“What are you going to do to me?” Breanna gasped.
Evelyn kept Breanna pinned to the bed and slid across her milky white body until those cool lips almost touched her partner’s ear. Even though Breanna could feel those lips quiver, she sounded far away.
“Oh. I’m going to fuck you…” Evelyn said.
“That’s it?” Breanna asked, although that smile was anything but comforting.
Evelyn nodded before responding replied, “...to death…”
* * * *
Evelyn could not have chosen a more creative way of ending Breanna’s life. That was half the fun after all: an opportunity to create a tableau mort that would forever haunt investigators and, with a little luck, drive them insane.
Most of her victims were men, since they had been the source of much of her misery in life. One of those bastards had abandoned her as a child, while streams of men used, abused, and treated her no better than a piece of rotting meat. In her eyes, their kind deserved nothing but contempt, and those who dared cross her would find out just how sadistic she was.
Breanna’s room was littered with toys: vibrators, plugs, beads, paddles, and whips. Evelyn, the slender brunette with a tight body, had donned a strap-on and was busy teasing her partner with its appendage. She used nothing more than the tip, plunging it into Breanna’s pussy an inch or so before pulling it out again.
While Breanna’s wrists were secured to the bed, her legs were completely under Evelyn’s control. She could open them up as wide as they would go for deep penetration or place them together for increased stimulation. A marathon of sex meant Evelyn needed to be nimble and adept, or risk her partner getting bored. Why give her any respite? That would be tantamount to showing mercy.
At first, her focus had been on Breanna’s clitoris and breasts. Now she was punishing her pussy and, if this went on much longer, would introduce anal stimulation to keep things on track. All the while, her partner’s fatigue grew just as her ability to lubricate ebbed. That forced Evelyn to compensate; while pain had its place, it needed to be applied strategically for effect.
“N-N-No,” Breanna managed to say.
It had been the better part of twenty minutes since Breanna last spoke. Her heart rate climbed hand-in-hand with fatigue, and by now, adrenaline was coursing through her veins to keep her functional. Evelyn heard the heart pounding behind that beautiful chest, a guide on how hard to push.
Evelyn had been building her partner up for a while. The shallow penetration with her legs wide open permitted her to focus on the area with the highest concentration of nerve endings. With every stroke, she brought the other closer to another orgasm and figured this one would be of epic proportions.
She was aware that Breanne would not be able to remain in a perpetual state of orgasm. Sure, that stressed the heart, but that relegated this affair an aerobic exercise, enabling her to adjust to the heightened levels of exertion. The trick was to stress her heart, force it to go anaerobic, like doing wind sprints while running a marathon.
“Please…” Breanna whispered.
Evelyn giggled. That pleading was a sign that her partner was close. She brought Breanna’s legs together and, without mercy, plunged the strap-on in as deep as it would go. The pressure and sensations that originated from the change in position led to an explosive orgasm.
The heart rate climbed and would soon plateau if Evelyn eased up in any way. So she moved in and quickly. The penetration was hard and caused their bodies to smack together with every thrust. When she got up to full speed, it sounded vaguely like applause.
This time, her heart rate reached stratospheric levels. Breanna closed her eyes and winced from the overstimulation brought on by the waves of pleasure. Evelyn noticed that Breanna was straining against her bindings, the restraints digging into her wrists, but they would hold. The sounds Breanna managed to make were a mixture of crying and laughter. Her mind could no longer grasp what was going on.
The longer Evelyn pushed this position, the more her heart was stressed, the faster she moved. One-sixty, one-eighty and finally reaching two-hundred beats per minute. This was the fourth time that her heart surpassed that threshold but, this time, the heart was noticeably fatigued. Evelyn noted that the reactions were delayed.
“Perfect,” Evelyn whispered.
When the heart rate dipped, Evelyn upped the ante. She bent Breanna’s legs against her own chest, while penetrating her from higher up. This further concentrated the pressure and the effect it had on the nerve endings. Breanna would feel as though she were about to combust, if such a thing were possible.
The orgasm intensified, and the heart rate spiked. Evelyn, unhindered by the limitations of the male organ, drove into her at superhuman speeds. The heart, exhausted, quivered momentarily. First, one chamber went wild followed by the other. The chaos in her heart caused Breanna to bite down hard, that is, until a part of her heart stopped entirely.
Breanna’s eyes turned glassy and unresponsive. Her breathing stopped in mid motion, her final moan silenced before it could mature into an earth shattering scream.
Evelyn listened while that muscle struggled to keep up, but the added strain only hastened complete failure. The heart gave out entirely and filled the room in a deafening silence.
She remained inside Breanna long enough to ensure that Marc was himself again and, with her mobile, remotely disengaged the locks to her room so he could assist. Evelyn spent the time committing every detail of those features to memory, disappointed that she had to waste such a divine specimen. But then again, all is fair in love and war.
* * * *
Eventually, she grew tired of watching Breanna decay. Her body was beginning to cool, and the blood settled. If they delayed much longer, they would forfeit the keys to the Georgian fortress.
“Can’t have that,” Evelyn said. “Can we, ma chère?”
Evelyn slipped away from her partner and off the bed. Breanna’s legs remained momentarily in position but soon flopped onto the bed. She giggled at the sight while sauntering over to the bedroom door.
She opened the door and found the silhouette of her impeccably dressed sire. He turned around, looked Evelyn straight in the eyes, but remained quiet. Despite Evelyn being naked, bloody, covered in someone else’s sweat, and sporting a large purple strap-on, he never made a peep.
“If you actually used that penis of yours, I wouldn’t need toys so much,” Evelyn said.
The tease had no effect, and never would. Yet either would be concerned if the other behaved out of character. Evelyn moved aside, letting Marc into the room to get started.
Marc would drain the body of blood, adding in an anticoagulant to keep the supply viable. Fingerprints would be harvested along with those delicate green eyes. Anything less would deny them access to the Georgian stronghold.
She sat down at the dressing table and stroked the purple appendage. Despite death being an old companion, Evelyn felt discomfort at the idea of witnessing what was about to happen.
“I need to wash and grab a quick bite,” Evelyn said. “Please treat Breanna’s remains with respect.”
Evelyn then walked out of the bedroom, her hips swaying alluringly. All the while, that purple phallus swung in the opposing direction. Marc never turned around to look. After all, there was work to be done.
* * * *
Mason walked in through the front door of the lab. The equipment hummed away while every display was lit up like a birthday cake. All processing resources were dedicated to finding out what had gone wrong and accessing the damage to the timeline. With a little luck, they might even learn if it was possible to reverse this mess.
“Breanna!” Mason called out.
There was no response, which was decidedly odd given that she was almost always here before him. Besides, that woman never passed up the chance to cut him off mid-speech. It may have been an annoying trait, but she knew the answers, and that made it all worthwhile.
Unlike Brett, who curio
usly, was also not here. His temples began to throb, annoyed at the man who should have stayed behind to make sure these calculations got done. The induced stress would soon shift to his forehead before it enveloped his skull entirely.
“Fuck!” Mason exclaimed. “Where is that lazy sack of shit?”
When Mason got closer to a console, he noticed that the processing requirements were taxing the building’s environmentals. This was a concern, since the building’s cooling towers were working beyond their rated capacity to keep all of this equipment cool. That meant the building would light up like a torch on infrared imagery.
When Mason looked up from one of the consoles, he spotted a reflection. Brett’s image was crystal clear and hinted strongly that he was asleep on the job. Wait? What! How did he miss seeing him before?
He turned around but could not find the source of the reflection. Brett should have been right behind him and, as judged by the reflection, no more than ten metres away. His original question lingered. If these estimates were true, there was no way to miss him.
“Bastard snores anyways,” Mason said under his breath.
Mason was suspicious. His hand slipped into his jacket and came into contact with a small metal cylinder. A staff, his weapon, but something gave him a reason to pause.
Just ahead, there was a woman: petite, curvy, sensual. Her black shoulder length hair shimmered and her piercing green eyes, along with her smile, were stunning. So much so, he almost missed the fact that she was naked.
Why was that smile so familiar? There was something about this moment that left him with a profound sense of déjà vu. Still, it was difficult to act without first confirming the identity of the one before him.
“Code word Oscar-Zulu-Niner-Niner. Authenticate,” Mason said.
As a precaution, he kept his hand concealed and would not react until he knew for certain. For now, it paid in kind, to avoid threatening a potential superior.
“Ink-Edward-Four-Two,” Evelyn said flatly. She then smirked before adding, “Identify.”
Mason’s head and neck snapped back in response. The authentication code was correct, although it was nearly a century out of date. To his knowledge, that agent had died before the Dirty Thirties.
“You’re dead,” Mason said.
“Interesting designation,” Evelyn said before giggling.
“That agent died—,” Mason tried to rephrase.
“The fifteenth of May, nineteen-twenty-eight?” Evelyn asked.
“Yeah,” Mason said while his confused mind stretched out that word. “How—,” Mason attempted to ask.
Evelyn’s giggle cut him off, which made this exchange distinctly familiar. This had Breanna’s fingerprints all over it, even if this was not her.
“Well, for one,” Evelyn said while she began to move towards him. “I was there.”
“You can’t be him,” Mason said.
“Of course not,” Evelyn said, while looking at her breasts. “So…”
“So?” Mason asked.
“What does that make me?” Evelyn asked, concealing the frustration incurred by dealing with this obtuse man.
“You kill—” Mason said.
“Not exactly,” Evelyn began, “but, you’re getting warmer.”
Evelyn continued her approach, the sway of her hips was both sensual and entrancing. Meanwhile, thoughts rattled around inside Mason’s head, but the answers evaded him. This was odd, considering he had no trouble dealing with complex numbers or mental computations.
Finally, a part of him panicked, so he reached for the button that would activate the weapon. His hand wrapped itself around the cool steel cylinder, and he instantly felt safer, or at least until another hand grabbed his, forced the cylinder into an awkward angle, and activated the device.
The staff expanded from the size of a beer can to Mason’s full height. Alas, his rib cage was in the way forcing weapon to skewer muscle and organs resulting pulverised bone travelling through and through.
He looked up in shock, fortunate that there was not enough time for any pain to register. All he saw were those green eyes getting closer and closer until a powerful push propelled him backwards. The lower end of the staff dug in between panels on the floor, and his weight did the rest. Mason rode the shaft until reaching the floor, leaving a bloody high water mark on the weapon.
“The correct answer is,” Evelyn explained. “I was there as a distraction.”
Mason had already stopped breathing by the time Evelyn answered his lingering question. Those words echoed back, haunting him while his mind disintegrated into oblivion.
Once his heart stopped, she looked up at her beau. He stood there without a hint of emotion, as always, and yet knew that he loved her. He may not have been capable of feeling that emotion in the Shakespearean sense, but this man had saved her far too many times for it to be a lie.
Marc walked away for a moment and returned with her clothes. He may have been cold and emotionless to the world, but he certainly knew how to treat a lady. He helped her get dressed and, as always, she used the opportunity to tease.
Evelyn looked around the room. This was a first for their kind, and they had their hands on a literal treasure trove. There was enough technology and information in here to alter the course of human history.
“What should we do?” Evelyn asked.
Marc faced her, staring into those piercing green eyes. It was as though he were looking for her soul, although they both knew that was impossible. When he smiled, she understood his position instantly.
“You’re right. Think of all the mischief I could cause,” Evelyn said with a wink.
Marc nodded, and went outside the lab to fetch a bag. From within, he produced a severed hand and handed it to Evelyn.
The young lady giggled in response, winked, and said, “Always keen to have a lady accessorise.”
She walked towards the door, but before hitting the airlock, she casually tossed the hand onto a nearby station. She guessed it would not take long to trigger the lab’s defences.
Sure enough, once the console registered the foreign genetic material, it went into alarm. At first, only one console was affected, but it spread to all the others when the initial authentication requests failed.
Any Georgian could override the alarm by authenticating, but they were all dead. That meant there was no one to confirm or deny the nature of the threat.
While they walked down the stairs, they heard the generators ramping up, driven beyond their design limits. The lab would soon be bathed in a massive electro-magnetic pulse that would render all that equipment unsalvageable.
When the generators were done, they wound down permanently. Unfortunately, these generators also powered this building and surrendered every floor to the night. That did not bother them. They were born of this and loved to play where others dared not trespass.
THE VAN HELSING RESURGENCE
The first of Clara’s senses to return was her hearing. Her mind swirled in a drug induced haze, which made it all the more challenging to concentrate. Every sound was distorted, clipped, and focused on the lower frequencies. At first, Clara was not sure what to make of it.
Eventually, the reverberation lessened, and pitch increased enough so that words filtered through. Curious, she maintained her heart rate, measured her breathing, and kept her eyes closed. People had a tendency to loosen their tongues when they believed their prisoners were unconscious.
“What do you have?” some man asked from the other side of the wall and, since no name was used, Clara settled on John.
Clara’s ears perked up, so it was fortunate that her hair concealed the motion. She concentrated and found three distinct heart beats. The one who asked the question had just arrived, indicated by the footsteps and closing doors.
“Female, Caucasian, in her early-thirties,” a woman replied and, this time, Clara christened her Jane.
“Not what she seems?” John asked.
“Well, fingerprints
came up clean, although there were matches to partials lifted from crime scenes in the Twenties,” Jane answered. “A search through our main databases came up empty; she is squeaky clean. A bit too clean…”
“What do you mean?” John queried.
“Queries through all of our secondary sources also came up empty,” Jane replied. “She has never visited a hospital in any of the Five Eyes nations or even within a NATO nation. Her facial and retinal scans tells us that she never travelled by commercial air, was arrested, nor ever had a picture ID.”
“Looks like she wouldn’t need to board a plane,” John said.
The Van Helsing Resurgence Page 27
