I Miss You

{closing myself into the walk-in closet, rack upon rack of neatly ordered black on black, running my hands through the leathers and muscle tees, the air in the confined space sultry with the scents of masculinity and dark, spiced possession, yet finding it strangely easier to breathe in here. Since the births, Tory has worn my oversized shirts, like this one flowing through my gloved hand now, the ones that skim her thighs at just the height to draw a male's gaze higher still and leave him wetting dry lips and aching fangs, following the shadowy patterns of my ink up her inner thighs with the promise of stolen, erotic glimpses.


She is utterly oblivious to the torture the most simple actions inflict on my traitorous body. 
The sweep of dark waves over one shoulder, exposing the slender, pulsing column of her throat, the flash of emerald fire in those beautiful, seductive eyes, the feline arch of her spine when she bends to lift Khaos or Xsykhe from the crib... swallowing back a groan..and fuck, as though taunting me, those curves just snapped right back into shape,  starved, diamond gaze watching the steady physical transformation as my old Tory re-emerges, but with a little extra nuance of tantalising femininity in the subconscious sway of her hips that is my fucking undoing. 


What cruel fucking fates conspired to make her even more desirable... how was that even fucking possible? And the agony and the irony is that I can't bring myself to fucking touch her. Early attempts at intimacy sabotaged by the crying demands of the twins, the well-intentioned interruptions of the Chosen, who have zero concept of privacy, true.. and most of all the bone-deep exhaustion of new parenthood that leaves Tory unconscious in my arms before the shutters even come down.... exhaling into the quiet of the closet's confines.. so I hold her, I feed her when she hungers, do what I can with the young.... but she never asks for more... she stopped asking.. I stopped demanding... Impasse, stalemate, deadlock...call it what you will, it's fucking killing me. 


Gloved hand clenched into a fist, teeth ground hard, tamping down the icy dread that she no longer desires me... males of my kind are bonded for life... females, not the same fucking biological deal, true...flayed raw with hunger, a snarling beast, pacing the bars of a cage of my own fucking making, because what kind of bastard would I be if I forced myself on her, true?.. but God, just the scent of her makes my breath quicken and my body heat....pausing.. head cocked curiously as my hands close around the black corset tucked discreetly away at the end of the rail.. gloved fingers stroking the glinting steel blades sheathed into the straps.. lids closing over haunted diamond eyes, the fabric fisted and crushed to my face, inhaling deep, drawing that scent down into my lungs...she is all over this fucking garment, steeped into every fibre and my cock hardens to a straining demand in the tight bondage of my leathers.... lethal blades and supple black hide and the scent of my female.. a potent, drugging cocktail that strikes a match to the volatile lust coursing through my already fevered blood. 


Forehead dropping to the wall, gloved hand running down my abs on instinct to cup the aching bulge of my erection, hips grinding the hard ridge into my palm, fangs punching down on a growl, Tory's scent flooding my senses, punishing myself like the sado-fucking-masochist I am, whispering hoarsely into the empty space} fuck Tory, I miss you.. you're right here but I miss you like fuck, true... 

Meeting A Secret

*Someone is going to die if I find what I think I'm going to find in the beautiful, dark, kinky Penthouse suite we made our home in, and it isnt going to be pretty. No clean cuts, no protecting the females I fought for, they submit to my male, they touch him, feel the hunger I know is winding him up to something more than feral...they'll die...if he uses them, instead of me...they'll die. Fuck...I'm even dressed for the occasion, all assassin in leather, sleek hide molded to now pretty much taut curves, corset buckled around the holsters of my daggers, delineating every inch of my body in the exquisite mold of a predator...Might as well be pretty for my victims, since I never get the chance to wear it anymore...spit-up and leather dont mesh well...this 'run to the store' may take longer than anticipated if he really is keeping females in the Penthouse...or even if he isnt, isolating the scents and tracking the females down could take a while. 


The young left in the capable hands of their father, asleep, fed, a shitload of diapers and milk on hand if I'm not back, I'm thinking I wont be missed as I materialise on the balcony of our home...God I missed this place. Black silk sheets over a giant bed, the rack, the wall of toys, the splotch of purple paint covering a good portion of black wall...our scent, his bond, on every surface...if it smells of anyone else...Growling as I push the thought from my mind and take the step towards the doors...eyes widening on a shimmer of tears. For the Penthouse is not empty, there are...inhaling deep, senses flared out...five of my own kind in there...males. My heart stutters, hammering so loud against my ribs I am sure it can be heard through the sliding glass door. So...I guess it isnt considered cheating if it is with the same sex..no betrayal if it isnt with a female...is that it? Have I neglected him so much that a mere one wont satisfy, he has to work them out in multiples? A quiet snarl, all predator, all silent grace and lithe lines of violence, the air freezing as it touches me, chilled by my rage, the glass doors parting, not daring to deny the flex of my will, bidding me enter the cool suite...and ultimately flattening up against the hard wall of a male chest, a soft 'oomph' leaving my lips as I back-peddle, canines elongating in a warning hiss, exposing bright pearly daggers* Who the fuck are you?!! 


*Falling easily into a battle stance, the lethal silver of my blades glint the beams of moonlight to refract off a face paler than my own, not even porcelain, a shade lighter than anything I've seen, translucent in the glimmer of mercury kissing my palms, hilts flat to my wrist...apparently my daggers are just as eager to slice something tonight. With his hair slicked back, a platinum blond rarely found anywhere but a dye bottle, eyes a blood red, flashing amusement and annoyance down at me, the male looks like some sort of mutated Brother lesser...a threat, maybe, trying to intimidate me with the loom and silence. Eyes rolling on a derisive snort. Only ever serves to piss me off...or in V's case, turn me on...to act as though you can possess me. And this male is, his eyes narrowed to shrewd slits, gaze appraising my every leather encased curve, alighting with a quickly hidden flash of interest on the twin blades kissing my skin...I'm not naive. The countless females I have found who bowed to the wrong Master...and he is nothing if not a Master, good or bad. The arrogance, the slight camp air to his demeanor, the self-assuredness that comes with knowing he can get most anyone on their knees...and make them like it. It raises hackles that haven't been raised in a while and as I wait with the ever growing urge to kill him, a voice from inside cuts into a silence rife with promises of pain* <<Master, should we stop?>> *the response is quick* <<No, Markhas. Just a female with the most beautiful emerald hell-fire in her eyes. I believe I can handle her. Continue. This is a special request. Do not fuck it up!>> *there must have been an answer of some kind but it is lost to the white noise clouding my thoughts with insidious murmurings, Caith's voice the incessant niggling trying to convince my soul of something it refuses to acknowledge* 


<<Let me guess...*my eyes track with feline slits of green, the circling of this male, his voice deep, crimson eyes scanning the length of my body* You must be Tory. No wonder his scent flares so strong and he retired...when one has such as you surrendering to him, any male would give up his fancies for one try at bringing you to hand>> *a compliment? Maybe...but the snarl that rips from my throat is anything but submissive. I like to think I'm logical...but if V is keeping these males for, whatever...I dont trust my voice, it feels too raw, too on the edge, too desperate and as the words spill, his expression changes...from interest to sympathy* I am his...In the world you know, he is my Master, my lheage...to me, he is that and more...he is my soul, my world, my hellren and I need to know...*God, it feels like everywhere I turn people are forcing me to let my soul speak. To let out the things that were ours alone...to prove my love for V, to fight for him...as though I should have to. Fuck it. Vishous is MINE! Shaking his head, the male answers before my question can be spoken and my soul can die, his tone softening, calming the beast in me with a deep, accented rumble* <<Dear, dear, female...such violent possession...*his head cocked, eyes meeting mine, debating what to tell me* you dont like secrets do you? I am sworn to the most solemn of oaths...and I have no desire to meet the consequences if I break from that vow. He is not doing what you have been led to believe he is doing. Trust someone who has no reason to lie to you. Trust in your hellren...go back to your young, and stop brandishing those pretty blades at someone turned on by pain>> 


*well that shuts me down and my hand knocks from its threatening position, point of the dagger once pressing a glare of anger to his stomach, sheathed to my hips. Refreshing to find someone who isnt spewing bullshit that in all my post-natal insecurity, sounded plausible...even if everything else screamed it a falsehood. Damnit this strange male with his lesser looks makes sense...and I hate him for popping the bubble of my anger and uncertainty with the pin of his resolute belief. Absently peering around the bulk of his body to the bustle and clang shimmering out through the parting in the doors, my murmur low*  I trust only V ...*But instead of screaming and raging, of killing, torturing...I allow him to shoo me from the doors with a flourish of hand and leather crop, the glass silently sliding shut behind him as he returns to the black of the suite, leaving me to stare out over the twinkling night of the Caldwell skyline...my mind a little more at rest, my curiosity replacing the homicidal urges to kill anyone that may have been willing to answer V if he called for someone to sate him. Scrubbing a hand down my face, hair pushed from my eyes, the thick waves whipping my ass with a sweep of air rushing the corner as I demat to my soul and the squirming bundles of miracles that no doubt are cuddled with their father on the white linen expanse of our temporary bed*

Business

{lying to Tory came with a big side of gut-curling self-hatred.. cut right against the grain, true, but fuck it, I won't force this on her until she is literally begging for it. If she knew what I had planned here in the Penthouse, well... last thing I want is Tory feeling she's not giving me what I need. Doing this now was an insurance policy for our future. I only hoped to fuck she would see it the same way. It was a calculated risk. So I lied to her, fronted with some bullshit about Wrath hauling my ass back to Caldwell on Brotherhood biz, when in reality I'm holed up in the Penthouse waiting for a rendezvous with my past. And the cocksucker is late.. Archos, aka the Master, a title hard-earned, notoriously difficult to track down, known for his perfectionism and his discretion, both highly prized on the scene. Long damn time since I'd called on his services, true but fuck I wanted the male. Only the best was acceptable and he is the fucking best. End of. Pacing the Penthouse floor, sucking on a hand-rolled, awaiting his arrival... and when it comes, it is true to form.. fashionably late and melo- fucking-dramatic.


 Materialising on the balcony, larger than life, casting long shadows in a floor-dusting leather trench and black mirrored wraparounds, white blonde hair slicked back, skin translucent pale, a riding crop in one hand. The highly affected, Old Country inflection in his baritone voice, dripping thick as molasses <<Vishous>> the sibilant pronunciation slithers down my spine <<You look...different, old friend.. are the rumours really true? Has the infamous Lheage finally been leashed?>> {Growling a flash of lethal ivory canines} You're late, Archie {watching as he slowly slides the shades up to reveal glowing crimson eyes, the corners creased with humour, but incredibly shrewd.. albinos amongst our kind were exceptionally rare, most were killed at birth on account of an ancient lore that claimed they were the evil spawn of the Omega. Those that survived were outcasts...disowned by family and Glymera alike.. not even the whores would feed the poor bastards.. So, yeah, this male and I had common ground. Our paths had crossed in the shady underworld my own exile had dragged me down into. But for the genetic defect, Archos would have been Brotherhood material, as it was, he took his considerable skills  underground, this tough son of a bitch had taught me more about survival than I'd ever learned under the Bloodletter's regimen had even introduced me to the lifestyle... though his preference ran almost exclusively to males. 


Those who misread the camp demeanour as weakness didn't live to regret their mistake. I respected the fucker <<mating hasn't improved your social skills, V>> the male's nostrils flaring on a deep inhale <<but, damn, that scent you're throwing off...simply fucking divine... I could bottle and sell you on the black market>> a low growl rolling out into the already tense atmosphere} I'm not on the fucking menu Archos <<no? Then why exactly am I here, Vishous? Caldwell is a dangerous place for me.. I haven't forgotten the welcoming committee your Glymera buddies sent out for me last time I showed up>> {the corners of my mouth lifting up in a fanged grin and by the twitch of Archie's lips I can tell he's remembering the good times too} I saved your sorry ass from that crazy lynch mob, Archie..you owe me, and I'm calling in the favor, true {his eyes flip up to meet mine} <<true, Vishous, I owe you my life. I am at your service warrior. I take it, as it's not the carnal pleasures of my body you desire, that it is my skills in the dungeon department you seek?>> {nodding curtly by way of an affirmative} True, the current arrangements are... unsuited to our needs..


 {dismissing me with a flourish of the riding crop to push through into the Penthouse, a satisfied smile spreading over his face as he takes in the decor...sighing dramatically <<Fuck, yes..one of my finest works... >> watching amused as his face dissolves into a scowl, the horse whip thrust accusingly towards the centre of my chest <<but the purple paint? Vishous, what the fuck?>> barking a laugh as I recall the day Tory decided to 'redecorate'} long fucking story, Archie true... <<well pour us some of that evil paint stripper you call vodka and let's get down to business, shall we, warrior>> {rolling my eyes at the exaggerated wink, gloved hand reaching for the shot glasses and the bottle of Goose, shitkicker pushing a barstool in Archie's direction by way of invitation to sit} good deal, old friend, good fucking deal. I'm giving you carte blanche on the re-design, but the rack stays, true.. and high-grade soundproofing is a non-negotiable...mirrors, suspension chains, state of the art sound system.. use your imagination... go fucking wild...money no object, feel me? But my shellan hears nothing about this, true..Oh and {a wicked grin pulling at my lips} you're taking on the nursery while you're at it...no fucking pink, or even I won't be able to save your ass from Tory's wrath {the male's expression as he spits Goose all over the bar is fucking priceless, of all the weird shit he's been asked to design over the centuries...the SOB looks like he's going into shock...clapping a gloved hand hard down on Archos' shoulder as I will the door to close on our planning} I know you'll do me fucking proud, my man...

When Doubt Calls

*chin propped on my hand, curled on my side on the thick rug in the centre of Rehv's living space as the twins wriggle their way across the luxurious fabric, two tiny bundles squirming away from the kisses blown on their little round stomachs, the tickle of my fingers on the bottoms of those miniature feet, growling playfully to incite the giggles that make my soul smile and my body relax. Pushing the heavy fall of my midnight curls over my shoulder, my lips drop a kiss to Xsykhe's tiny nose, smoothing the shock of black hair on her head, one hand walking fingers through the dense material of the rug to gently tackle Khaos' worming flail of limbs in an assault of delight* you guys cant get enough, can you, my little warriors? *the cooing tone of my voice cut off as a frown furrows my brow, the vibrating cell pulled from my pocket, number unfamiliar, pressed to my ear, a single growled word down the line the only greeting I'll give* What?! *at first nothing, the sound of music in the background, a heavy bass that twigs my brain and puts the song on the tip of my tongue...then a voice...a voice I know, from somewhere...did I punch this female? The drawl a seductive, catty pitch..with a hint of neediness and insecurity...speaking seven words that knock my heart into my throat, pull my soul down from its soar and still the hand placating my now fussing young* <<Knew you couldn't satisfy him for long...>> *Choking on the snarl that rises, bolting upright from my lounging* Who the fuck is this?!!! *then realisation...the same bitchy intonation the first time, spoken over Jessie J's 'Do It Like A Brother', only that time it had been 'You know you wont be able to satisfy him...'. A female, my own kind, whoring after Brothers like it was the end of the fucking world, slamming down the shot of Absinthe to the table and stalking off in the direction V had gone...probably to offer to ice where I'd hit him...what seemed so very long ago. Unleashing the building snarl on a distorted word* Caith..*all I need right now, for some nympho female trailing after my male, hovering, like some vulture waiting to feed off the sexual tension and unmet needs, to offer herself as his sub...but wait..what the fuck is she talking about? Her laugh answers my unspoken question* <<Your male is wandering, Tohrture. You're not female enough for him, I presume, or he got tired of whatever vanilla fuck you can give him now you have your young. If you are fucking him at all. Apparently your little friend Laehsandra is more what V needs..the hard-core fuck that makes a female bleed, scream, and crave more. Fuck knows the freak female can take it. He came in here trolling for her. Specifically asked for her. And then got up close and personal with her, hot, heavy whispers that made her eyes wide and her cheeks blush. *a low laugh of husky cutting pleasure* and when he had his hand on my wrist..if he hadnt found her, I have no doubt I'd be pinned to a wall by now>> *and there it is...what I hadnt dared contemplate, that the reason he isnt touching me, that we got no further than kisses that blew my mind...he has another to see to that base need. The Dom in him not easily discarded in light of our new living situation, V apparently cant come to me to sate the urges. Teeth grinding, anger evaporating any tears, the temperature dropping until the young murmur their discomfort and I force the chill aside, replacing it with the white hot of my rage* Listen here, you little bitch. *mind screaming as my soul writhes in a confused mess of agony, so sensitive, so unsure of how he feels towards me now, and dead set furious at myself for letting this jealous gnat of a female make me think that he would betray me. My soul convinced it's a lie, my heart hurting, he is male he has needs I am not meeting...hissing out with feigned sincerity* I'm so sorry that the object of your..addiction..found you unworthy, but can you blame him? Who would take a female who has willingly sought out the attentions of not one, but all of his Brothers?  Whose legs pop open at the mere smell of leather, but is really too much of a coward to be able to take the full force of his hunger? Who aspires to be a sub as well renowned and well respected, and well served as Laea, but does not have the discipline nor the understanding of what it means to not only receive pleasure, but to give...you, female...are a sexual parasite, hopping on the back of people's needs and latching on where you arent wanted. He is MY fucking drug, the cravings for V's presence, his touch, his kiss, are soothed, eased, sated, my addiction is him and I am his. There is no way some two-bit whore like you is ever going to be the methadone to that addiction. I am in his skin, in his soul and if you touch him again, you'll have to learn to wait tables with no fucking hands and no fucking head! *disconnecting the call, the twin cries start up as my voice raises, taut with fury, at her, at my inability to cater to my male, at the doubt that is creeping in...God, when V gets home he better touch me... Of course she's lying...it cant be true, not after everything we've been through. But...to slay all uncertainty...I guess I'll be taking a trip back to our Penthouse.*

Dark Favours

{Head and shoulders above the masses as I wind my way towards the back recesses of the Reverend's club, the place is heaving tonight, the air heavy with the scents of sweat and alcohol and sex, the thoughts and desires of the clientelle coalescing into a cacophony of white noise that reverberates inside my skull, like wading through a swaying ocean of bodies, the crowd undulating in waves around me to the heavy, hypnotic bass beat of the music. The proximity of all that humanity makes my skin crawl beneath my leathers. The air of menace rolling off me gives most the hint to give the mean MOFO a wide berth and the drunk, boundary-less asshole who splashes beer on my shitkickers stumbles away after briefly locking defocused eyes on my face. Whatever he saw there, the growled 'fuck off' was redundant. Lifting my gaze above the crowd, making eye contact with the androgynous head of security who gives me an odd look as if to say 'what the fuck is your mated ass doing in here', diamond eyes narrowed on an unspoken 'none of your goddamned biz, true'. The female, Xhex, is a true pro, seeing nothing she hasn't witnessed in here a thousand times before. She looks away, but the accusation in those cold grey eyes leaves a bad fucking taste in my mouth. 


The broad expanse of my shoulders coming to rest against the wall, goateed jaw cast in shadow, raising the Goose to my lips while I scan the crowd, looking for what I need. What I get is Caith...long black hair...the resemblance to Tory ending there...but then, no female compares to Tory, true. Caith, one of our kind...a female with a rep as a Brother chaser, sashaying up into my grille, purring <<Hey V>> in that low sexy voice, her eyes drifting over me, predatory and hot} Evening Caith {nodding, taking another sip of Grey Goose} You seen Laehsandra in tonight? {her full bottom lip jutting out in a seductive pout <<wouldn't you prefer to hang out with me, V?>> the hand that reaches out to touch my jaw caught hard by the wrist and jerked away, eyes narrowed to diamond slits, the words a growled warning} Not. Interested. Female {composure slipping, her indignant stare is less than flattering, but she pulls it back together with a flick of that long, black hair, shoulders thrown back, dark eyes gleaming defiantly as I release my grip on her wrist <<I like when it hurts, V. You hunger warrior, a female can tell. Why deny yourself?>> tossing back the Goose, it occurs to me that my body is totally inert, this female's attributes hold no interest for me whatsofuckingever, the muscles across my shoulders tightening under the skin where Tory's name is carved} No offence, Caith, but you're not what I came here for {with an exaggerated shrug, she turns on one impossibly high stiletto, the retort thrown over her shoulder <<you should try me sometime, V>> but my attention is already diverted, zeroing in on the flame-haired female standing with her back to me, the lacings of her leather corset crisscrossed down the curve of her spine, cinching an already impossibly narrow waist.} 


Laehsandra {Tapping one gloved finger on her shoulder, she spins on a gasp, surprise morphing into a wide smile, flashing small, white fangs, her voice breathy <<Vishous...>>  her smooth brow creasing in confusion <<I understood you were...>> her voice trails off, the words...mated, bonded, hellren with young all remain unspoken, but they wound nonetheless, shaking my head as I lean in to speak quietly in the female's ear} I need something from you, Laehsandra and before you say no, remember, you owe me, true. I know you gave Tory the address of the Penthouse {she stiffens visibly and I feel a stab of guilt. It was a low blow, I'd wanted Tory to find me that night, fuck, I should be thanking the female, not threatening her, but the intel I need is a close kept secret on the BDSM scene, so I need the leverage} I need a session with Archos {her brow arches <<The Master? But, don't you have his contact details? I thought...>> cutting off the conversation with a short laugh} Yeah, I did, but they got...destroyed.. long story, true. Besides, I know you have influence with him and it needs to happen soon, feel me? {a female of worth and an accomplished sub, she knows better than to enquire further} Of course, my Lhe...I mean, Vishous {the blush across her cheeks visible despite the low lighting, her tone contrite} Old habits...anything for you my...friend...your shellan is very special...she is good for you, V and she is lucky to have you {her soft smile is genuine and I exhale returning her smile, inclining my head} Tory is everything to me. My thanks, Laehsandra. Appreciated, true. I am in your debt...

Craving

{Materialising onto the Penthouse balcony to the backdrop of the pulsing Caldwell city lights, the night so much warmer here than up in the Adirondacks where I left Tory with the twins. The cold breath exhaled from my lungs condensing into a plume of vapor. Hot air meeting cold... goddamn, like that's not a recipe for a fucking tornado, true...and fuck, but something inside of me is all stirred up, a fire in the blood, born of frustration and unexpended sexual energy, heightened by the sultry, electrically charged, summer atmosphere, the frisson of returning here to the Penthouse, where it all began... raking a hand through my hair, shame knotting a tight coil my gut, loathe to acknowledge that it actually feels good to break free from the endless feed-change-sleep-repeat routine with the young and the constant chafe of feeling like a piece of shit SOB for making demands on Tory that, despite a stoic front, she is clearly too bone tired and caught up with the twins to meet. No amount of punishing my body in the gym or gutting lessers taking the edge off this major case of the goddamn frustrates. Wound so damn tight, last time I stood behind her something snapped. Fuck I'd been ready to just slam her up against the wall, cheek to cold plaster and fuck her senseless, right there, willing or not, with the young crying for attention in the next room. Scrubbing a gloved hand down my face. Thank fuck Tory didn't see the expression in my eyes... feral, animal, out of control. And so I wind up here, alone, full circle, needing to do... something... to release the pressure. Diamond gaze dropping to the steel toes of my shitkickers, planted right on the scorched mark where she ashed my little black book...shit... Lids closing as I palm the flat of a gloved hand over the nape of my neck... very fucking inconvenient, true, this was going to create...complications. The services I require... specialist, underground shit, true, not the kind of contacts you keep on your speed dial friends list...lifting my head, diamond eyes narrowed as my feet take me to the glass sliders and into the Penthouse}


{Willing the glass sliders to part, black candles flaring to life, casting pools of light around the huge black cathedral of an open plan room, studiously avoiding the mess of black silk on Tory's and my mated bed, where her scent lingers still, shitkickers eating up the distance to the statement piece of furniture that dominates the room. The rack, with its coordinated backdrop wall of toys. Sucking in a breath. Fuck. Nothing says home sweet home like a hard-core BDSM set up and the scent of old candle wax, true. Letting my hands run over the wooden surface, familiar as an old friend, the rough edges polished smooth with the patina of blood and wax and sex...not unlike myself, I guess you could say, but fuck I had some rough edges right about now. Trailing my fingers over the wall of whips and floggers, the flails running through my fingers, chains and clamps, leather masks, barbed and studded, calculated to elicit just the right amount of pain and fear, a master at knowing just how much they needed. That was the reason they came to me. So many memories here....but only one replays in my brain, over and over...Tory, gripping the wooden sides of the rack while I carved my name in her skin, and after, the cheeks of her ass mashed into the hard wood, my fangs buried deep in her throat as I pounded my release inside of her. Not fucking helping, V. Slowly pushing boundaries with Tory, opening the release valve on the demons of her past, exploring the knife edges of control and trust.. I could see the direction our relationship would have taken. She, the perfect foil to my needs, me the key to freedom from a toxic past. But that was before she carried our young, true and somehow shit got derailed. Centuries of control, release on demand, a gourmet, à la carte menu of depravity just a call away. There was no internal switch you could just flick to turn that shit off... reaching out my gloved hand to take hold of one of the leather binds ... yeah, derailed.. not like Tory and I would be getting our freak on here, with the young looking on, a peanut gallery of cute, gurgling innocence. Happy fucking families. Not. Story of my life. Who was I kidding, we couldn't even pull off the straight vanilla shit right now. So something has gotta give and there is nothing..nothing.. I won't do to get my future with Tory back on track, even if it means trolling Zerosum to get what I need to get this shit back under control.....}

Reflection

*my reflection is not much changed, still sexy, still curved, still engraved with the lattice-work of scars and the spiraling vines of ink and the etched marks of his name he loves so much...yes my hips are wider, my stomach not so taut, but I am working on that, my training routine fitting in between feeds and sleep, able to hear the twin screams no matter how far my circuit around Rehv's land goes, the Chosen rushing on instinct to meet the cries only to be halted by a growl as I demat to their crib...God, who knew such territoriality could extend to our young? I thought I'd only ever want to kill females around my male...which I still do, the Chosen one smile away from having their faces rearranged by my blade. But if they tend to our young I feel...angry...like I'm not doing my job right...but I am. That's all I ever do. I dont even have time to...fuck...cater to my male. We feed from each other as needed, but sometimes, every so often, when I am alone, or curled up against his body, embraced by his arms, I cant help but wonder if something has changed.


 Am I still his female, does he still want me in the way a hellren wants his shellan...or am I merely the mother of his young, adored, respected, loved, of course, treasured beyond anything, but ultimately untouchable now? Is sex no longer on his mind, my body for feeding our miracles, for feeding him, but nothing more? 'Cause the Scribe Virgin knows my body is not on board with that program. It aches, it yearns, it craves its mate as my soul does, passion flares hot with his presence, my core clenches empty with the need for his touch, flames lick over my skin with every kiss...but he hasnt reached for me since the twins interrupted us...rubbing small circles up the tiny spine of our daughter as she murmurs into the strands of my hair, miniature fist bunching a thick wave and leading it to her perfect mouth* uh uh malyutka...you’ve just been fed, no eating your mahmen…*her brother cooing from the pillow fort on the bed, my voice carrying the Old Language lullaby loud into the empty room, drowning out my own misgivings…maybe I am being stupid. It’s only been a few weeks…when we have a rhythm set down, a routine in place…yes…maybe then he will touch me…*