by Multi-Author
Trist materialized between them, strung out by hooks digging into his flesh, crossing over his chest, and seemingly chained to four corners of the air. His beautiful brown hair caked in dried blood. His body torn and bruised from the devil’s attentions.
She almost fell to her knees. They shook and she steeled herself. She couldn’t give in. There was an agenda here; she had to wait and see what it was. Lacey refused to allow herself to run to him, as her body screamed to do. She dug in her heels and brought her eyes back to the devil.
“Isn’t he gorgeous, little bird? Spread-eagle, waiting for you to take him home.” The devil licked a finger and then ran it along Trist’s chest. He yelled out in pain as the finger seared his flesh with each touch. Trist’s head fell back when the devil lifted his touch from him. Trist’s eyes opened and his gaze found her. She couldn’t help but let the hot tears slide down her cheeks as her heart cracked, calling out, raging against her better judgment. His deep brown eyes were bloodshot, one swollen. His lips trembled in agony. The scream of his soul, a ripping pain in her head as it reached out for her help.
“Don’t you want to take him home?”
Her body shook. She did, she wanted to grab him up, cradle him, and disappear back into the mortal world and cloak him with her magic, hiding him away so the devil would never find him again. She turned her anger towards the devil, her eyes boring into his. Lacey gave a firm nod. She wanted to take him home.
“I’ll make you a deal. Give up your power and I’ll let you walk away with him. Once you reach top-side, he will have no knowledge of you and won’t be able to see or hear you. You won’t exist to him anymore. Do you still want him?”
Not exist... The words constricted her heart. She took a step back, hesitant. And give up her powers? How could she do such a thing? She didn’t even know how she could just give them both up. Trist meant more than her powers and she couldn’t have either? They were both hers.
The devil smirked and rubbed his hands together slowly. As each palm passed the other, the hooks and chains on Trist tightened, ripping his flesh so slowly from his body that his beautiful eyes widened. His mouth formed a silent scream and she watched as the devil tore the flesh, little by little, from his chest. Each time Trist threatened to pass out, the devil kept him awake through magic of his own, elongating the pain and reveling in it.
Her stomach twisted as her soul inflamed through his pain. His demon soul had touched hers and she couldn’t stand to see him this way. Tears bore down her face as her hand came out in a stop sign. It had to end. If Trist would no longer be tortured, then she’d give him up. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself otherwise.
As each tear fell, so did a memory. He’d met her passion with a great deal of his own throughout the years. Every time Lacey sought him out, he was there. His body waiting and willing. Allowing her to do with him as she pleased. Taking his cock into her tight pussy, feeling him hard for her, slipping back and forth, teasing herself and him. Moving slender hips in figure eight motions, watching his eyes roll back in satisfaction. She loved the sound of his deep guttural moans built from desire and lust for her. He’d always drive her just as wantonly as she had him, easily rolling her over, pulling out his cock, and replacing it with strong fingers that massaged and worked her g-spot as his tongue found her swollen clit, causing juices to flow as her desire coiled around her core. She let her body run wild with him, let down her guard. A firecracker with a short fuse, ready to burst as an orgasm crested in a few short strokes of his lashing tongue. Exquisite was all she ever thought of his ministrations. It was always that way between them.
The man before her was broken now and when she finished, he’d never know her body again, nor she his.
“Kill the butterfly to release your powers. It will turn you mortal and I’ll give him to you.” The devil licked his lips, knowing he would get what he wanted for no other reason than her weakness was love.
Lacey reached into her pocket and pulled out her switchblade. She closed her eyes and gave a quick shallow stab to the beautiful living creature attached to her. Her heart bottomed out, falling into her gut, or at least it felt like it had as the butterfly pulled away from her mouth, leaving her empty. Her stomach heaved as the magic coiled back, drawn to the butterfly’s death, seeping out from her pores with a slow burn. Once all the magic had left, she took a breath.
True to his word, the devil dropped Trist’s broken body in her arms. He was heavy, but she stood with him despite it. Lacey looked down at the once-beautiful man in her arms as she put one foot in front of the other. Her legs threatened to buckle beneath the weight, but she refused to allow them.
“Little bird,” the devil called.
She didn’t look back.
“Your soul will soon be mine.” A wicked laugh echoed throughout hell.
She blinked and they were up top, out of hell, probably at the devil’s doing. Trist’s eyes flew open and the sores rapidly healed on his flesh. She fell to her knees and watched.
His gaze found hers and his mouth opened. “You are my heart, Lacey,” he whispered and his hand reached for her cheek.
Her eyes burned and a confused look came across his beautiful face, as if he didn’t know what he’d been reaching for. Lacey covered her mouth and for the first time since she’d gained magic, she allowed herself to break.
One Way to Say Goodbye
By
Robin S. Crawford
I went there to tell him it was over. I’d had enough, found out enough, cried enough. I walked into the room. He locked the door behind me and noticed the notebook clutched against my chest like a life vest.
“So, you’ve brought something to read to me?”
“Yes,” I said. “Just for you.” But please, I said inside my head, please make me not want to read it to you. Please. Give me a reason not to.
“I love it when you read to me, did you know that?”
He didn’t know what I’d written and brought there to read to his face because I wanted to make sure he heard everything I had to say. It was the second time he’d broken my heart. I wouldn’t be cheated out of a response this time. I wanted to look into his eyes, blue as the lake where he’d had his way with me on the picnic table one rainy April day, and see his pain. I wanted him to know from my own lips—lips that had once held him, caressed him, tasted him, and milked him. I would tell him that I had found out about the others in his life, and how he had underestimated me. I would tell him this time he would not leave me. And I would not leave him.
But he did know. He always knew when something was up with me. His eyes turned sorry and scared, like a little boy caught stealing a look at Daddy’s magazines. So I let him pull me to him; I was afraid to see his eyes like that.
We embraced tightly, like magnet to magnet. The notebook between us became soaked in our sweat. It turned hot and I dropped it to the floor. It hit my foot and bruised my toe.
“Don’t you want to hear what I wrote?” I asked with his tongue in my mouth.
My jeans were around my knees, my bra unhooked.
“Yes, in a minute.” His voice was a feather in my ear, tickling me and making me wet.
He loved me. That’s what he told me. He loved me no matter what. That’s what he said. Whether I was mad at the world, depressed, happy, silly, reading to him, or in love with him, he loved me.
“Why?” I breathed. Couldn’t finish my question. Why, then? Why do you need others? How can you love me and look for someone else to love at the same time?
He leaned down and into me, curving me into his shape. My hands made wide circles on his back. I wanted to be there. I loved him. That’s what I told him. I didn’t want to read what I’d written. That’s what I said.
He walked me backward, to the couch. Along the way I lost my pants. The back of my legs hit the cushions and I stopped him. He was hard. That’s why I stopped him, to check. I held his hardness in my hand. My blouse drifted to the floor and I fell in slow motio
n onto the green velvet pillow.
I opened my eyes and saw into him. He didn’t see into me. Not in a way that would have saved him.
And then, whether or not he did love me, I didn’t read to him. I just loved him. That’s all I knew to be the truth. That is all I wanted.
And then, because before I walked through the door I’d taken enough Vicodin to fell a moose, I died in his arms. I died with him on top of me, with him inside me. He spilled out of me, he spilled onto me. The knife in my stiffening fingers was four inches deep into his lung; his blood leaked onto the green velvet.
They found it afterward, after breaking down the door, pulling our bodies apart, and zipping up the black bags—the goodbye I’d written, but had decided not to read.
Last Kiss
By
D. F. Krieger
Lana’s heart broke at the sight of Jeremy sitting in the middle of the frangipanis with a demented smile on his face. He was losing it. Really, they both were losing it. She glanced at where he was staring and even she couldn’t stave off the smile that tugged at her lips. The sunset on the horizon appeared a sickly green—a portent of their discombobulated life, she was sure. The fact she found the comparison amusing only served to drive home the tenuous hold she had on sanity right now.
“Come on, baby, let’s get inside. It’s almost dark. They’ll be out soon.” She strode over to him and placed a shaky hand on his shoulder. For a moment, he didn’t react and she wondered, feared, that she’d finally lost him for good. They knew it was only a matter of time. The bite on his arm was festering and his skin was hot to the touch.
“Cold,” he managed, looking up at her with suddenly clear eyes. Her stomach churned at the sight of his pupils. The abnormous black centers dominated his face, as if portraying the darkness inside that would soon consume his entire being.
“It’s February,” she replied, keeping her tone soft and soothing. “Today is Valentine’s Day. Let’s get back to the house. I found some tequila yesterday while we were looking for supplies. We can drink that tonight in celebration.”
Jeremy responded with a grunt and a nod. He shifted his body several times in an attempt to get up before finally issuing a soft whimper. Another piece of Lana’s heart shattered at the sight and at the knowledge he was losing his motor skills. In her mind, an hourglass counted down the seconds they had left.
Determination filled her and she wrapped her arms under his and around his chest. With several tugs and some effort on his part, they managed to get him to his feet, where he swayed unsteadily. “Come on, baby, not far now,” she coaxed, helping him the few feet to the solid metal doors that led to their cellar of safety. Underground had many advantages, and it had kept them hidden so far.
The steps down took an eternity, each one an agonizing teetering that threatened to spill them both in a painful heap. When they made it to the basement, she settled him on a blanket and then turned to go back up the stairs so she could close and lock up the door. Jeremy’s hand shot out, shackling her wrist in a frightening iron grasp.
“Don’t go. Don’t leave me.” The words were slow and hesitant, but it was a veritable logorrhea considering his quick downward spiral the past few days.
“I have to lock the door,” she quietly explained. “If I don’t, they’ll find us.”
Silence weighed heavily between them for one heartbeat, two, and then he released her. “Quick, safe,” he said.
Lana raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The all-encompassing shadows of the night made them hard to see, and she slowed her pace when she neared the top. When she reached the entrance, she poked her head out warily, checking for any signs of movement or—though she knew she’d never find any—other survivors. A scream tore through the night, causing her skin to prickle. The obviously human agony filled her with pain. Every instinct in her body demanded she go help, while her mind forbade it. Steeling herself, Lana closed the doors on the creatures that roamed the night and the sounds of their victim. She knew from personal experience that once someone was bitten, it was too late to truly save them. The most one could do was save a bullet for when the time was right to end the nightmare.
When she got back downstairs, she was surprised to see Jeremy standing and naked. “Are you okay?” she asked warily.
“Tequila burns,” he ground out. “I remember...remember things. Met you at game. I... I...”
“Had just won the game by performing that stellar rim shot,” she filled in for her husband. Lana strode over to him, putting a sexy sway in her step. “Hey there, mister. Since you’re into sports, will you let me play with your shuttlecock?”
His chest rumbled as he issued a pained laugh. “Wrong...sport.”
“But...” She faked a pout and fluttered her eyes at him. “If you do, I’ll let you play with my doololly.”
Before she could react, Jeremy’s face swooped down to hers. Fear lanced through her veins and she tried to jump back in terror, even as his arms locked around her waist. Lana squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for sharp pain to slice through her, but what came was a possessive kiss on her mouth.
“Want you,” Jeremy managed to say. “One more—”
“Shhh.” She put a finger to his lips. “I want you too.”
As quickly as she could, Lana stepped back and undressed herself. The clothes went in a heap next to the comforter without a second glance. All she cared about was the hard length of her husband’s cock that beckoned her. She would not, could not, allow herself to look at the blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his forearm or think about what it meant.
“Ride me,” Jeremy instructed. Despite his earlier speed and fluid movements, he sat down heavily. His eyes never left her, but the hungry look in them left her on edge. Was it sexual hunger or... No, she refused to let her thoughts go on the other track.
Seductively, she lowered herself on all fours and crawled the length of his body. By the time her pussy slid across his cock, she had managed to urge him into lying back. His gaze still remained on her with a singular focus that pleased her. For now, her husband was right here, with her, in this moment. With the familiarity of years of intimacy, Lana angled her hips and inched his body into hers with slow, delicious movements. The rightness of their bodies joined overwhelmed her and she leaned forward to bury her face in his shoulder. It wouldn’t do for him to see her tears.
As if spurred on by her emotions, she picked up an aggressive pace. Moans filled the air as she rode him like hell itself was on her heels. Eventually, the pleasure dimmed the pain and she was able to sit up, to throw her head back and call his name over and over. His cock swelled inside her and she changed the pace a little so he went deeper.
“Lana! Love you,” he screamed even as his cock throbbed.
She arched her body so that he was seated as deeply as she could take him while she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “I love you too,” she managed between the spasms of pleasure that wracked her body.
They lay like that for a little while, quietly holding each other as the hurricane lamp in the corner sent shadows flickering across the room. A fierce ache started in her hips and Lana woke with a start. Surprise warred with concern as she wondered how long she’d slept.
“Sorry, baby,” she murmured as she rolled off her husband.
A throttled wheezing noise froze every muscle in her body. She listened intently as she stared at her husband. Fear prickled along her skin when his body jerked in another seizure and he wheezed again. A sob tore from her throat as she reached for him. Jeremy’s skin reminded her of cold, wet rubber.
“Jeremy?” She leaned closer and ran a hand down the side of his face. “Baby, talk to me. Please, say something!”
A pained groan filled the room as he turned his face toward her. His lips worked furiously to form a word, but she couldn’t understand. Finally, with visible effort, he managed a single word. “Run.”
Another sob wracked her body as she fought her in
stincts to follow his orders instead of holding him tight and begging him to fight the inevitable. A tortured screamed echoed loudly in the room as a seizure claimed him once more. Lana crab-walked backward until she had her back pressed against the wall where they kept their containers of food. Panic-stricken, she blindly pawed through the boxes of cereal and cans of smelt until her fingers brushed the cold, hard metal of the gun she’d kept hidden for three days now as she geared herself toward using it.
An animalistic snarl filled her ears and she lifted her eyes to watch Jeremy’s body jerk upright grotesquely. The way his eyes lit up when he spotted her, the drooping half-smile on his face—her husband was gone, claimed by a disease concocted in some dirty-ass fonduk by government officials. Ones who decided to destroy everyone in the world outside their own borders over some stupid batrachomyomachy.
The first bullet ripped a hole in his cheek, causing teeth and oozing black blood to spatter everywhere. The second bullet hit him dead center between the eyes and even as he collapsed in a completely lifeless heap, Lana clutched her ringing ears. She had no idea how much time passed. How long she sat there naked and bawling like a newborn baby as her beloved husband’s corpse bled out in front of her.
When she was finally able to get up, she walked mechanically to the hurricane lamp and carried it into the curtained-off area they used for a bathroom. Fortunately, the basement they’d chosen was equipped with a sink that still had working water. Haunted eyes stared back at her in the mirror as she studied her expression in the candlelight. A strange, dark spot on her shoulder caught her attention. Using a washcloth and water from the sink, she washed it and fought the tears that left a lump in her throat when she realized it was blood. The sting of a fresh wound made her pause in her ministrations before furiously wiping it. What she uncovered was not bare skin, but a perfect set of teeth marks. Laughter bubbled out of her even as she touched the mirror with her fingertips, leaving bloody prints.
