by S A Archer
His body reacted. Becoming hard. Aroused.
The feeling flowed through Malcolm as he stared at the cave ceiling. No goblin clung to him now. No one and no reason to fight the feeling. Vaguely, Malcolm realized he was tripping on the drug, but under its influence he just didn’t care.
The humans crowded around him. Their hands stroked his flesh. Along his arms. His bare chest. Constant writhing. Caresses.
Whatever.
Too lazy to move. Felt too good to care.
“Touch me,” the blonde murmured, cupping his face. “Yes,” she laughed, “Yes!” She kissed him. Kissing her back came automatically. A melding of mouths. The flow of the magic spilled from his mouth into hers. Malcolm tasted his own magic. Like spring water. Crisp. Pure.
The humans slithered over him. Pulling at his torn jeans. Stripping them away.
Eyes out of focus, everything became fuzzy. Falling deeper into the intoxication, Malcolm lost the sense of himself. The magic flowing out from him and into the humans. He felt their void. Their need. An empty ache inside them. His magic poured into their souls. Endlessly pouring. Filling them up. Overflowing them until the magic spilled around them in bright, flickering auras.
Bodies. Naked bodies against his own. Moving. Rubbing. Sweaty and sticky. Hot. So hot. Everything blending together. Smearing. It all felt so good. Like a dream. All over him. All everywhere. Demanding. Sexual. Taking. Pounding. Grabbing him tight until it tore something free. A different kind of scream. A different kind of flow. Of release.
Some part of him realized he’d orgasmed. More than once. The humans had too. All of them, tangled in a sweaty pile.
How long it lasted he could not have guessed. An isolated eternity?
But… after a while… they were gone.
Then… after a while… he was shifted. Carried. Dropped onto the ground.
Finally… after a while… the silver was clamped to his wrists. The flow of magic slammed to a halt. The high, so pleasant and fuzzy, screeched to an end and a screaming migraine tore through his brain. His gut heaved violently, as much from disgust as the potion poisoning him. Malcolm rolled to his side to vomit until he’d nothing left to lose.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Present Day
London trembled with anticipation. Being so close to what she needed sharpened the edge on her anxiety. Rand clamped a hand on her shoulder and the shop blinked out. An instant later the dark of a cave wrapped around them. London stumbled, disoriented by the shift in the angle of the floor. Her eyes adjusted to the faint glow from the enchanted moss on the cave walls. Just in front of them an archway led into a wide chamber. More of the glowing stuff grew on the walls in there, giving just the minimal of illumination. The fey and the vampires, with their sharper vision, probably didn’t realize how dark it seemed to her, and they probably didn’t care. In the shadows around the periphery of the chamber, goblins huddled in packs, watching and waiting with their glowing eyes, glistening teeth, spindly little bodies, and wicked sharp claws. The evil that lurked in the dark. The addiction spurred her forward where instinct would have her retreat.
As she entered the chamber, the undulating mass of bodies in the center brought London up short. Overlaying the stale earthen odor of the cavern were the sharp scents of blood, sex and overheated bodies. Moist sounds of feeding and sex mingled with moans and gasps. The Sidhe on the stone table was male, easy enough to tell each time Charnel played cowgirl and pumped her hips. From the peek-a-boo glimpses the Sidhe was a well-endowed male at that. London gave the vampires feasting on the Sidhe a wide berth as she circled, deciding on her spot. He was naked and on his back, something that London couldn’t imagine was comfortable on the cold, rock surface, but the Sidhe appeared too preoccupied with the vampire orgy to notice.
As Charnel rode him, her boyfriend was biting the inside of the Sidhe’s thigh just above the knee. Jimmy’s hand ventured to cop a feel on the Sidhe when Charnel wasn’t slamming down. Brandy cradled the Sidhe’s opposite leg and writhed with pleasure as she sucked from the meat of his calf muscle. Although London might manage to touch the Sidhe’s foot without causing the vamps to attack her like she was a hyena at a lion’s kill, she circled around to survey the upper half of his body.
The Sidhe’s arm draped over Selena’s back as she bent to his chest, biting into his pec muscle so her mouth covered his nipple. On the other side Colin was fang-deep in the Sidhe’s wrist which he had extended out from the crowded activity on the table.
London moved to the Sidhe’s head. He appeared to be in his late teens, somewhere past the lanky growth spurt that gave him his height but lacking the muscle mass of a grown adult, making him look underfed. Given the length of a Sidhe’s lifetime though, he could have been hundreds of years old for all she knew. His dark hair, stylishly disheveled, covered the points of his ears and fell across his eyes.
Those eyes… those deep, dark pools that fixed upon her face knocked the breath from her. He watched her with those hooded, bedroom eyes. Even though he shifted rhythmically with the sex and the groping of the vampires, he stared at her. London felt mesmerized by his eyes alone. So like Rico’s in sensuality. Must be a Sidhe trait.
Her hands moved and she could have sworn it was either by their own accord or because they followed the unspoken summoning of the Sidhe’s lure. London brushed the brunette locks from his face without touching the skin of his forehead, just fingering aside the soft silk of his hair so nothing blocked her view of those amazing eyes that drew her in with unnatural magnetism. With trembling hands, she cupped his smooth face, intending for it to be an introductory contact, something small and nearly innocent. Instead, London jolted as her palms locked into place as if by electricity. Her entire body jerked with the instantaneous pleasure of the Touch. The Sidhe’s magic flooded through her hands, up her arms, and burst through the rest of her body so violently that she cried out. No build up at all, just immediately intense and utterly shattering.
Her thighs tingled. Her nipples hardened to painfully sensitive points so that even the brush of her clothing made her shudder with uncontrollable need. Her core pulsed. Spasmed. It overwhelmed her with a body quake of orgasm. Had Charnel not already been riding the Sidhe London would have mounted him herself.
Blinking down at the young man, London fell into those dark eyes again, so handsome and so oddly disconnected. Even in the low light of the chamber the pupils appeared too dilated. Despite the understandable haze of sex and desire, they were unfocused.
Drugs, she realized. This place, this cave of dark orgies, was this Sidhe’s drug nest. Not even the fey appeared immune to the demon of addiction. Such a good-looking young man, with untold potential, and he was throwing it all away. “Such a shame,” London whispered to him.
When she spoke he watched her mouth, as though deciphering what she’d said. Or as if he thought about kissing her. She required no further invitation than that. Still framing his face with her hands, London leaned down and kissed him. Her tentative, soft caress of lips grew bolder as he returned the sensuous kiss with equal measure. The flow of his Touch pulsed through her, rocking London as if he made love to her. She moaned into his mouth, their tongues meeting, tasting, caressing. Drinking in the magic, London deepened the kiss.
The Touch filled her. Overflowed her. Washed away all her pain, all her anxiety, all her fear. Right here, right now, she was whole again. Better than whole. Renewed. Sparkling with fey power. Bursting with joy beyond all joys. Crying with happiness. Shouting with the explosion of power even as the sounds were muffled in the melding of their mouths.
And then the Sidhe screamed. London broke the kiss, but not the skin contact with her hands. The Sidhe winced hard; in the pain of pleasure as he found release in the vampire lover that rode him. His body bucked, but London wouldn’t, couldn’t break her contact wit
h him and his magic. The others grabbed on tighter too, lest they lose their bite as he spasmed. His climax exploded through his magic and the entire group of them followed him into the devastation of his orgasm. It tore through London until she knew nothing but the sexual fury of the magic flaring through her.
Suddenly the Touch ceased.
“What?” London turned the Sidhe’s face toward her. His head rolled limp with unconsciousness. The others drew back a little, the sudden loss of the Touch ending the mass climax like the flip of a switch. This lasted only a few heartbeats and then the vampires returned to their feeding. Magic laced the Sidhe’s blood, conscious or not. London and Charnel were the only ones out of luck.
“Party’s over when the boy is tapped out,” Rand announced. The goblins swarmed in and prodded and pried at the vampires, waving flaming torches close to their heads until they drove them back from the table. London backed away without anyone needing to chase her off. She’d had her fill. Her body couldn’t handle another ounce of magic. In fact, much of what she’d been given was probably wasted, overflowing her beyond her capacity to contain the magic. As intense and tormenting as Rico’s Touch had been the night he cursed her, it paled in comparison to what just occurred. She would never, never be able to forget this encounter. Every second and every feeling was etched into her. It would follow her. Haunt her. Drive her endlessly to seek it out again.
Bloody evil Sidhe curse.
Chapter Forty-Eight
The band of Dark Elves, calling themselves The Fury, started up another set of rock music. Not something Donovan was very familiar with, but he liked the heavy percussion and the determination in the voice of the lead singer as he roared at the crowd that he would not bow and he would not break. Very Unseelie in sentiment. Apparently, the band played popular music because most of the fey sang along during the chorus.
Kieran and Dawn danced among the crowd, undulating against each other with more than a casual familiarity. The view from Donovan’s private table, situated against the simple but elegant guardrail, overlooked the dance floor set a couple of steps down from the main bar area of the Glamour Club. Leaning back, he cast a proprietary glance around the rest of the club, not the least surprised to find it packed on opening night. They’d had trouble keeping the fey out until the construction was completed.
The sound of the pool balls cracking against each other echoed from the back alcove. Bryce managed the game without setting the table on fire. The training in concentration and focus was beginning to pay off.
Donovan set down his empty glass on the low table in the center of a circle of four easy chairs and leaned back. Beyond his own chair, the others remained unoccupied, a condition that did not appear to be long lasting, as Trip turned from the bar with two glasses and headed in Donovan’s direction. She handed one to Donovan, for which he nodded a simple thanks. The Sidhe had styled her hair to cover her altered ears, an interesting decision. She’d told him that she’d had plastic surgery so she would not feel out of place around the humans, and now that attempt to “fit in” made her feel out of place around her own kind. The life lessons among the earthborns certainly had a unique twist compared to what he’d grown up with in the Mounds. The lack of guidance showed in all of them.
Trip settled into the chair to Donovan’s right. She hadn’t thanked him for saving her, not that he expected that from an Unseelie. The last few days she’d permitted Dawn’s healing efforts and otherwise evaluated her new circumstances with uncertainty. They regarded each other with a casual acceptance as she toyed with the ice in her glass with the tip of her finger. Clearly she had something she wanted to say, but Donovan waited for the young woman to sort out the words in her head at her leisure.
“You know, the other Sidhe are real impressed by you,” she said and then waited for him to respond.
Donovan said nothing yet. That had not been what she wanted to say. Little more than stating the obvious. Lengthy discussions of the obvious may amuse the Seelie as a pastime, but Donovan didn’t waste effort on that pursuit.
Trip nodded to herself, switching her gaze from him to her drink and retreating deeper into the chair. Apparently, not yet done with her exploration of the obvious. Or perhaps working things out in her head as she went. Starting with what she knew first and then extrapolating. “So, you really are going to rebuild on Earth what you lost from the Mounds? Starting with us newbies?”
“You are including yourself in the number.” Donovan cracked a hint of a smile. “I thought you might, when you stuck around.”
Trip leaned forward and placed her drink down like it no longer interested her. “There’s a lot of bad out there in the world. As soon as they find out about this place, they’ll do everything they can to crush it.” Her dark eyes lifted to meet his. “But you know that already.”
“I do indeed.”
“And you are not afraid?”
He gave her an amused smirk. “Let them come.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
The afterglow of the Touch continued to throb throughout London’s body all that night and into the next day. Her erotic dreams swam with visions of the dark-eyed Sidhe whose name she didn’t know but whose kiss she’d never forget. Her waking mind shunned the memories, though they floated ever present in the background. She felt so good in every fiber that she ached. London hated the power of the magic over her. Hated the control it wielded. Hated the Sidhe whose magic drove her to return to the Fairy Circle Shop to perform whatever service was required of her just to keep his favor.
London hadn’t expected the crowd she discovered milling about in the alleyway, about twenty of them, all humans and undoubtedly just as cursed as she. This was the ‘muscle’ Rand had been talking about. A few of them were grouped in twos and threes. All of them were carrying some kind of firearm, most of them concealed. London knew how to spot the telltale bulge under jackets. Her own was at the small of her back, like the night before. Whatever ‘project’ Rand had in mind it was going to be nasty, of that London harbored no doubts.
Of those gathered, only one stayed off to the side by himself. He had the look of military or law enforcement about him. While tension or fear painted the features of the others, he projected confidence. He wore jeans that fit him nice. A white t-shirt under an open flannel shirt, with a durable looking denim jacket on top, dressed in layers in case the mission took them through the heat of the day and the chill of the night. The steel toe boots were an interesting choice as was the cowboy hat. The hat was not fancy and had seen a lot of use. A pair of UV sunglasses hooked in the front pocket of the jacket. A Glock was holstered on his hip under the flannel, which was not tucked in like the t-shirt was. In his forties, she guessed from the hardness to his face, but physically fit. He had the look of someone who knew how to handle himself and had done so on many occasions. With his arms crossed, and the prepared but patient way he leaned back on the hood of his Jeep, he didn’t seem terribly approachable. And while she’d been assessing him, his pale blue eyes had been giving it right back at her. She could see how that level look could intimidate, but she’d stared into some fierce parahuman and fey faces before, and not many humans had the mojo to intimidate her after that.
London tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, conscious of how close her hands were to the holster on her low back. Rand hadn’t clued her in on what to expect, but she’d figured hiking boots and field jacket wouldn’t look too out of place in any situation. She crossed to the guy with casual directness. “Next time Rand calls me in on something like this, I think I better bring a vest.” She meant the bullet-proof kind and figured he knew that. “I don’t imagine many of them have a lot of discipline or experience.”
“Probably a good idea,” he agreed. He stuck out a hand toward her. “Joe Lansing.”
She shook it. “London Eyer.”
“Well, London. If you know how to handle yourself in a scrape, then I have a proposal for you. You watch my back and I’ll watch yours.” His accent was American. Southwestern, she guessed. “Not an easy thing, to trust your blindside to someone you don’t know, but it isn’t like we got a lot of choices and this here’s shaping up to be a hairy one, if you know what I mean.”
“You’ve worked with Rand before?”
“Never this much firepower before. Or this much fodder.” He lowered his voice so the others couldn’t overhear. “Rand’s expecting losses. Body count. Whatever we are going into is bad.”
London couldn’t help but cast a glance around at the others, wondering if Joe was right and which of them wouldn’t make it out. How many of them wouldn’t even be here if not for the addiction? Probably all of them, she surmised.
Rand strode out of the shop’s rear entrance. “Huddle up,” he told them and then used the hood of Joe’s Jeep to spread out a map. “This is where we are going.” He pointed to a spot on the map void of any markers, towns, or even roads. “If you don’t have an all-terrain vehicle, get with somebody that does. There is a bit of an unmarked path about two minutes north of this roundabout. Take it and when it dies, keep going until you get to the trees. Hike the rest of the way to this hill. Rendezvous there before noon. This is a straight up sweep. If it breathes, you kill it. Got it?” He glared at the uncertain faces surrounding him. Rand snapped, “Kill like you mean it, people, or you’re cut off. Everybody got it?”
