by Brandon Witt
He dug his fingers into my shoulders as he balanced his weight on my upper body, allowing him to increase his momentum. Already swollen from the previous night, I began to burn as his hammering accelerated. He cried out at his release, and his hands slipped from my shoulders after a few shudders, allowing his body to collapse over my kneeling form.
Trembling, I supported both our weights by resting my elbows on the floor. I drew in a few shallow breaths. “Please tell me you can do that again.”
Schwint laughed, the bright sound soothing. “Yeah. I can. I’m older than you, remember? Gotta give me a second.” Letting out a long sigh, he pulled out of me, causing another flash of pain yet leaving me empty and aching to be filled once more.
He stood up, and I rolled over onto my back. I shoved the guilt away at my pleasure at his otherworldly beauty. Sunflower-yellow eyes too big and gleaming. Lean muscle heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His rolling pin of a cock, still half-hard and glistening from being inside me.
He stretched out his hand, and I took it.
After he helped me off the ground, I reached down, using the slickness to stroke his shaft. “You’ve got me doing a ton more magic. I bet I could get you hard again real quick if you helped me find the right incantation.”
He gave me a kiss, suddenly tender in the aftermath of his onslaught, then pulled away. “You don’t need a spell for that, pretty boy. Trust me.”
Sure enough, he was already growing firmer in my grasp. “Should we move to the bed for this round?”
Another laugh. “Why not?”
We closed the distance between where we’d landed on the floor and the bed. Our room was larger than Cynthia’s. While just as full of gold and glitz, it was less furnished, having only a king bed and adjoining bathroom.
Schwint gave a little leap, his wings appearing, and hovered over the center of the bed. “Do you have a certain position in mind, my little warlock?”
I didn’t answer him, taking the time to enjoy his body a bit longer. “Lie down and find out.”
“Sounds promising.” Without missing a beat, his wings vanished, and he crashed to the bed, making a loud thump as he bounced on the mattress.
I slipped up on the side of the bed and crawled over to him until my forearms and legs were straddling his lower half.
He lifted his head to better his view. “God, I love seeing your junk hanging down like that. Fuck!”
I lowered my head and took most of his engorged cock in my mouth in one swallow, as much as I could take of it at any rate. I felt him swell between my lips.
The mattress shifted as his head fell back against it. “Oh, and that. I love that. When you take my cock after it’s been inside of you like that. Damn, man.”
I continued to rise up and down on his cock, using my arms to bench press my body above him. It only took a few seconds for my anger and frustration to manifest. My speed increased, sweat pouring from me, my arms beginning to tingle with the effort. The faster I went, the deeper his cock slammed into my throat. Occasionally, I paused at the base of his shaft and bit just hard enough to elicit a groan and for me to taste precum.
When his cock was throbbing and close to ejaculation, Schwint grabbed me under the arms and pulled me up and over his body, until I was straddling his waist. He held his breath, trying to get control over his orgasm. Finally, he looked up at me. “You’re killing me, you know that?”
Grasping his cock with one quick motion, I impaled myself upon him, slamming his entire length into me once more. Feeling it stretch me further as it swelled to its full girth. Both of us let out a yell—Schwint in surprised pleasure, me in sharp pain.
I remained motionless, eyes slammed shut, my breath stolen by the searing pain at the abrupt intrusion into my already sore entrance. I felt Schwint’s fingers trace over my stomach and up my chest, soothing me, while his other hand made similar effleurage strokes over my penis.
After many moments and several more deep breaths, the pain began to transition to pleasure once more. In an effort to prolong it, I began to ride him, never letting my body completely relax to the point of full pleasure.
Nothing else remained in my mind. No worry. No anger. No fear. Atop him, I was in control, both the pain and pleasure the only sensations my body and mind were able to register.
I continued to ride him, shoving him into me over and over with quick, long plunges. Even after Schwint emptied into me again, I continued to ride him, his erection only softening slightly before filling me completely once more.
After a time, when the pain was bordering on leaving me numb, Schwint began to stroke me again. His hands transitioned from pulling on my balls to gentle sweeps that passed over them, up my shaft, then continued on over my stomach, chest, and shoulders.
At his motions, I slowed my pace, once again becoming receptive to the feel of him inside me, the numbness giving way to pleasure.
Still I rode on, bringing both of us to the edge, then pausing long enough for us to regain control, shoving his hands off my body, then riding once more.
Schwint’s hand returned and continued up my chest, snaking around my neck, then pulling me down to him, our lips nearly touching. Still he pushed into me, the angle making it where he nearly slipped out before sliding in again. “I love you, Finn.”
The sight of him was blurry as I was caught in the slow rhythm of our bodies. “I love you too.”
“We’re gonna get through this. All of us.” His hand cupped my face, his thumb caressing my cheek.
I couldn’t answer him, but lowered a little farther until our lips met once more.
Pulling away, I rose above him, allowing him full access to my penis, and my cadence increased.
I shot all over Schwint’s stomach and chest mere seconds before I felt him emptying into me yet again.
Completely spent, I let myself fall to the bed beside him, my head coming to rest on his slick chest, my body curving into his before we fell asleep.
Nineteen
FINN DE MORISCO
Pausing to catch my breath, I placed my knuckles on the door, prepared to knock.
“Why do you still do that?”
I looked over at Schwint. “Do what?”
“Knock.” He gestured at the copper door. “He’s never answered. Not once.”
Shrugging, I let my hand fall and spoke between gasps for air. “You’re right. Just habit, I guess.” I glared over his shoulder at his wings. “Would it really hurt for you to actually walk up the stairs?”
Schwint gaped exaggeratedly down the spiral staircase we’d just ascended. “You’re the crazy one for not using magic. I’d die if I had to actually walk up all those damn things. They’re, hands down, the most torturous devices in the whole Vampire Cathedral. I’m willing to bet they have a torture chamber somewhere under this fortress, but it’s these towers that are gonna kill ya.”
“It’s good to do something without magic. Plus, it’s not like they have a gym here. The last thing I need is to let my body get out of shape. Who knows what we’ll have to do to escape from here.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I can think of a lot of things we could do to keep you in shape.”
I rolled my eyes at him. My breath was finally evening out.
Schwint continued, letting his wings disappear and come to rest on the stone floor. “And when it’s time for us to make our move, I don’t think it’s going to be brute force that makes the difference.”
“You never know.” As if to prove my point, I didn’t use my power like I normally did to help open the heavy door, and I grunted as I shoved against it.
“Need some help with that?”
“Shut up.” With another heave, I moved the door enough to squeeze through.
Behind me, I heard the door groan as it swung the rest of the way open, Schwint using some of his fairy magic to move it as if it were nothing more substantial than a fabric curtain.
“As I have told you countless times, there is no re
ason to consider leaving the Vampire Cathedral. You belong to them.” The old man glowered at me, hate reverberating simultaneously through both his voice and his eyes. “I’ve been telling you that since the first time I spoke to you. You are nothing more than a slave. Albeit a weak and pathetic one.”
Schwint and I both ignored him. It was the same every day. Omar continued the steady stream of insults and taunts he had used since he’d sensed me as I searched for the Square all those months ago.
I’d been so certain he was a demon or some monstrous creature from Hell. The pain he’d put me through. Making me feel like every particle of my being was on fire. Like my brain was being shredded inside my skull. Even when I’d learned the voice had been nothing more than a powerful warlock, I’d expected some man who emanated power and evil.
Instead, Omar was nothing more than a tiny old man—wasted and sagging. He looked like someone’s grandfather. A homeless, sickly grandfather, but a grandfather nonetheless.
We’d considered not coming to see him every day. It was clear he was never going to help, but it seemed wisest to keep up the illusion that we were doing what Gwala wanted, since I wasn’t willing to take the risk of telling Gwala the lessons weren’t going as he desired. Instead, I poured every ounce of myself into practices with Schwint, my desperation turning our training into an obsession.
Schwint and I took our normal seats against the wall and simply waited. We forced ourselves to stay with Omar for at least an hour, sometimes much longer. If our comings and goings were being observed, and we had to assume they were, it wouldn’t do to have it be too scheduled.
Sometimes I came by myself. Schwint was hesitant to send me on my own. If Omar was as powerful as Gwala said, he would be able to kill me with a flick of his wrist. He wasn’t following any of Gwala’s other orders, so I wasn’t quite sure why he hadn’t tried to kill me. His hate was intense and palpable. Even so, when Schwint wasn’t in the room, Omar did nothing more than glare and insult.
As Schwint and I spoke, I kept my eyes on the old man. He never stopped shuffling around the small turret, never paused to look out the huge arched window that was open to the elements. Constantly moving. In that sense, he reminded me uncomfortably of Cynthia, pacing alone in her room somewhere far below us.
While it could be easy at first glance to mistake Cynthia for one of the Royals, if you only paid attention to her finery, no such misconception would ever be made about Omar. He was dirty and disheveled. The room was spotless and pristine, like everywhere else I’d seen, so I assumed he chose to not bathe, but I couldn’t be sure. The chains connecting him to the wall also ruined the illusion. One heavy golden cuff on each wrist and large links connected him to secured hoops embedded in the wall. As he paced, the chains adjusted to meet the distance he needed. The individual links seemed to stretch and shrink as he moved around the room. He’d never confirmed it, but I assumed their accommodating structure ceased at the door.
The room was a small, simple cylinder. The floor, a smooth tarnished copper, curved up to form half the wall and doorway. The other half of the room was enclosed by tree trunks and branches that grew out from the Cathedral. The branches curved to form the large window that looked out over the Costa Rican rainforest. Like Cynthia’s room, if a person didn’t know they were prisons, they would be the most expensive hotel rooms in the world. The view from Omar’s chamber was breathtaking—looking over the tops of the trees, able to see the ocean in the distance. Occasionally when we were in here, parrots and other small animals came into the room through the window. Omar seemed neither irritated nor intrigued by them. Neither did he seem bothered by the frequent rainstorms that poured into the room. It was the rainy season in Costa Rica, so thunderstorms were a daily occurrence. All the moisture only added to the humidity.
The only thing, besides the chains, that hinted the room wasn’t part of an elite resort was the golden toilet that rose from the floor against the wall. I hadn’t figured out how the waste system worked in the Cathedral, as the toilets didn’t have running water. Nor did they look like toilets, for that matter. More like pails set upside down with a hole on the top. Twenty-four karat pails. There weren’t many, as vampires apparently didn’t require such accommodations.
Once in a while, I would practice communicating to Schwint using my mind while we were with Omar, but never anything important in case he was still able to hear. The majority of the time, Schwint and I talked about benign topics. Actually, when I was able to let the stress slide away, I looked forward to these times in Omar’s room. It was the only time Schwint and I really allowed ourselves to just chat for the fun of it. The rest was spent planning or speculating about Caitlin and Newton—either from what I’d been able to glean from my sketchy telepathy or from one of Schwint’s visits to see them.
Most of the time, Omar paced in silence, ignoring us. He’d lessened the harassing when we didn’t rise to the bait. It didn’t stop him from trying every time we arrived, however.
I’d done nothing but sweat since we arrived in Costa Rica, but it was always worse up in Omar’s quarters. It was sweltering and stuffy. The sweat I built up climbing the countless stairs was just the precursor to the streams of perspiration coursing over my skin as we sat against the wall. Typically, a breeze came in from the window, which helped. On days like this, when the room only continued to get hotter and hotter, I was barely able to make myself stay the entire hour.
“Why don’t you try to conjure fire again? You’re getting a lot better with air and earth, and even with some parts of water. It’s the fire that’s still tripping you up.”
I gave Schwint a you’ve got to be kidding me glare. “Even if I could, the last thing I would do right now is add more heat to this room.” I glanced out the window, imagining I could see the spot where Caitlin and Newton were hiding. “Besides, Cate is the only one of us who has any control of fire, and even she can barely make enough to singe the fuzz off a dandelion.” A picture of her tossing a small fireball at Brett the first night she met him flashed through my mind.
“And again I am proven right about your weakness and worthlessness.” Omar didn’t even bother looking back at me as he continued his meandering around the room. “All the bother… all the pain over you, and for what? A self-absorbed weakling.”
Schwint continued as if Omar hadn’t spoken. He leaned forward, his wings reappearing. They beat swiftly, stirring up the muggy air. “Better?”
I sank back against the bark of the wall. “I think it’s spreading the hot air around, but yeah, actually. Thanks.”
I was fairly certain Omar muttered something about faggots. Although it could have just been in regards to fairies. Either way, I was certain it wasn’t anything we hadn’t heard before.
“Okay, then. No fire. Make me something.” Schwint’s voice lowered, allowing him to achieve a gravelly tone. “You know, as payment for last night.”
This time I was certain “faggot” was in the stream of curses.
Closing my eyes, I cupped my hands, one over the other, forming an empty circle with my palms. Focusing on the molecules needed that were floating in the air around us and on the surface of the items in the room, I pulled them into the space created by my hands. Then I concentrated on multiplying and manipulating them.
After a couple of minutes, I opened my hands and held out the object to Schwint.
He snatched it out of my hands and held it up to his face. He burst out laughing. He laughed so hard that several moments passed before he could speak. “You captured her expression perfectly! She looks like she can’t decide if she’s constipated or pissed.” He pointed to the tiny figurine in his hands. “I love that you even got Bertha’s white sandals and orange socks.”
I grinned at him, happy to hear him laugh.
He sighed. “I haven’t morphed into her since I met your folks.” He waggled his brow at me suggestively. “I asked you to make me something in payment for last night. Is this your way of telling me you�
��d like to spend an evening with Bertha?”
I shuddered and didn’t have to fake the gagging sensation that rose in my throat. “Ugh. I’m pretty sure that would be a deal breaker. Don’t you dare spring her on me when I’m not prepared for it, especially at a time like that.”
He smiled. “No promises.”
A breeze wafted through the window. Even Omar sighed in relief.
Schwint pocketed the figure of Bertha and stretched out his hand. “Make me something else.”
I thought for a moment, then shut my eyes and repeated the process of drawing the molecules to me.
For some reason, this time took a bit longer than the likeness of Bertha. Probably because the heavyset woman was scarred into my psyche. Finally, I unfolded my hands and held out another figurine to him. “I wish I could make something bigger than three inches tall. Or make something alive.”
“You’ll get there.” He held the small statue up for inspection, narrowing his eyes at the likeness of a fairy riding a unicorn. “This looks familiar for some reason.”
“Yeah. It was in that crazy bitch Hazel’s store.”
I heard Omar scream, and before I could turn in his direction, something heavy bashed into the side of my head. The force whipped my skull around so the other side collided with the stonelike bark of the wall.
Before I could even begin to understand what had happened, another blow struck. From between fingers I raised to block my face from whatever was hitting me, I saw Schwint rise in the air. Before he could make any other move, he was jerked upward. Craning my head, I saw him near the ceiling of the room, which was completely comprised of branches and tree limbs, any of which could skewer his body if he went any farther.
Schwint’s wings beat furiously, and his face was a mask of fury. “Put me down, you fucking crazy old man!”
Turning toward Omar, I saw that he wasn’t looking at Schwint—all of his attention was on me. He didn’t even have a hand raised holding Schwint in place. “I should kill him. Make you watch as your lover dies.”
