Moonspawn

by Bruce McLachlan

  Each wall was fully laden with small alcoves, each placed close to each other to optimise on space. In almost every single one was a contained being. Men and women, held to the interior wall by a plexus of metal bonds, stout tubes emerging about them and burrowing into their orifices. Pipes into their stretched maws ensured they were kept fed, and others about their loins carried away waste. They were completely unable to do anything save simply continue existing.

  They could have been mistaken for the dead but for the display board on the wall, the monitoring sensors fed by wires attached to the bodies and keeping track of their vital signs.

  Also, shuddering influence assailed their bodies on 151

  occasion, the metallic bonds serving to pour voltage nips into them, to keep their muscles from wasting, eliminating bedsores that might start to spring up from such unrelenting captivity.

  Beside their necks and arms, on each side, was an intricate engineered construct, the device a detailed sculpture of pipes and mechanised parts the purpose of which she could easily guess. The osmotic syringes would stab to their prey and siphon out the precious fluids, never breaking the skin, ensuring a long and terrible life in the arms of such strict capture.

  Other alcoves held creatures such as she, served up as cattle to the appetites of others. The vampires were bound with far thicker restraints, and their monitoring devices gave up a far less distinct pulse. Locked in place, they could only watch the seneschal and her hound pass.

  Mortal life was steadily introduced down their throats and the far more valuable vampiric sustenance was then harvested, serving to feed the army of ghouls that dwelt in the palace. These were the worst sights to see, for Kira knew that without the hampering of age or failing of body, such farmed immortals could well be held so for eternity.

  Wandering the many halls of such distressing slavery, the seneschal checked that all was progressing as was prescribed, the dreadful silence in the air only beaten back by the shuffle of Kira’s feet and the brittle clack of the seneschal’s heels.

  Suddenly the woman paused. Turning, she moved into an alcove and with one hand, captured the occupant’s nipple. The man winced, regarding her with utter rancour, straining against the bonds.

  ‘Still got some fight in you, eh?’ she mused softly, 152

  regarding the captive from beneath a lowered brow.

  ‘Well, a few decades of this will cure you of that. How does it feel to be feeding the house that ruined you?

  ‘Foolish arrogant upstart,’ she scowled, turning the nipple and then letting go. ‘You have paid the price for your insurrection. I hope the memories of your meagre leadership and limited rule of the city above are strong ones, as you’ll find they are the only comfort you’ll find here.

  ‘Your time is over! Her majesty has taken back what is hers, and will now bleed you until time itself perishes,’

  promised the seneschal, before airing a sadistic laugh and leaving the slave to his fate.

  As Kira walked on all fours she wondered who the man was. Clearly he was a former enemy of the queen.

  Was he one of the council that had been established, perhaps a chairperson of it, someone who led the city and represented the vampire houses? If so, she could understand why such a sentence had been imposed, for it meant he had been one of those who helped steal the city away from the queen, and because of this, Kira could feel little pity for the vampire.

  Leaving the ranks of the feed banks, Kira was taken back to the lift and restored to the area of the queen’s domain.

  Once more entering into the maze of corridors, the woman took her back to the main lift, passing through the now deserted throne room of the queen. It had seemed like an eternity since last she’d seen these hallowed halls, and it was still as breathtaking a sight as she recalled.

  The elevator restored her to the upper reaches, and through the splendid halls she was taken. The levels above the training and storage grounds of the queen were 153

  replete with life, with servants bustling to and fro, pets being walked, guests strolling with an entourage of comrades and slaves to attend them. It was almost intimidating, for in her time of training she had grown used to being alone or attended by a small number.

  Sudden immersion in such numbers made her distinctly nervous. Kira kept close to her owner’s heels as they walked, wondering where she was being taken, but too devoted to impressing her owner to risk daring speech.

  A stretch of corridor was blocked by two burly male vampires, their teeth exposed in sneering snarls, their hair cropped to little more than stubble. Round-eyed welding goggles hid their gaze, no doubt to protect from any intense light that might otherwise be used to disable the gloom accustomed vampire sentries.

  They wore leather trousers, the knees and shins fitted with black armoured sections that fell into weighty and steel-plated boots. A heavy silver knife was buckled to each outer side, and the close-fitting trousers arose to a studded utility belt. Pouches spiralled around it, along with eight fitted holsters which bore lethal barbed stakes of reinforced plastic far tougher and more durable than any wooden version, their wicked teeth serving to lodge them in position. Along with these weapons to end un-life, an MP5 lay in a waist holster, the sub-machine gun fitted with laser sight. The slender banana clip was overlong – extended and modified to hold greater numbers of rounds. Three more spare magazines lay on their waists in quick release pouches.

  Dense flak vests added to their robust stature, the garments rising to protect their throats and almost hide their collars. Their muscular arms were left free save for spiralling tattoos down the right arm and the symbol of 154

  the queen on the left, with heavy leather gloves encompassing their hands.

  Across their backs were crossed swords, the slender silver falchions equipped with heavy shearing guards.

  The sentries bowed deeply as the seneschal approached, offering their fealty and genuine respect to her. They were not performing such obeisance out of habit or order; it appeared that they were actually in real awe of Cassandra. Was it because of authority, or strength? Could it be that these mountains of trained muscle knew they were no match for the seneschal? Was she really that formidable?

  Kira felt them staring at her as she scuttled past, her sudden fright making her move even closer to her trainer.

  The warriors were terrifying, their faces gaunt and grim, hardened by murder and killing. If these were examples of the queen’s defences, surely nothing could harm this domain. It was reassuring to know they were there, but they were still intimidating to behold.

  The passage beyond the defences was a dead end, both sides lined with heavy vault doors of polished silver.

  Her owner placed a hand to the first, the door giving its customary response of grinding clunks and started to slither back, revealing the interior.

  A short passage led into a round hall, the black marble of the chamber polished to a sheen that emphasised the slender weaving streaks of deep pouring through it.

  Nine separate doors were equally spaced throughout, the one directly opposite the entrance being silver, the others all a striking and unblemished white.

  Beside each of the doors was a heavy metal ring, riveted into the fabric of the wall. A long chain lay fixed to each, linking to the collar of a woman of great beauty, their 155

  naked forms crouched and humble.

  ‘Seneschal?’ asked a soft, heavily accented voice from behind, their approach unheard by Kira.

  ‘Yes, Lord Amatsu Mika Hoshi?’ replied the seneschal before she turned, discerning the identity immediately.

  Bowing slightly, she faced the guest as Kira shuffled in a circle to regard the new arrival.

  The Asian male was young and slender, his smooth skin cloaked within folds of black satin. His hair flowed back into a long ponytail, the base fixed with an ornate jade clasp. Despite his innocent and equable exterior, there were depths behind his small smile, and an age and power in his eyes that testified to him
being an exceedingly ancient vampire.

  At his feet he had a diminutive Japanese girl. Un-tethered, she was clad in a comprehensive suit of black that reduced her to a feline appearance. A mask sprouted whiskers and pointed ears. Her eyes shone like diamonds within the darkness of the hood, and she watched Kira with a disturbed intensity. Shuffling on the spot, her tail twitched to and fro as she kept to her master’s heels.

  Kira ignored her and continued to regard the girl’s owner, marvelling at his visage, his grace and poise. It was strangely captivating to watch him, as though even when he was idle there were a dozen things to behold and fixate on. She could watch him for hours, even if asleep, and never bore of him.

  ‘I am seeking some new diversions, something special for a display I’m planning,’ he reported, barely even noticing Kira and her stare.

  ‘We have numerous fine harem slaves for you to choose from, lord. Would you like to see a selection?’ responded the seneschal, offering the queen’s wares to this visiting 156

  ambassador of the Orient.

  ‘Lead on, seneschal,’ he confirmed, and allowed himself to be shown into the room.

  As Kira followed, watching him slink casually into the room, there was a sudden flurry of movement and sharp pain slammed across her cheek. Her back slammed to the wall, a harsh strike having caught her features and thrown her back.

  Dropping into a loose sprawl, she shook off her giddiness and saw the cat lunging inward for the kill, a hiss of jealous rage spilling from her throat. Kira’s study had irked the beast beyond tolerance, no doubt deeming one such as she inferior of being able to regard her master.

  Without thought Kira acted like lightning, her body employing a speed it could never before have borne. In a split second she was restored to a crouch, and before the girl’s rage-inspired dive even reached her, Kira launched forward, the stone beneath her feet cracking from the sheer power in her kick. The binding latex of her uniform snapped like tissue paper, setting her free to attack, a sudden red veil of pure berserker fury descending through her mind.

  It seemed as though her enemy were trapped in slow motion, her senses raised to a new and intense peak.

  Effortlessly she swatted the girl’s arms aside while both were still in the air and screaming towards each other, her strength treating the girl as straw. A moment later her fingers jerked out, shredding the latex mittens, bursting effortlessly free of their prison. Her hand clapped across the throat of the girl and as they passed each other in the air, Kira wrenched forward with a sanguinary growl.

  The incensed velocity of the girl was countered in an 157

  instant, Kira’s dive a thing that tolerated no deviation.

  Snapping her to a halt Kira dropped her feet to the floor and continued her haul, throwing the girl back whence she came.

  As a blur of movement the cat was delivered to the floor, bringing out a titanic splintering crash as her body shattered the marble floor and was driven a full foot into it.

  Without pause she flung the girl back again. Her limp form piled into the wall, demolishing an area of it. As the girl’s body was just starting to slip from the ragged crater it had been forced to excavate, Kira was already moving in, fangs freed and hungry for blood, her rage like a storm within her. But a hand grabbed the back of her neck and she was thrown against the opposite wall with jarring force, her rage oblivious to the pain. Another arm snagged her limbs and fought to contain them as she roared in fury, fighting the grapple upon her.

  ‘I was not aware you had brood on offer?’ quizzed the man, holding Kira to the wall, his small frame a monstrous deception, for he held Kira with little effort.

  Already she was calming, her efforts to subdue her rage helping to bring serenity and rational thought back to her.

  ‘My apologies lord, we had not determined for sure that she was. A quad of fangs can sometimes manifest for a short while in new-born Nosferatu,’ testified Cassandra, looking over the fallen vampiress, her body laying inert amidst a pile of rubble, the floor and wall a vast web of cracks that jerked from the impact area.

  ‘I understand. But there is no need for apology, it was my poorly behaved property that instigated this affair.

  And the defeat of an eight-century slave at the hands of 158

  this new-born, only proves that she is brood.’

  ‘What do you wish done with them, lord?’ asked the seneschal.

  ‘Take my pet to head slave Strafe. She is to be disciplined in the most stringent manner possible. She was warned that we were to adapt to different customs here, and her failure will be reprimanded accordingly.

  As for this little creature, I believe I have made my decision after all.’ He shifted his grip slightly against Kira’s anatomy. There was a pang of discomfort, and suddenly consciousness fled, an expert pinch to some valuable nexus stripping away her awareness.

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  Chapter Thirteen

  Arising through layers of coma, Kira let her senses gather to some measure of coherence before opening her eyes.

  She felt strange, her body aglow from within, as though it had been the lightning rod for some awesome burst of energy, and had kept a few residual traces lingering throughout its structure.

  The slow lifting of her eyelids became considerably more hasty when she felt soft hands brush against her flesh. Sitting upright with a jerk of motion, the handmaidens about her flinched and shied back, their hands rising to protect them should she attack.

  ‘Please, mistress, we mean no harm!’ exclaimed one of them with fear in her voice.

  Kira was laid upon a low altar in a small room. The plinth had a padded top, and was supported by rows of squat pillars shaped like leering gargoyles.

  Candles lined the perimeter of the floor, casting cones of amber light up the dark walls. The rectangular room had a door in each of its smallest faces, and overhead the symbol of the queen dominated.

  About her were six Asian girls, all clad solely in white thongs, their small ripe breasts on open display. Their long sable hair was tied back to cascade down their bare backs, the clasps flinging out short spines. They wore no make-up of any kind, their faces too exquisite to be tainted by such things. Any attempt to heighten their already perfect features would only mar them. The artist 160

  that created them had succeeded in attaining near perfection, so any attempt to continue the process would only spoil it.

  Realisation struck and Kira’s hand dropped to her waist to find the belt gone. Dropping her gaze, she found herself naked save for her collar and cuffs, even her body hair had still barely begun the process of emerging, her metabolism slowed to a veritable crawl, just like her heart.

  Kira calmed herself and remained where she was, looking across her new flesh, having not had the opportunity for some time due to relentless latex bondage.

  The handmaidens moved a little closer, approaching with caution as though she were a wild animal. But the entire affair was still well beyond Kira. How had she managed to do what she’d done? She had been impotent to act contrary to what her rage demanded. The fury had swallowed her whole, devoured her reason and left her only with the ultimate urge to bring carnage. Just what terrible force was in her body? The cat had not been killed by her attack, so she had to be a vampire of centuries spent honing her toughness, training diligently to attain such levels of inhuman hardiness. And yet, Kira had found her a trivial opponent, the girl’s strength nothing compared to what she could unleash.

  ‘May we continue, mistress?’ asked one girl.

  ‘What?’ said Kira, being brought from her thoughts, her mind still filled with the image of the cat girl shattering the marble as though it were chalk.

  ‘We are to prepare you for the show, mistress. May we continue?’

  ‘Show?’ asked Kira.

  The recall of Lord Amatsu Mika Hoshi was hazy and indistinct, her awareness of her surroundings half-seen 161

  through the eyes of the maenad she had become. His words were barely n
oticed, and she was not sure she had heard accurately. Had she been given to him?

  ‘Our master has chosen you for entertainment this night,’ said the girl, seeming a little exasperated that Kira kept asking so many questions. Clearly they were used to the slaves of their master simply giving themselves over without word or hesitation. ‘We are his servants and are here to prepare you for it.’

  ‘I see,’ she replied with trepidation, wondering what this show would entail.

  The maids moved in as one unit, working together in practised unison. They brushed her hair, as another maid applied token appliances of cosmetics and some lipstick.

  A white thong of satin was drawn up onto her and settled into place before a suspender belt was added, then snow-white fine denier stockings. It was strange to be dressed by others, the process slightly relaxing and very arousing. Kira wanted to exploit the opportunity to caress herself, to appease the hunger in her long starved loins, but she had a feeling she would need all her sexual appetites for the feast she was being served to.

  White ankle boots were laced onto her feet, and as her collar and cuffs were polished to a dazzling sheen, one of the girls began to use rope at her back.

  The weave worked from a hub in the middle of her spine, the central point reaching around her torso to run lines above and below her breasts, making them stand out a little more from the slight squeeze. The soft ropes grabbed her biceps with a wringing fist and pulled them in before her forearms were laid parallel to each other and the wrists caught together and held in an intricate pattern of knots and hoops.

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  Kira did not resist as she was bound. She could only clamp her legs together and dream of what was going to happen to her, surrendering herself to the feel of the velvety ropes slithering across her skin, capturing her limbs and embracing her torso.