Cajun Gothic (Blood Haven) (24 page)

Where the hell did that come from? Altar?

Sacrifice?

Micah was aware of movement, of the soft shush of fabric and a raw
chill of conditioned air sweeping across his naked body. He lay stretched,
bound, his arms pinioned above his head, the manacles unforgiving with razor
sharp edges. If he struggled there would be blood. Apparitions danced on a
wall, not the one with the arches, not the alcove where he’d glimpsed his
stalker, his shadow doppelganger.

Trina. Who is your friend? Why won’t he come near?

Hands clasped his ankles, pinning him in place. The anticipation
was almost as good as the first crack, the leather strips flicked left, right.
The first touch was a mere a prick, a promise. The second brought tears and
released an ache he’d hidden for years.

Eyes squeezed shut, he lifted his hips, letting it happen,
blocking out the soft scuffling, chairs and footfalls receding away from
consciousness, leaving only sensation.

A voice like an angel trilled in his ear. Child-like, the words
made no sense and he couldn’t be sure they were meant for him. Her dreadlocks
brushed his nipples and dragged lower, blanketing tortured flesh.

More. I want more.

Hot chill and icy heat spilled over his belly, inching close,
closer—the odor of wax assaulting his nostrils. At first impact he whimpered
and the gallery sighed its pleasure.

More movement, somewhere near his head, yet he dare not look…

“Where—?” He broke the rule and paid for his insubordination, the
taste of silicone vicious and unexpected, gagging and balling the bile, locking
his throat in a rictus of panic. The leather strap pinched as a minion
tightened it down, encircling his scalp.

There’s nothing to fear…

You want this, you’ve always wanted this…

Bucking against the restraints, twisting, moaning low in his
throat, he yearned to submit, to give in to the dark pleasure of pain.

Bless me, father, for I have sinned…

****

Shaking his head, the physician instructed Damien and Samuels to
hold a wriggling Rinj steady while he performed the aspiration and irrigation.

“Normally I wouldn’t recommend such an invasive procedure but
unfortunately neither phenylephrine or epinephrine will work as vasoactive
agents…”

Damien glared at Samuels over Rinj’s head as the doctor rattled on
about complications and the potential for impotence. That last had Rijn nearly
apoplectic, a condition that usually bode ill for his human staff.

Rinj’s temper and employee turnover rate were notorious in the Big
Apple.

Damien mouthed ‘how’ but Samuels shook his head, not willing to
discuss the fine points with Rijn’s manhood facing a 25 gauge needle and a
thoroughly baffled urologist.

Eyes rolling back in his head Rijn arched against the restraints
as the physician poked and prodded the severely distorted muscle.

“Definitely non-ischemic. It looks to me like the artery feeding
the corpora cavernosa was…” He bracketed the puncture wounds causing Rijn to
whine in agony. “Hmm, yes, I suspect the artery’s been ruptured.” He looked up
with concern. “That means the blood has nowhere to go.”

Samuels glanced at Damien who nodded he understood, then said to
the doctor, “Thank you, Arnold, please proceed.”

“How’s he doing, Damien?”

“As good as can be expected. I’ll need to let him feed again in a
few hours.” Damien took the offered tumbler and chugged the smooth whisky.

“Is he healing?”

“Yeah, but slowly.” Damien sat in a wingback chair and stretched
his long legs. The air was stale and damp, not that he needed to breathe it but
the odor set him on edge. And he had questions that Samuels seemed anxious to
dodge. “Explain to me what that was about.”

Samuels refilled their glasses and settled on a small settee in
the middle of the chamber. Since the cat was pretty much out of the bag, he
decided on full disclosure.

“It seems our girl came with some extra abilities your Roma
friends failed to mention. Jesus, Damien, what the hell were you thinking?”
Samuels punched a tasseled pillow, his fist penetrating the velvet fabric,
scattering filling across the carpeted floor. “Scratch that, apparently you
didn’t think…”

Damien set his mouth in a hard line, the reference to ‘our girl’ a
point of contention he wasn’t prepared to address right that minute.

“I’ve done everything I can to contain Catrina, including forcing
Magda to ride herd on the girl. What she does for recreation is her own damn
business. I’ve got enough on my plate with the BDSM, Goth and Vamp subcultures
at each other’s throats, parading around like goddamn…”

Samuels held up a hand, opting for conciliation rather than
confrontation. He could ill afford to lose Damien’s skills with
human
relations
.

Damien picked up on that thought thread and chuckled, letting his
annoyance leach away. There would be than enough opportunities later to butt
heads with the Council and their esteemed leader. It was enough to know Catrina
had effectively emasculated Samuels’ second with a well-placed nibble on his
manhood. That alone was worth the price he had paid.

And Magda. He couldn’t forget her.
That
was a secret
ingredient worth taking to the light.

Samuels acknowledged the defusing of the situation with a curt
nod, then continued, keeping his voice even, “Rinj thinks it’s either venom or
magick, take your pick. Quite a nice little skill set, being able to immobilize
your prey with ecstasy, then keep him from healing. I’d like to know more about
that. Or how you can send someone to the light with a fucking smile on his
face.” He raised his eyebrows, remembering Rinj’s pained expression when he
said,
not even you could resist
. In the back of his mind he wondered if
someday he should test that theory.

“We all have our gifts, Samuels. You and I know that better than
most.”

Samuels looked ready to escalate the argument but his cell phone
chirped. He looked at the caller ID and frowned. “Yeah, Smithy, what is it?” He
listened quietly as minutes ticked past, then flipped the phone shut.

Samuels glared at Damien. “The girls managed to slip their
handlers and went walkabout. They were at Fangs, putting on quite a show according
to my sources. Smithy sent a squad to do clean-up.”

“Any blow-back?”

“Odd you should put it that way. Seems our girl’s taken a fancy to
some human shmuck by the name of Micah. She took him home with her and is
giving him the blow job of a lifetime.”

“Where’s Mags?”

“Watching.” Samuels snorted, “Who knew your warrior princess was
such a voyeur.”

“What do you want me to do?” Damien would deal with his wayward
children later. Now wasn’t the time to put lines in the sand.

“Go feed Rinj again. Then we need to talk. Smithy will take care
of disposal. Might as well let the kid go to his happy place.”

After Damien exited the room, Samuels paced the small space, lost
in thought.

I should feel sorry for you, Micah, but that’s one hell of a way
to go.

˜
™

COMING SOON

ON THE DARK SIDE

OF

GOTHAM

(Blood Haven)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nya Rawlyns has lived in the
country and on a sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay. When she isn’t tending to her
garden or the horses, the cats, or two pervert parakeets, she can be found day
dreaming and listening to the voices in her head.

Her published works include:

Acid Jazz Singer (Hunger Hurts)

The Shadow of This World

Skin

The Guardians of the Portals

Sculpting David (Red Sage,
novella)

Hunter’s Crossing (Red Sage)

Finish Line (novella)

Dance Macabre (short story)