Eternal Bondage

by Vita Anne Hoffman

  I scowled, not liking the way her Caribbean accented words referred to me, as if I were not a person, but a thing, to be coveted, to be owned, to be obtained. “Exactly what do you mean?"

  Donata ignored my question, if not my person. She traced an assessing glance up and down my garishly clad body. She did so not once, but twice. Something discovered in the second sweep of her gaze caused her to pause and smile. “I, too, begin to sense her potential, dearest Sylvana. We don't necessarily have to present her to the Master right away."

  Sylvana's chocolaty brown eyes glowed. She was excited, rather tremulous. She now faced Donata. “Yes ... oh, yes. There is a great deal to teach her. May we, my mistress, train her together?” She folded down onto her knees beside Donata, like an irreligious supplicant. She very suggestively, very persuasively ran her hands up the slit of Donata's sea foam dress, gripping at the soft flesh of her inner legs. “Allow her to join us."

  I decided to burst her lesbian bubble post-haste. “Sure thing. Maybe we can include Constantine and have a foursome."

  Sylvana, still on her knees, swiveled toward me, her excited nipples visible through the sheer citron-colored lace. “Yesssss ... any thing you desire.” Apparently sarcasm was lost on her. To make matters worse, behind me I heard Marc muttering, “Count me in.” The horn-dog.

  Sylvana cast one final sly glance at Donata. “May I begin?"

  It was Donata's turn to wear that avid, hungry look. She patted Sylvana's head. “Convince her to join with us. Entreat her. Do bring her to us."

  A power radiated from Donata into Sylvana, an irresistible flow of raw sexual desire. And it was all directed at yours truly. Sylvana began to crawl towards me ever so slowly. She moved with feline grace, arching her back with each deliberate movement, thrusting her breasts forward. She smiled a beguiling, extra long, white-toothed smile.

  I felt compelled to go to her—to them. To do their wondrous, torturous bidding. I drew a shuddering breath. I was repulsed by them yet magnetically drawn to them. It was their mesmerizing vampire gaze. As I internally fought against them, a pulse beat in my temple. But even pain could not distract me. Their thoughts were pounded into my aching brain: YOU MUST SUBMIT. YOU MUST JOIN WITH US. ECSTASY AWAITS.

  It was a far greater assault than any of Constantine's. He had always failed because he did not wish to utterly break and subjugate me. They, however, intended nothing less. And, working together, they were winning. I trembled, knowing if I should take so much as one step in their direction that I was a goner. Perspiration dotted my upper lip. I strained to stand motionless. The effort made my limbs quake.

  And, still, their undeniable, unshakeable will beat at me, pretending to offer whatever my mind and body could possibly desire, when, in fact, they offered nothing but domination. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, trying to find safety in that blinding gesture, blotting out Sylvana's cat-like advance, focusing to control the burning urge to move towards them. A helpless tear tracked down one cheek.

  Incredibly, that one tear moved Constantine to action. Nor was his intervention altruistic, for if he did not intervene, he would lose me. Forever. He stepped beside me, enveloping me in a matchless aura that silenced Donata's siren call. My entire body buzzed in the aftermath of their attack, but I remained standing.

  "I do not share what is mine.” Constantine personified arrogance. “And this female IS mine.” Normally, I would argue that point, but at this moment, very shaky, very unsteady, I let it slide. Who wouldn't settle for a rescue from a male chauvinist son-of-a-bitch over no rescue at all? Certainly not me.

  Simultaneously, Donata and Sylvana hissed, the sound like water scorching on a hot griddle. Sylvana withdrew to her mistress’ side, her beauty now twisted and ugly. Ochre veins popped out in her cheeks, forehead, and chin. Her lips twisted in a nasty grimace.

  Donata exuded anger. That emotion, noxious as a vapor cloud, leached out from her. “I have a little parting gift for the Soulsmith. Key, bring it.” She crooked a finger and a very cute boy, barely out of his teens, in a ragged sleeveless sweatshirt, worn jeans, and battered sneakers, broke from the midst of Donata's crew. The tow-headed youth hauled a large, lidded willow basket which he placed before Donata.

  Her imminent departure, however, triggered another to action. I heard a shuffle and, then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw FBIC Agent Ezekiel Zellden strutting forward like a rooster. Detective Traeger accompanied him, but his own stance and expression was grim ... and a touch cautious.

  Zellden's arm made a sweep. “By the authority of the Federal Bureau of Interspecies Coexistence, I hereby place you,” he pointed straight at Donata, “and your people under arrest for numerous violations of the United States FBIC Codes, including the perversion and ultimate destruction of Calvin Hamilton, priorly deceased proprietor of the Tattoo Emporium. Officer Penton read them their rights."

  Maxi Penton, dressed a la Catherine the Great of Russia, scrambled down from her perch on one of the four banquet tables. By now, other members of the police force, combined with Zellden's own FBIC team members (including the two Bete Noir guards I had seen earlier in the hallway, now wearing bullet proof vests, crosses, and carrying stun batons), were visible, surrounding the members of Donata's clan. Brilliant. Zellden had set up a sting. Only, the main bad guy, Rasputin, was absent. And needless to say, there were far too many civilians present. I had a bad feeling in my gut. Perhaps Constantine had been right when in his penthouse he had said that I might be having premonitions. This one was not as visceral but it was every bit as strong. I was scared.

  I spoke to Constantine under my breath. “Surely, you didn't agree to this?"

  "No. Zellden was to track Donata to her lair. Surveillance only. I allowed a few of his agents to infiltrate the party. But there was to be no trap sprung, not while we are also inside it.” Those few words were all we had time to exchange.

  Donata sneered. “So predictably impotent,” she spat at Constantine. “As promised, a gift for your little human whore.” And Donata quickly threw back the woven basket's lid. She reached her creamy leather-braceleted arm inside to pull out a writhing handful of snakes, rattlers and copperheads, the only two fatally venomous vipers found in West Virginia. Ironically these were the same type of serpents used in some rural church services where the handling of snakes exulted the word of the Lord. Before I could react, she flung them at me. She dumped the rest onto the floor to slither freely about the room. Snitch, who watched the proceedings from a goodly distance, cackled.

  Two copperheads, like giant bronze rubber bands, flexing and twisting in their arc through the air, fell harmlessly short of me. Unfortunately, the rattlesnakes hit their mark. One bit me on the lower thigh. The other struck me in the chest, fell down, and bit my ankle. I tottered, feeling like a living pin cushion. Beside me, Constantine, being immune to their bites, grabbed up the snakes and snapped off their heads. My eyes glazed over from shock. The poison would run its course soon enough. Constantine caught me as I swayed. He gently placed me on the floor. In no more than a heartbeat his people—Josh, Marc, Max, Haley, several vampires that I was beginning to recognize by face, if not by name—had moved to encircle us.

  Things grew fuzzy, again from shock and an overdose of adrenaline. Cold electric coursed through my veins. So, too, did the venom. Over top of screams and shouts, I could still plainly hear Donata's mocking voice.

  "If you manage to survive, ask Constantine why he wants you so badly. Ask what it means for him to control a Soulsmith."

  My tongue felt large and swollen in my mouth or I would have asked Constantine, who leaned over me with a somber stony face, exactly what she meant. But words, coherent or otherwise, were almost beyond me. I felt sluggish, dazed, wasted. And, as the haze about me grew heavier, my hearing strangely sharpened. I heard crystal clear the screams and shouts of pandemonium.

  The party was definitely over!

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  Chapter Thirteen

&nb
sp; Lethargically Enjoying The Inevitable

  Constantine loomed over me, his beauty etched with harsh lines about his mouth and eyes. The concerned faces of the others were there, too, but less distinct. My eyelids grew very heavy. “We must extract the poison.” As Constantine spoke, he ripped open my black scoop-necked blouse. The material tore as if it were no more than tissue paper, exposing my gorgeous burgundy bra ... and also exposing the snakebites, angry bloodied dots that marked my breastbone.

  Haley Davis, hunkered down near my waist, yanked away the skirt. Now I was thankful in a hazy, out-of-body-fashion for the matching bra and panty set. She instantly bent over me and locked her mouth to the bites on the top of my thigh. Her dainty, pointy teeth jabbed quickly into the flesh, covering a larger area than the first punctures. She applied her mouth like a suction cup. Her jaws worked hard to withdraw blood and poison then swallow it down. Marc, I groggily noticed, had attached himself to the bitten ankle, sucking hard, swallowing convulsively. Of course, the venom would naturally taste bitter.

  That left the bites on my chest.

  Constantine's head lowered almost as fast as had the rattler. Yet, drowsy and dazed, I somehow grabbed at him, refusing his ministrations.

  "No. Not you.” The voice came out weak. The determination behind it, though, was strong. Constantine's mouth stretched into a grim line. Unaccountably, even though my life was on the line and every second counted, he would not—perhaps could not—act against my will.

  His eyes went to Josh Warner opposite him. Constantine's grim appearance became tainted with anger and resentment. An unhappy scowl marred his brow. The grooves deepened around his mouth. Rather distantly, I watched Constantine battle with himself, finally deciding to allow the other, a rival, a lowly youngling, to touch me, to place his hands and mouth and bite upon me.

  "Do it."

  Josh folded down over top of me. His expression was neutral. He was under orders to do this. I felt like Resuscitation Annie and he was practicing CPR techniques. His long pearly teeth flashed then pierced the delicate skin of my chest. Because there was so little tissue there, as opposed to my more ample breasts, he could not bite deeply, so that his fangs pressed hurtfully against my breastbone. I cried out in pain. He instantly changed the pressure and angle of his elongated canines. I exhaled with relief, a low whoosh of air from my lungs. Josh commenced a very meticulous, very skilled extraction as he milked the bad contents from my body.

  I grew light headed. Fuzzy. There were three, no, four, vampires sucking away at various parts of my body. With a monumental effort, I managed a glance to my left ankle, the one that had not been bitten, and saw Max attached there, his eyes closed with an expression of satiation. I wriggled that leg. “Get off."

  He reluctantly pulled away, wiping at a little trickle of blood and drool: he was actually salivating, like I was a seven course dinner! If I had had the freedom of movement, I would have socked him.

  "Why can't I have a taste? Marc is."

  Constantine did not hide his own irritation. After all, he, too, had been denied. “Show some restraint, Max. There's only so much to go around."

  "Ha, ha.” It was hard to mock somebody when your head was spinning. I closed my eyes and concentrated on not being sick. As one, in some strange rhythm, the vampires seemed to be draining every ounce of poison—and blood—from my body. The lightness in my head spread throughout me. I was about ready to float to the ceiling ... and beyond.

  I decided not to protest. I didn't have the energy. They had gone from saving me to feeding off me. Their mouths sucked urgently, greedily, supping from an impassive, unresponsive victim. Josh smoothed the hair back from my forehead, a loving affectionate gesture. His own beautiful brown locks splayed across my torso, soft and silky, a veil hiding his features, offering a privacy of sorts for what was fast becoming something intimate. Where he had begun the process with impersonal calm, the taste and lure of blood naturally enticed him, especially since he cared about me. His tongue began to work around the sore area. His body slightly rocked. He was becoming aroused. Good for him. If I had to die, it might as well be for a good cause. Say, for instance, a gorgeous vampire's hard-on.

  Strange, then, that as I was ready to close my eyes and lethargically enjoy the inevitable, I wanted to hold Constantine's hand. I, in fact, was holding his hand, unsure as to how it had happened, whether he had reached for me or vice versa. I smiled dreamily. My eyes fluttered. I wanted to tell him goodbye.

  "Enough,” he snarled. The others immediately broke from me. Haley guiltily pulled back, her eyes downcast, her shoulders hunched. Even she had gotten caught up in the sweet narcotic of my blood. Her entire body posture bespoke her humiliation. Marc, on the other hand, sat back with a small smack of his lips. And a satisfied burp.

  "Excuse me.” He grinned. Any minute I expected him to pat his tummy and mutter ummm-ummm good.

  "Don't rub it in, brother.” Max had only had a sip, and he wanted more.

  And so, it was obvious to me, did Josh. But he kept his desire well leashed and well masked. Outwardly, he seemed calm, placid, returned to his usual good natured self. Constantine, however, could most likely read the other's unabated hunger. He was a powerful progenitor. Besides which, he knew how such a token taste would not be enough—not for any vampire with strong appetites, whose feelings were also engaged. That made for an irresistible, unquenchable thirst. He himself was parched for just such a drink. Of me. So far, he had been denied. I intended to keep it that way.

  My head buzzed. I felt tipsy, drunk. “Is dinner over?” I almost sounded disappointed.

  "Yes.” Constantine, still possessed of my hand, looked to Haley. “Was enough extracted?"

  The nurse judged her words carefully, knowing that, although woozy, I was listening and comprehending. “Given her ... enhanced ... strengths ... she should be fine, even if some of the venom still circulates."

  And I was listening, after a fashion, being more interested in studying Constantine's large warm (impossibly tanned!) hand, with its heavy gold signet ring, wrapped about my own, comfortingly, strongly, possessively. My absorption stopped with the shattering sound of a loud crash. Immediately I remembered that my life had not been the only one endangered. There had been other mortals in Parlor B.

  I sat bolt upright, and denied the crazy tilting of my equilibrium at the swift motion. I almost felt like myself, just weak. “You've got to protect the humans.” The huge room, under the soft pulsing purple lights, was a mini battleground. Several of Zellden's men, trained and armed FBIC agents, were down, some obviously dead, spattered with their own blood, contorted, heads and necks misaligned to bodies, limbs snapped or dangling or missing.

  Traeger had gathered the models together and he was guarding them from a couple of Donata's people, amongst them the fair haired teenager, named Key, who had offered up the basket of snakes. It was a bizarre scene. Traeger, his silvered-red soldier's buzz cut standing at attention, swept a big crucifix to-and-fro, using it and his own solid body to shield the frilled and pompadoured women, while Key and his cohorts made comical, exaggerated grabs toward them, almost playacting.

  Constantine spoke to the twins. “Lend some assistance to Detective Traeger ... And Marcus, lend Avna your jacket.” I had forgotten that I was nearly naked! Constantine accepted the suede jacket and tugged it onto my arms. He dressed me as if I were a distracted child. The jacket fit like a funky mini-dress. At that moment, I was too pre-occupied to worry about clothes or the lack thereof.

  My gaze swept across the banquet hall. Of Donata and Sylvana, there was no sign. Snitch, however, was cornered by Officer Penton in her guise as Catherine the Great. And she was wielding my very own wooden cross! During the commotion, she must have retrieved my purse, and now she put its unusual contents to good use. Snitch, however, moved like an eel. He slithered backwards, bumping into the stage were the three strippers cowered. He scrambled, still moving backward, onto the stage where he grabbed the closest of the
strippers, Helga, she of the statuesque Nordic beauty, the Swedish masseuse with the magic fingers. I clambered to my feet, even though the world tilted.

  Constantine steadied me. “Stay here. I shall deal with Snitch."

  I didn't listen. I marched across the distance to the stage. Constantine came at my back. Snitch's pock marked face screwed into a snarl, his one good eye trained on me with murderous intent. Nothing, not Maxi Penton brandishing a cross nor even the presence of a progenitor, could redirect his attention

  "Stay back. Or she's dead.” He had enough vampire strength in his scrawny body to shake big buxom Helga like a Raggedy Anne doll, but poor Helga unlike a rag dolly had no permanent painted on smile. Her own mouth was a round frightened hole. Her gaze, like Snitch's, fixed on me, silently plead for help.

  "Release her, and I promise you will go free."

  Snitch, dragging Helga along in a head lock, scuttled across the stage, scattering the other half clad dancers, who screamed and jumped from its height. He took advantage of their mad scramble and he dropped off the back side of the stage. Once on the far side, he loosed his hostage and upturned the portable platform to create a barricade. By the time I—accompanied by Constantine, as if he were my own shadow—could get around it, Snitch had disappeared. Helga was thankfully still alive.

  "Where did he go?"

  She could not speak.

  "Where?” I hated to further manhandle her but I did, trying to shake an answer from her.

  Josh, standing a little back from Constantine, supplied me one instead. “He must have used the stairs."

  I scowled. “That must have been the way Donata and Sylvana left."

  By now, Detective Traeger had joined us, the twins, too, jostling a broken-armed Key between them. It took considerable force to break a vampire's bones. Their altered physiology strengthened them and made them heal faster. But, still, to actually see a vamp with a snapped arm was astounding. The twin brothers had managed to impress me. Not that I would ever tell them that.