Harnessed Angels: The Quickening

by Ann Vremont

  “Took you long enough to get here,” he said, his back to her.

  “You’re not stealing the tablet,” she said and stepped into the basement. Behind her, the door slammed shut and the lock clicked into place.

  “Cool trick.” She had to will her voice to remain calm. “Can’t wait to learn it.”

  Colm turned, smiled, and inched the black bag forward with his foot. Inside the bag, glass rattled. Too late, Sara realized that she had walked into a trap. She scrutinized Colm, noted the beatific smugness that possessed him. He was near the point of bursting with serene self-satisfaction.

  “How did you know I would come here?” she asked.

  “Stall all you want, Sara,” Colm gloated. “I’m more than willing to pass a little time toying with you until my guest arrives.”

  “Your guest?” she asked. He had started to flex his muscles, like a cat preparing to spring on a mouse. She tried the indirect approach. “Couldn’t you have scheduled an appointment?”

  “Too hard. This is much easier,” Colm said. “Just snap my fingers and here you are.”

  “I don’t think so,” Sara goaded. “You’re caught and now you want to backpedal, as if you planned my coming here.”

  “They haven’t told you anything, have they?” Colm shook his head in false commiseration. “We’re linked now, baby. I created you—I’m your daddy now. Forever.” His gaze purposefully raked over Sara, his mouth shaped into a succulent pucker. “Like a good father, I’m always going to know where you are, especially when your body is in so much pain, so hungry.”

  Sara winced. She thought she had been hiding her hunger, concealing the cold cramps that squeezed her guts in an iron grip.

  “Why haven’t you fed yet?” Mocking concern coated his words. He bent down to the bag, teasingly rummaged through it. “No answer? No matter. This will take the edge off.”

  Colm pulled a hypodermic needle from the bag, clear liquid with a bitter smell spurting from the tip as he plunged the last of the air from the tube.

  Sara felt a surge of adrenaline at the sight of the needle. Voice tense as she spoke, she asked him, “What’s that for?”

  “Well, Sara, you’re a little impulsive. More so than anyone thought. And I’ll have enough on my hands trying to control Patrick.”

  “Your guest?” Sara asked.

  Keep him talking! The voice, not her own, whispered urgently in her mind and she blanched.

  “What’s the matter?” Colm asked, the idiot’s grin printed across his face.

  “I don’t like needles,” she replied. She let her face drop into a horrified, paralyzed mask, slurred her words, prayed that she appeared too shocked and terrified to fight back. “You told Patrick to meet you at the student union. Not here,” she reminded him numbly.

  “Yeah, you, me and my special guest,” he laughed. “We’re going to pick Patrick up, then we’re going to visit Patrick’s daddy.”

  “Mathias—”

  “Won’t get back in time, Sara,” Colm gloated. “We made sure of that…he’s such a sucker for League business

  “You’re going after the other half of the tablet?” Sara asked. Colm nodded, rose to his feet and waggled the needle. “Why do you need me, then?” she asked.

  “I don’t, you dumb bitch!” His face contorted from the good-natured jock rapist he played so well by day to pure rage. “But orders are orders.”

  He took a deep breath, held it as if to calm himself. His gaze, focused on Sara, widened in surprise as she sprang forward. Her jump had enough height to it that she kicked at the hand holding the syringe, sent the needle flying across the basement. Pulling both knees in and up, she crashed into his chest a split second later. The blow sent them both to the floor, but Sara was prepared. She tucked her knees to her chest and rolled to the side, instantly springing to her feet. The black bag was next to her, loaded with an impressive supply of filled syringes. She scooped one up and pounced on Colm a second time. She straddled him, her mouth fastening on the hollow between his neck and shoulder while she jabbed him along the jaw line and held her thumb poised above the syringe’s plunger.

  Sara bit into his neck, dug the needle deeper into his skin to stop his angry threats. The flow of blood from his throat was small, barely more than the stingy trickle he had sacrificed when he turned her.

  “What made you such an angry little prick?” She breathed the demand into his mind, biting down harder as he resisted. The muscles where her jaws met swelled and she found that she could force more blood from him.

  No answer? She laughed silently while she knocked down his mental barrier and stepped into the shadowy interior of his memories. No matter!

  Chapter Twelve

  Sara stepped into a ring of short, rounded stones. Around its perimeter stood men and women, white robes flowing, a wind catching and playing with their graying hair. The circle of bodies parted and a young woman in her late teens was led to the makeshift wooden altar in the center of the stones. The woman walked as if drugged and an attendant steadied her on either side. A man stepped forward, a circlet of gold crowning his head, and raised his arms. At the gesture, the two attendants lifted the woman onto the altar. A whispered protest fell from the woman before the attendants pulled open her robe to expose the milky white breasts and thighs, the naturally rounded stomach that shallowed to display dark auburn pubic hair.

  She turned her head to look at the man and managed a second protest. “Father, no.”

  The man looked into her frightened, dilated eyes and reprimanded her in low, hushed tones. “Do not shame your house, girl.”

  The man nodded once at an old man in a druid’s robes that had taken the opposite position at the altar. The old man raised wizened hands that clasped a dagger between them. He mumbled to the night sky, asked the moon’s blessing, and plunged the scian d’escairt into the area beneath the center of the young woman’s rib cage. The slim blade sliced through the diaphragm, opened the tissue surrounding her intestines and lodged against her pubic bone. The druid reached into her stomach, pulled the slick tubes of her guts onto a tray and raised his bloody hands to the sky. “Great Mother, we seek your counsel and your forgiveness.”

  As the girl lay expiring on the table, the warm contents of her body steaming the night air, a torch was brought to where the old man stood over the tray and delicately sifted through the organs. His face was thrown into a paroxysm of divine pleasure and he called out to the crowd, “We must send the king’s son to our enemy. Colm, the dove, will bring peace back to us. The Great Mother wills it.”

  The king grabbed the old man by the shoulder, the sudden movement sending the tray and its contents spilling onto the green earth, the blades of grass instantly bedewed with blackening drops of blood.

  “You have made him my only heir this night,” he reminded the old man. “You will not send him away!”

  But the Great Mother had spoken. The wind, a gentle breeze before, whipped itself into a fury and blew the vision of the king arguing with the old man away. A second gust of wind blew another onto the stage of Colm’s mind. A fat druid, dirty-robed, paced the battlement of a wooden fortress—one built by the Roman general, Athos, in his campaign to bring the inhabitants of Albion under Rome’s rule. It was, so it appeared, the same old man, grown fat from eating at the Roman’s tables, as had sacrificed the king’s daughter.

  “Druidh Brau! I’ll have no more lessons from you.” The voice that spoke had a warm, rich timbre and was instantly recognizable as belonging to Colm O’Tethra.

  “General Athos insists otherwise!” Brau argued.

  The mention of the general’s name brought a strong mix of feelings to Colm’s mind. Fear, fascination, and an unexplained spark of lust that thickened the shaft of his cock as he examined the Roman’s strange effect upon him. “Only because he uses you as a spy,” Colm accused. “He should not doubt my loyalty by now. I have helped him plot dozens of campaigns against my own people, detailed their vulnerabilities, de
nounced my own father!”

  “General Athos would have you understand the history and superstitions of your people to use against them.” The druid’s tones were obsequious and Colm wondered when Brau had become Athos’s pawn—before the sacrifice of Colm’s sister, Brigit, or after Brau had been ordered to accompany Colm to Athos’s encampment.

  “The general can state his reasons directly to me if he wishes me to still play pupil to you!” The challenge was issued before Colm had time to consider the consequences of his words. Athos was feared among his own men. Unnatural in appearance, reportedly freakish in strength, and possessed with the uncanny ability to detect those disloyal to him, all but one of the camp’s inhabitants avoided the general at all costs. To Colm, however, Athos was the most civilized soul at camp. He possessed an expansive mind and was generous with his teachings when he chose to visit his royal captive. Which was too seldom. Colm’s chest puffed with a deep sigh.

  Brau’s stare was filled with an angry aura of wounded pride. And something else—some knowledge related to the general that Colm ached to know. That this pig of a creature before him should have some insight on the great man, some secret wisdom! Colm turned his back on the druid and began the walk back to his room. “You have my orders, Brau,” Colm commanded before he disappeared down the corridor. “No more from you until I hear it from his lips.”

  Colm was shaking by the time he reached his room and closed his door. He longed for a lock, something with which to ensure himself some privacy. Privacy of any sort only came when Athos was in the room.

  Would he come? Or finally order a whipping? Colm had come close to a beating several times by not following the rules imposed on the other prisoners. The guards hated his special status, despised him as a traitor at the same time they benefited from his knowledge. He saw it in their eyes, in the way they leaned insultingly towards him. Only Athos’s intervention had saved him on those occasions.

  There was a knock at the door and Colm’s heart leapt in his chest. Only one person afforded him the courtesy of knocking.

  “General Athos!” Colm greeted the older man with a broad smile as he opened the door and waved Athos into the room. “I hope you have forgiven my impudence with Brau.” Colm’s gaze was lowered submissively but he peeked through the dark auburn lashes.

  The general’s angular frame was dressed in black fabric molded to the man’s limbs. Colm’s breathing hitched as he noticed the bulge of Athos’s ever-erect cock. He marveled at the man’s stamina, wondered as to the source of his constant arousal. Some, sure they were in no danger of being overheard, said it was blood.

  “I’ve been wondering when you would tire of him,” Athos said and pulled a wooden chair into the center of the room. He sat down heavily, his long legs splayed, hands resting along the inside of his thighs while he studied Colm. “It pleases me that you are ready to put aside childhood acquaintances.”

  Pleasure swelled in Colm’s body and flushed his light skin a soft pink. Athos gestured for Colm to take a seat on the bed, as there were no other chairs in the small room.

  “I would know, however, that your education is not incomplete,” Athos added and rose to open the door. His head disappeared into the hallway while he ordered the guard to bring wine and a meal for Colm. “You are excellent with the sword,” Athos said and began a laundry list of Colm’s accomplishments. “So, too, do you sit a horse well.”

  “Thank you, General,” Colm said. His eyes began to moisten and he stared down at his feet, ashamed that he might show any weakness in front of the man he admired so much.

  “Gratitude isn’t a weakness, Tethra,” Athos advised him.

  Colm lifted his gaze, his eyes widening in surprise at how well the man could read his feelings. “Thank you for that, as well.”

  “What about women?” Athos asked. A small smile tainted the question, as if Colm’s brief experiences were plainly written on the young man’s face.

  “A serving wench, or two,” Colm confessed. He looked at Athos, his gaze flicking down to the erection outlined against the man’s stomach. The organ pulsed as Colm’s gaze momentarily caught and caressed it.

  “The camp’s serving wenches?” Athos asked.

  “No, the whores only offer it up if they think you have something to give them,” Colm bit out. “A dead man with tokens on his eyes has more appeal to those bitches than a captive such as I.”

  “A dead man,” Athos mused and his beetle black eyes flashed brightly. “Shall we put it to the test?”

  Colm was about to ask the general what was meant when one of the guards returned with a serving wench loaded down with a tray of meat and wine.

  “Stay and serve, girl,” Athos commanded the young woman. She filled a cup and offered it to him but he nodded his displeasure, pointed her to where Colm still sat on the bed. “Serve him.”

  The young woman looked directly at Colm for the first time since she had entered the room. The candlelight hinted at chestnut colored hair. The grass green eyes held visible contempt for him and her body moved stiffly as she offered Colm the cup of wine.

  “Brigit.” Colm whispered the name, the image of his slain sister on the altar flickering in front of him.

  “Kaidryn,” the young woman corrected him, her voice flat and hard. Her lips curled into a quiet snarl while she prepared a plate of meat and bread for Colm.

  “You’ve got to remember, Colm,” Athos said and grabbed Kaidryn by the waist. He pulled her to his lap, where she sat meekly, her body trembling. “You can wait for someone to give you something, or you can take it.” Athos swung the woman around so that she was leaning over him. “Knees,” he commanded.

  Kaidryn slid onto the floor, tears already beginning to slip down her cheeks. Her slim white fingers tugged at the front waistband of his pants until Athos’s cock bobbed free. The sight caused both Kaidryn and Colm to gasp—Kaidryn in fear and Colm in fascination. White as fresh ivory, the cock had thick traces of blue veins beneath its surface. Thin and long, it looked nothing like an instrument of pleasure, no give to the skin when Kaidryn pressed her soft lips onto its tip. Her lips lingered around its hard point until Athos grew impatient and forced her to take its full length, his hands on either side of her head, forcing her mouth to make the long strokes, her tears providing lubrication. At last a small shudder passed over his body, the milky cream spurting into Kaidryn’s mouth as she tried to pull away.

  Athos released Kaidryn and she collapsed to the floor. His gaze traveled over Colm’s body, noticed the hard, shallow breaths, the stiff cock, and the thighs and fists that clenched rhythmically. “Take her.”

  The words were as soft as a suggestion but Colm knew they were a command.

  Kaidryn tried to scramble to her feet but Athos lifted a heavy boot and sent her sprawling backwards onto Colm’s lap. Colm’s cock ached at the soft press of her struggling body against him. He reached an arm around to secure her, roughly cupped her breast and rolled her onto the mattress. Where she had been meek for Athos, she turned into a wildcat beneath Colm, cursing him.

  “Better a Roman than a traitor to his own people,” she tore out.

  Her nails sought his face and Colm grabbed her arms, looked helplessly down at her skirt and his own breeches. Athos leaned over and lifted her skirts. Pulling a dagger from the sheath at his side, he stripped away the loose undergarments that blocked her pussy. He stood and pulled Colm’s pants down to his knees, emitting a soft chuckle as he did so. The sound of the laugh rumbling in the man’s chest coaxed Colm’s already engorged cock into a heavier fullness that he buried in Kaidryn with one thrust. Her curses sounded in his ear and he laughed at her, told her he already was cursed, that she had best save her magic for another fool. He pumped furiously, his cock growing more numb with each blow against her unyielding interior. The chance for release faded with each stroke.

  Kaidryn’s eyes widened in surprise and she bared her teeth in a hate-filled smile. Colm lifted his ass for a deeper thrust and hi
s own eyes grew wide at the cold piercing of Athos inside him. His body was bounced against Kaidryn, her gaze mad with a defeated triumph as Athos buried himself deeper inside Colm. Athos lifted the woman’s legs and wrapped them around their bodies. She began to scream and Athos intensified his efforts, his cock slick with the blood that seeped from Colm.

  Colm’s screams joined those of Kaidryn, a guilty pleasure filling him as he realized there was no protest in his voice, just a famished demand for more. Athos hissed in pleasure, spasmed against Colm’s backside, held him tight while an icy chill spread through the younger man. Colm contracted around Athos and filled Kaidryn with his own orgasm.

  Athos released his hold on Colm and the young man collapsed against Kaidryn, who was now too weak to push him away. Her eyes glazed over and she repeated her curses. Beneath Colm, her breaths came in shallow pants.

  “The lesson isn’t over,” Athos said and pulled his pants up over his still stiff cock. The sight produced a small, secondary spurt of cum from Colm and he groaned against Kaidryn’s breasts.

  The dagger reappeared and was handed to Colm. “Would you have her tell everyone?” Athos asked.

  Colm looked at Kaidryn’s eyes, dark with insanity, listened to the names she called him, the gods she invoked against him. Before he realized what he was doing, Colm pulled the blade across her neck and stopped the wild muttering. Blood splashed against his face and he closed his eyes against it, only lightly aware that Athos was pulling him from Kaidryn’s dying body.

  Colm wiped the blood from his eyelids and stared at the bed. Athos was hunched over Kaidryn, his mouth at the wound, the force of his sucking arcing her head back and raising her chest. There was no hint that she still drew breath. One arm lay over the side of the mattress and her fingertips grazed the floor. When no more blood was to be had, Athos let her body fall back to the bed and turned toward Colm. The younger man’s face was smeared with blood and Athos took Colm’s face in his hands, kissed his cheeks, ran his tongue over the stained lips. Colm felt his cock throb anew when Athos’s slipped his blood-soaked tongue into Colm’s mouth and probed his throat. He pressed his body against Athos and groaned in agony as the kiss ended. His body swelled in fresh hope as the lips traveled to his neck and licked the still liquid blood from the hollow of his throat.