Chapter 4: The Court of the Night Brethren
In which even the Marks John has placed on the back of your neck may not be enough to save you.
If John had not been a blood-drinker who’d taken you and locked you in this tower for the last ten years, you would think he was a man, wooing you after that night. He brought more books and extra treats, like cookies and fresh berries. He also hung more fancy dresses into your wardrobe, and delicate underthings, more bits of silk and ribbons. You refused to see the clothing as a gift- the pleasure he took in removing them from you was proof that they were a gift for him.
But he was a generous lover, though you stumbled over the word in your thoughts. It sounded so wrong when applied to the grinning vampire who came to you every night. But generous John was, always preparing his path by bringing you to a finish at least once or twice before sliding that huge, warm phallus inside you.
Tonight, you were perched on his lap, his back against the bedframe and your thighs spread over his. “Dulcis avicula, sponsa mea.”John whispered in your ear, big, rough hands at your waist and moving you up and down on him.
Sweet bird, my bride….The translation shocked you.
To your fury and mingled pleasure, your thighs were wet, his shaft slippery and shining. You dropped your head to his broad shoulder, trying to hide from it all. But of course, your ruthless suitor wouldn’t allow that. “No, Little Bird, look down,” his voice was lighter than always, almost teasing. “You soak me, your sweet slick coating me.”
John took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head down, forced to look at the evidence of what he did to you. He moved the heel of his hand, pressing it against your stomach.
“I can feel myself here, moving inside you.” You groaned, and it made him laugh, the shaking of it driving him up higher inside your channel as you gasped. “Come now, sweet one, let me feel you, that sweet flutter you give inside when you come on my cock.”
Just as he’d trained you, you shudder and obey, mindlessly biting into the scarring on his shoulder, just by where the metal of his arm began.
Something woke you abruptly. You were not sure what stirred you, but the crackling of the fireplace brought you back to where you were; your birdcage. But the heavy arm thrown over your waist was completely different.
John is here,you thought.During the day?Now, where had that come from? The shock of your captor sleeping with you - still in your bed after a night of debauchment - was enough, but how did you know it was daytime? But you did, with a certainty that you didn’t question. Rolling over, you chanced displacing his grip to look at him.
So beautiful, for one so wicked… you thought, admiring the thick fan of lashes on his high cheekbones, that full, shamelessly sensual mouth. A log falling from the pile in the fireplace woke him, and you jumped at the immediate intensity in his ocean eyes. John grinned at your alarmed face.
“Look at my sweet fledgling, so pretty as she sleeps, as she comes, even as she wakes.” Chuckling a bit at your sudden blush, he fluidly moved to a seated position, running his hands through his thick, dark hair. His broad back flexed, powerful shoulders rotated as he pulled his pants on, standing to button them and chuckle again to catch your gaze on his fingers.
“Even the Undead need rest from a body as beautiful as yours,” he said, “but I didn’t anticipate it sleeping by your side. I must get your-”
His head shot around with a hiss at a timorous knock at the door. “M- master...” a servant’s voice quavered, “there is a messenger for you at the gate?”
You watched as John’s gleaming white canines sharpened and descended. “Please-” you caught his hand as he turned angrily to the door, “please don’t hurt the servant?” He was staring at you as if you’d lost your mind and maybe you had, you would never make a demand of him. “The … the quote from Shakespeare, ‘Don’t shoot the messenger?’ please don’t hurt the man for doing his job. Please?” Impulsively, you bent your head and kissed the back of his hand. What was one more moment of abasing yourself?
As the door shut, you scampered across to the windows. Your distorted reflection in the black painted-over glass rippled as you put your ear to the window. You could hear the angry snorting of horses, the soft clink of reins, and a rasping oath from John to drive the shadows away so the carriage could enter the gates of the mansion’s grounds.
So, horses survived the bombs,you thought hopefully, another piece of life not stolen by the Night Brethren. It was one of the human servants who finally brought your food, not John.
“Master Barnes requested I tell you that he is leaving for business but will return soon.” The man’s eyes were turned away from you, and how could you blame him? Your first few efforts to speak with the human servants in the Vampire’s household resulted in their death.
“Thank you for letting me know,” you offered, “and ... thank you for the meal.” He nodded, still not looking at you, hunched over in his grey tunic and wearing a brand on his cheek - the howling wolf that was the design of John’s house of the Night Brethren. You turned so he wouldn’t see your empathy. It made the piercings on your neck burn and throb.
One day passed, and then another. John did not return and the whispers and the sounds of something like claws scraping across bone from the shadows outside increased. Their howls rose loudest when the gate groaned, as if reluctantly opening again. Racing to the mirror, you nervously smoothed your hair and dress, hovering by the door. When it slammed open, it wasn’t John, it was that blond lunatic - the cruel one - Stephen.
“What are-”
He didn’t give you a chance to finish the sentence, crossing the room in three steps and seizing you up in his arms. “Come with me, my sweet darling, we have places to be.”
The loathsome fiend actually seemed shocked when you fought him. “I’m not going anywhere without John! I’m- I’m under his protection, you know that!” Twisting slightly, you showed him the second piercing in your neck, trying to pull away when his low growl vibrated against your spine.
“The second piercing,” Stephen snarled. “I’ll tear his flesh from his body.” Nonetheless, he pulled you from your Birdcage and you were terrified, kicking against him and desperately holding on to the door frame. It felt like he broke your fingers, nails snapping loose as the spoiled monster yanked you free. “None of that naughtiness,” he chided, leaping down the stairs with unnatural speed, “you will learn to behave for your true master.”
You’d always wanted to see the rest of the mansion apart from your Birdcage, wondered about it, what it would look like, would it be quite grand? There were quick glimpses of the palatial home as he raced through it, all terrible. The servants- the other humans were all dead, drained and staring blankly at the sky as this evil creature strode through the desecrated manor. Blood splashed up the walls, beautiful furnishings torn and broken, giant paintings slashed.
But worse was the courtyard, where the gathering shadows roiled and swirled just outside the gates. You could hear their whispers so clearly now, about their terrible hunger … theyneeded.… It all blended into a scream as your captor and his vicious henchmen threw open the gates.
“Eat your fill, abominations!” Stephen shouted happily. “There are piles of flesh and bone and blood, waiting for you!”
But the shadows, the dark wisps of blood and smoke slowed as they approached you, still held in his cruel grasp. Something about how they circled and hummed made his pale, pretty face go even whiter, and Stephen ripped open the carriage door and threw you inside. Your shoulder hit one of the seats and you gritted your teeth against a moan as the bones moved loosely - and agonizingly - against each other.
