx sighed, then shook his head, settling deeper into the shadows that constantly shrouded his form. “I told Phillip it was ill advised.”
And Manx himself was so cynical that he rarely told anyone anything more than once. It was not his responsibility to check the mistakes of others. Their lack of planning in no way, shape, or form constituted his emergencies. And he could hear the bright red warning klaxon as if it were ringing in his office.
“Yeah, well… This time he went too far. Seriously, the last thing I need is some fucking griffon, and a keythong at that, coming in and trying to take over.”
Okibi sat up, shifting restlessly in her chair, something the trained warrior seldom did.
Tilting his head to the side, Manx let glowing red eyes take in all of his former lover. She was edgy, argumentative, upset by the usual machinations of Phillip, when usually she would be using her greater intellect to put the man in his place.
This was worth further observation.
Then he understood. Okibi was entering her Kokugen Nenshou.
Now, Manx decided, would be a good
time to get away.
But, like a true friend and an ex-lover, he would be there as long as his fire-girl needed him.
But her body had picked one hell of a time to want to mate and push out a clutch of eggs, especially with a griffon coming onto the island. If she wasn’t ready for kids…
“What’s done is done, Okibi. You can’t go back and undo it. Right now, you have to figure out how to keep the keythong away from you. The further away, the better.”
He watched as his friend sighed sadly and rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands.
She looked so young and innocent that he had to resist the urge to cloak her in his shadows for protection and take Phillip apart bite by bite. He had to do something, anything, to bring a smile to her beautiful face, even if it was only temporary.
“Bet you’re wishing we’d just kept fucking, instead of me having a moment of genius?”
Manx eased the shadows just enough to leer at her the way he had when they were lovers and he was feeling playful.
He held the smirk as she exploded into laughter and was relieved to see some of the tension leave her face.
“Well, it did occur to me that I oughta kick your ass for starting this whole thing.” Then she sobered a bit. “But really, though we were hot between the sheets, I’m glad you thought of it. We’re much better off as ex-lovers. Neither of us could have stood being tied to the other for so long.”
What he didn’t add was that the whole problem was being tied down to a person who was not your true mate.
Lord knows he had gotten himself stuck on this blasted island years ago in the search for his perfect Frau. But after all the hundreds of years he’d spent searching her out, he had just about abandoned hope. And though Okibi was a strong, bright person, he knew his general malaise about life would eventually drag her down to his level of ennui.
“Well, maybe it worked out for you, but I still have to deal with your pheromones every twenty years,” he finally said.
It was best to make her laugh and not put his depressed state of mind on her shoulders along with her other mounting problems.
“Please!” his fire-girl snorted. “Do you think I’ve missed your orgies? Even if I could miss the ladies’ arrivals, no one on the island could miss hearing their orgasmic screams.”
Mission accomplished, or in her case, ninmu kanryu.
“I’m gonna head out. Felix said the flue was getting clogged up again.”
Manx nodded absently, looking down at the work orders on his desk.
There was one security breach that had to be seen to. Bernard had better tighten up on computer security, he grumbled to himself, not at all amused that a high level hacker had managed to get a partial recipe from the archives.
Sure the human would never be able to procure any of the herbs used in the recipe, but if he tried to substitute any, the results would be disastrous. In the wrong hands, this recipe alone could be the answer to the humans’ search for cold fusion, a deadly nerve gas, a hair re-growth tonic, a serum that would give humans the ability to control another’s mind, or an aphrodisiac that would be worse than the most screwed up brew of Spanish Fly, leaving the person ingesting it to a body-wracking, insane, paranoid death.
Looked like it was time to go hunting in the city. One work order, one body to disappear before he could sell his secrets to the highest bidder.
Before he could jokingly end his conversation with Okibi, Manx’s head jerked up and he had to hold back a low growl.
Someone had entered his territory without an invitation.
“I cleaned it out already.”
He scented griffon and was about to warn Okibi when she flew from her chair, her hands encased in a red hot killing fire.
“Whoa, whoa! I’m not armed.” The griffon threw his hands up to show that he concealed no weapons. Then he had the nerve to smile at the phoenix.
Rolling his eyes at the stupidity of some of the high-ranking governing body, humans, and griffons who allowed themselves to be roped into situations like this, Manx rose to his feet, sending out a mental call to halt his minions.
“Just so you know,” he growled as the shadows engulfed him, hiding most of his massive body from view save the glowing red eyes, “no one enters my territories without permission and an introduction.”
As he spoke, he gave an eerie whistle and suddenly, as if stepping from mid-air, two of the largest hellhounds to ever walk the earth appeared at the griffon’s side, flanking him.
“I will let it go this time. But keep in mind, my Pretties nearly dined on fur and feathers this night.”
Then he whispered to Okibi, ignoring the fuming lion/bird in human guise. “Keep my office in one piece. It was hard enough to create this dark and dreary decor, let alone replace priceless pieces of my art from my fatherland.”
He clicked his tongue twice to summon his hellhounds to his side. As he passed the griffon, he took in the determination on his face, the slight anger, the growing attraction as he caught a whiff of his fire-girl, and almost shook his head in amusement.
His poor little firebird had lost, and she didn’t even know it.
Chapter Three
“I don’t believe this,” May whimpered as she felt the heat of a human body standing behind her. Something hard pressed against her temple.
“Don’t move,” the man hissed, his hand wrapping around her face, ensuring that the slightest sound would not pass her lips. “You do what I say, no one gets hurt. You understand?”
He was so close she could feel his body heat, so close that the kikkou ropes that bound her body began to chafe uncomfortably.
Mayleen nodded shakily, her eyes wide in the dark corridor as she struggled to do what the man wanted. Damn, this was exciting.
“Good. Now I won’t be here long, and if you are a good little girl, nothing will happen to you.”
Good little girl? she thought. You don’t know how good I can be… then silently smacked herself for thinking about stupid chauvinistic comments and the overwhelming excitement of being taken hostage when her life could be in jeopardy.
“Good, now open this door.” He eased his hand away a bit, cautiously, ready to slam it back on her face if she made any loud noises.
“But I just closed it,” she whispered back, in shock that something like this could happen to her on her contract night.
“Open it!” He gave her a little shake and again May nodded.
May felt the keys she still held in her hand cut into her palm as she squeezed them in growing alarm.
Oh, my God, she thought. I am going to get dragged into this room and raped wearing these damn ropes under my dress. This is going to make me late and Master will pitch a fit if I’m late and that will be that. No submissive contracts for me.
“Now!”
“Your breath stinks,” she growled, then mentally slapped herself. What the hell was she thinking? This… this… this maniac was going to kill her. Maybe if she did what he wanted, she could call the cops, call the master, and still make it in time for the ceremony.
She opened her mouth to agree and felt that hard thing press harder against her temple, then decided that absence of voice was the greater part of valor and snapped her lips shut tight. Somehow she got the key in the door and the lock disengaged. She twisted the knob and the door flew open, tumbling her into her office.
“Where is your computer? This is an office -- there has got to be a computer,” the man snarled, shoving May across the room while staying as close to her as possible. “I don’t have time to play with you.” He gave her a shake to emphasize his words.
Good, May thought, struggling to stay on her feet. Because you definitely would be my last choice in playmates.
But like a good little hostage, she pointed him toward her computer terminal, all the while fidgeting purposefully to make the knots between her legs tease her just a bit. Why let the adrenaline rush go to waste?
The man stalked over, dragging May, and whippe
d out the chair. She stifled a scream.
“What the hell is this?” He paled, looking down at the molded leather penis that stood erect, almost saluting him, from the chair seat.
“Um, a Good Time Happy Seat?” May offered, holding in a snicker as the man tightened his hold on her neck. “It’s connected with the computer and when a woman… or a man --” she added, looking slyly at him.
“What the fuck is this shit?” he asked, squinting to make out a variety of sex toys and lubes that lay scattered across the desk.
May took a deep breath and began to explain to the dense kidnapper. “It’s the offices of Cockles, the erotic magazine for women. It’s our Merry Month of Masturbation issue, and --”
“Just shut up,” the man snapped, releasing May to knock the proud leather erection out of its seat. “I need to get this shit sent.”
“Um, I’ll be… over there…?” May tried to step away from the madman, but he turned toward her again.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” he snarled, reaching out and grabbing her by the biceps. “I have a little job for you.”
Mayleen gulped at the look in his eyes. This did not bode well for her.
Chapter Four
“I’m sick of this.” Manx wrinkled his nose at the smell of way too many bodies packed way too close together. His target was hiding in an office building in the center of this teeming city. Like that would help him.
His Bitch rumbled questioningly, and Manx rested a hand on her large head.
“I know, but soon we will be back on the Island where you can get the stench of this place out of your muzzle.”
His Alpha seemed to snort in agreement as he lifted his muzzle, scenting the air and leading his master and mate toward the target.
The man knew they were on to him, so in true villainous fashion, he was on the run.
“Hurry and find them, One.” He dug his fingers into the ruff of the Alpha’s neck. “The sooner I shake the dirt of this place off my feet, the better.”
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