The Sting of Victory

by S D Simper

  Had she still been holding the teacup, it would have shattered as her arms went slack. “Ayla’s a vampire?”

  “Khastra certainly thinks so. It’s my best guess too.”

  Flowridia stepped back, using the bookshelf for support, barely cognitive of Etolié’s words. “What do you think, Demitri?” the Celestial said. “Wolves love vampires.”

  The back of Flowridia’s nightgown snagged against the bookshelf as she slid down. Ignoring it, Flowridia turned a pointed stare toward the small pup as her bottom touched the floor. “Demitri did say she smelled good.” She held her arms out, and Etolié carefully placed the wolf into her embrace. “Does Ayla smell like a vampire?”

  The wolf met her stare, intelligent eyes blinking innocently. How am I supposed to know what a vampire smells like?

  Etolié continued her pacing. “It could be some sort of innate compulsion magic,” she said, and suddenly she paused before darting around the corner of a bookshelf and disappearing.

  Flowridia placed Demitri on the floor. “What does she smell like, exactly?”

  Thoughtful, Demitri’s tail began to thump on the floor. Warm and soothing, like blood.

  “I don’t know if blood is soothing, dearest Demitri.”

  That’s because you don’t eat meat.

  Etolié reappeared, a small stack of books in her hands, and plopped down beside her. The book she shoved into Flowridia’s arms gave her pause – The (Nec)Romance of Undeath. “Etolié, what is this?”

  “There are countless books on undead leeches, Flowers.” In her own hands, Stakes and Holy Stones: Things to Break a Vampire’s Bones was already being perused. “I only wish I owned more. Lurker Spawn are interesting creatures, and I’d love to study one up close – especially one who’s diplomatically inclined to not drain me of life fluids.”

  Lurker Spawn was a colloquial name – given because it was said that the demon god, Izthuni, the Lurker, was incapable of siring his own children and created vampires to serve as his envoys in the mortal realm. Staring aimlessly at the table of contents, Flowridia frowned, a thought poking at her mind. Izthuni was the God of Shadows, sworn enemy of Sol Kareena, the Sun Goddess. “Sunlight burns vampires. Everyone knows that.”

  Etolié nodded.

  “Ayla was outside during the groundbreaking ceremony. It was sunset, but the light touched her.”

  “Perhaps she’s special.”

  Thoroughly unconvinced, Flowridia continued reading, letting Demitri settle into her lap. “What are you asking me to do with this knowledge, Etolié? None of it proves anything.”

  “We play the game, Flowers. If we do this right, we can trick Ayla into revealing that she’s an undead leech-”

  “Etolié, I-” Flowridia stopped herself, nerves silencing her tongue. She swallowed her words, gripping the book tight in her hands as her insides tied themselves into an endless knot.

  But Etolié suddenly knelt in front of her. “Yes?”

  The knot settled, threatening to make her ill. “I-If it’s important to you, I’ll be as helpful as I can,” she finally muttered. “I could ask her-”

  But Etolié leaned forward, eyes narrow. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong, Etolié-”

  Flowridia stopped when Etolié leaned closer still. She couldn’t say if she would ever be used to such blatant violations of her personal space. “You don’t want to do this.”

  “I-I never said-”

  “Flowers,” Etolié said, finally sliding backwards onto her posterior, “when will you accept that you won’t be burned at the stake for having an opinion?”

  Etolié watched her expectantly. Flowridia mustered her courage, staring at her lap as she said, “After what happened last night, it feels like a horrible violation of her trust. I know I’m a fool to say it, but what transpired between us was . . .” She struggled to find the word she wanted. Her hands fidgeted, grasping the other to quell her nerves. “. . . special. To me, at least. I’d never felt anything like it; I’d never had anyone look at me the way she did-” She stopped, breath hitching, finally daring to meet Etolié’s gaze.

  Etolié watched in silence a moment. “You need to be careful,” she finally said. “I told you – she’s playing with you. Pleasure is one thing, but feelings are dangerous. Politics are-”

  “A game, I know,” Flowridia said, swallowing the sudden rise of emotion in her throat. “I won’t let this cloud my judgement in Nox’Karthan negotiations.”

  Etolié looked skeptical, with her raised eyebrow. Flowridia couldn’t blame her.

  Thankfully, Etolié had never been one to push once her prying was done. She stole the book from Flowridia’s lap and began prattling on about adding a few new shelves to her library and where on earth they would find the space.

  Flowridia listened, even though her heart sank.

  * * *

  Dinner transpired with little excitement, though Ayla’s use of innuendo was nothing less than inspiring.

  “For a moment, I assumed you were the next course, with how prettily you waited-”

  “The appetizer is acceptable, but I can think of something far more delicious-”

  “Oh, won’t you share a bite with me, Flowra? Perhaps afterward-”

  But all throughout, she watched as Ayla ate and laughed, inspected her plate for signs of garlic, realized the utensils were all pure silver, yet still wondered if what Khastra and Etolié speculated was true.

  And so, when the offer was extended – “Won’t you join me for dessert, Sweet Flowra?” – Flowridia accepted with a shy smile and followed Ayla up the stairs, all while summoning the courage to simply, well, ask.

  Furthermore, as they walked, she suppressed the gnawing bit of anxiety whispering that this was merely a game. Ayla would only be in town for one more night, and so Flowridia longed to hold the illusion for a while longer yet.

  Once in her bedroom, Flowridia felt her breath leave her when Ayla began to sensuously strip from her clothing. In languid, teasing motions, she let it fall, and Flowridia hardly spared a thought toward the oddity that apparently was Nox’Karthan fashion – for Ayla wore nothing underneath her dress at all. Instead, she shyly took in the sight of Ayla’s slight figure, blushing when Ayla turned around and caught her staring.

  Ayla smiled, wide and leering. “Shall we?”

  Curiosity sparked Flowridia’s dangerous question. “May I ask something?”

  Ayla stepped forward lightly, her hands sliding around Flowridia’s waist. “Go on,” the seductive voice cooed, and suddenly Flowridia felt teeth scrape against her ear.

  Flowridia sighed, shivering in anticipation. “Are you-” Her breath caught when Ayla’s hand cupped her neck, planting kisses along her jaw. A cool hand travelled smoothly up Flowridia’s gown. “Are you a vampire?”

  “Oo . . . Not quite.” The hand at her neck slid down her collar before stopping at her breast. “Something like it. How did you guess?” Ayla laughed, squeezing roughly at Flowridia’s form.

  Flowridia sighed at the contact, her body craving more. “Imperator Casvir employs the undead,” she echoed.

  “Yet, you still came.” Ayla returned to kissing Flowridia’s neck, teeth scraping ominously against the soft skin. Flowridia heard Ayla breathe in her scent, causing a shiver to travel down her spine. “Foolish of you.”

  Flowridia’s hand came up to stroke Ayla’s fine black hair, careful to avoid where her ear would be. Pained arousal only continued to grow, and Flowridia sighed, surprised at the tenderness filling her at feeling Ayla’s touch. “I trust you,” she whispered, and she whined softly when Ayla pulled away.

  The naked woman quirked an eyebrow. “Terribly foolish.” A sardonic grin pulled at her lips. Her hands shot back to Flowridia. Nothing sweet in the touch; Ayla pushed her into bed.

  Claws ripped at her dress. Flowridia gasped, fear and arousal growing at the animalistic display. Ayla leered over her, staring hungrily down at her slight form, muscles tense
as she straddled her. “Now you know,” Ayla growled, and her lips engulfed Flowridia’s.

  Bodies touched and rubbed together. Ayla’s cold hands grabbed her, held her enthralled, and Flowridia rejoiced at every sensation.

  Teeth scraped against Flowridia’s neck, and each time she wondered if it would be her end. Hands gripped her hair, crushing the pretty blossoms woven within. Her body screamed, prey cornered by predator, but her mind and senses craved more. To be eaten alive by this woman would be a perfect end.

  When Ayla bit her inner thigh, Flowridia nearly screamed. Her hand flew down to touch Ayla’s hair, directing those lips to the wanting wetness between her legs. Oh, those skills in diplomacy and charm; the way Ayla’s tongue twisted words were but a candle in the dark compared to what her tongue spoke alone. Whatever words Ayla spelled inside her cast a powerful spell, and Flowridia gasped for breath.

  Words held power. “Oh, Ayla . . . Ayla . . .”

  Flowridia felt those lips grin.

  Her orgasm tore from her body, and she screamed at the pained pleasure. Vision faded; limbs numbed. When Flowridia fell back down to earth, she felt gentle lips against her mouth and a bitter taste at her tongue.

  Ayla kissed her, and Flowridia’s arms flew to trap her there. “Stay?” she whispered.

  “For a little while. I have much to prepare before my departure.”

  Flowridia sat up as Ayla did, reaching out to touch her face, craving contact. Her hand moved to stroke the meticulously styled hair, marveling at how it had stayed so perfectly in place despite the night’s antics. She hesitated, however, realizing from one side poked a pretty, pointed ear, while the other . . . nothing.

  Ayla offered a scornful grin. “It’s terribly embarrassing. But I won’t stop you from looking.”

  With shaking fingers, Flowridia brushed aside the curled strands of hair. There, meeting Flowridia’s view, was the scarred hole of where her ear had once been.

  Instead of flinching, Flowridia stared, curious at how clean and yet how open the gash remained. She suspected dark magic kept the layers of flesh fully visible and the severed veins from bleeding.

  Did vampires bleed?

  Ayla watched, perhaps anticipating a horrified reaction she simply wouldn’t get. Flowridia had seen far worse – helped in inflicting far worse – and wondered if it still brought pain.

  She asked, “Does it hurt?”

  “Only my pride. Ghastly, I know. But penance is penance. Once you’ve made your wishes, Casvir will restore it.” A frown marred Ayla’s features, and Flowridia wondered if it were the first genuine expression she had seen from her vampiric companion. “I hope.”

  A thought, impossible yet intriguing, compelled Flowridia to act. From her bedside table, she grabbed the severed ear, realizing it held a lower temperature than its chilled mistress. With intricate care, she removed the chain, staring at the detached pointed ear and the three earrings that decorated the sides.

  She placed it against Ayla’s face, matching the ear to the hole. Ayla chuckled darkly. “What is this mischief, Flowra?”

  Flowridia let her senses expand. She felt the severed ligaments align in perfect sync, prepared to stitch themselves back together.

  She released her spell; a bit of healing magic.

  Flesh burned, and Ayla screamed. Where magic glowed, the skin seared away in a blinding flash of light.

  A hand grabbed Flowridia and threw her like a ragdoll. She hit the wardrobe with a painful clatter, wood cracking under the force.

  Ayla’s pained gasp forced Flowridia’s eyes to open, despite the shock. From the bed, Ayla clutched the scorched flesh, hand covering the raw burn. Her fangs elongated as she turned to face Flowridia. No mere woman met Flowridia’s terrified gaze, but a monstrous visage, black pupils consuming her once vibrant eyes, her fangs much too large for her mouth.

  “I thought you were naïve, not stupid!” Ayla spat. She leapt from the bed but gripped the bedpost, nearly falling into it as she clutched her ruined face. When she released it, Flowridia saw that nearly half her face was charred, sinew and bone visible by the ear itself. The line of sizzling, dead flesh barely stopped short of her inhuman eye.

  Tears fell down Flowridia’s cheeks as she hid her face from Ayla’s wrath. “I’m sorry! I wanted to help you.”

  The bedpost cracked as Ayla’s fingers dug into the dark wood. Then, Ayla stood tall, her slow release of breath more a growl than air. The color in her eyes slowly reappeared, slim rings of blue around pits of black.

  Ayla stepped forward, and Flowridia bit back a scream as she flinched, pain tearing through her spine. “I’m going to need some time,” Flowridia heard through her own crying.

  Silence. Flowridia stayed in fetal position, shaking, sobbing. Ayla had gone. Still, Flowridia remained, fear and guilt battling for dominance. The image replayed over and over of Ayla’s burned flesh and exposed bone.

  She clung to her hair, struggling to breathe. Oh, she was stupid. She was so stupid.

  Scratching at the door evoked a gasp. Flowridia stared, eyes swollen, as a small paw reached under the door.

  Demitri could sense her feelings. Of course he knew she was in distress. Sharp pain ripped through her core as she tried to move, a cry escaping unbidden from her lips. Throbbing pain emanated from her arm where Ayla had gripped and thrown her. It hung limp; she feared it had broken.

  A frantic knock overshadowed the scratching. “Flowers? What’s going on?”

  “Etolié-” She kept her breaths shallow.

  “Everyone cover up. I’m coming in!”

  A locked door would do nothing to detour the Celestial. The knob turned with no resistance, and Etolié peeked inside. Her eyes met Flowridia’s, and she gasped. “Demitri, get a healer,” she said, rushing toward Flowridia’s crumpled, naked form. “Flowers, what happened? Are you hurt?”

  Flowridia trembled, from shame as much as pain. “Not as much as Ayla.” Holding her head up proved a difficult task, so with a pained wince she rested her forehead on the carpet.

  “I’m going to turn on a lamp, all right Flowers? I’m still with you.”

  Light flickered through the shade of her hair. She felt Etolié kneel beside her. Gentle fingers moved to touch her head, but Flowridia flinched, pained at the contact. Ayla’s grip would surely bruise. “Can you tell me what happened?” the Celestial asked frantically.

  Demitri ran to her side, his cold nose sniffing her form. What happened? Why are you scared? You’re hurt!

  Flowridia managed to look up, but gasped when she saw who lingered in the doorway. Thalmus surveyed the scene, his eyes wide with anger, with sorrow, with shock – Flowridia couldn’t tell. She instinctively curled, ashamed at her nude form, but another sharp pain twisted her back when she tried. A cry tore from her throat.

  Etolié broke the tension. “She needs a healer.”

  “Cover her up,” Thalmus said, voice shaking. “I’ll set her bones; then, she can heal herself.”

  A sheet gently caressed her broken body, soft enough to cause no further pain. Then came Thalmus’ hand on her back, lighter than a leaf on the water, and the deep rumble of his voice. “Your back isn’t broken. But I think your arm may be. Etolié and I are going to turn you over.”

  Flowridia braced herself, unable to hold back the gasp of pain when she felt herself jostled. She shut her eyes, though they still leaked tears.

  A pillow met her head before she could set it down. Flowridia released a pained sigh, trying to relax underneath the light sheet. She noticed, then, how Thalmus trembled as he studied her, how his jaw quivered as his hand delicately touched her shattered upper arm.

  Pain spiked. Flowridia screeched at the contact. Thalmus stiffened. “I’ll need to set this, Flowra. It will hurt, but only for a moment.”

  She managed a nod, accepting Etolié’s hand when offered.

  Pain ripped through her arm, sharper than the injury itself. She cried out, squeezing the Celestial’s hand until the p
ain settled.

  “I brought healing salves. It should numb the pain enough for you to focus. Will you be able to heal yourself?”

  Flowridia managed a nod, letting Etolié support her as she tentatively moved, willing away the shooting pain in her core.

  Cream touched her arm, and with it Thalmus’ gentle hands. Like a bandage, where the salve touched it hugged the skin, cooling it, numbing it. Underneath, Flowridia felt the lacerated bone. With a bracing sigh, she let her own tendrils of magic caress the ruined portion, knitting it together and leaving it warm and throbbing.

  She should have been as shattered as the wardrobe door, but as Flowridia focused her energy, safe in the company of her friends, she felt the residual protections from the flowers braided into her hair.

  The pain in her head quickly subsided. Her core began to numb.

  “Who did this?” Thalmus whispered, his eyes wide and watery.

  Etolié responded. “Ayla Darkleaf.”

  “It isn’t what it looks like,” Flowridia said frantically. She knew what it looked like, with her bruised neck and battered, nude form. “I burned her. I tried to heal her.”

  Through her blurred, tear-stained vision, Flowridia watched Thalmus’ eyes roam her form. “Before or after she had her way with you?”

  “After. Thalmus-”

  “This confirms my suspicions,” Thalmus interrupted, his enormous form blocking the light. “Did you know Ayla was undead?”

  Flowridia nodded.

  “Ayla Darkleaf is held together by necromancy. What heals the living will wound the dead.”

  Flowridia shut her eyes, releasing a relaxed sigh. Her core had numbed, and she felt the bruising begin to wane. Her arm had become a muted throbbing. “But something must heal her.”

  “Ayla is a monster spawned from necromancy – one of the great evils of the world,” Thalmus replied, his dark eyes narrowing. “When all is right in the natural world, the dead remain dead.”

  A warm tongue licked her hand. Flowridia opened her eyes, weakened and sore, and caressed Demitri’s fur with her fingers.