The Stolen

THE STOLEN

(The Breeding Prophecy 3)

By Alexx Andria

Copyright 2012 by Alexx Andria

*This naughty bit of a story is intended for
mature readers only. If you’re not 18 years or older, find
something else to read.

The following short story of approx. 5,300
words is an original work of fiction.

Cassandra landed on the thin carpet floor
with an ass-bruising thud that felt as if it’d jarred her teeth
from her jaw as the rangy bunch of men circled around her, their
noses twitching with barely restrained excitement, and she
swallowed a thick lump of fear. They looked hungry, their canines
too long in their mouths, as if they’d only partially returned to
their human form after their last transformation and their snouts
were elongated. Cassandra tried not to recoil in fear but her skin
crawled at the lecherous gleam in their amber eyes. It was no
secret what they wanted to do to her. Her mind was spinning with
everything that had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours.
And to think, last week she’d been worried about how to pay her
credit card bill. Now, that seemed a ridiculous worry when faced
with being some supreme breeder who rival werewolf clans were
willing to kill to possess.

“She doesn’t smell like a Breeder,” one
whined, eyeing her with distaste. “All I smell is that blood
sucker’s seed on her. It stinks and makes me what to puke. Are you
sure she’s the One?”

“Yes,” the scarred one said with a dark scowl
as he motioned to a cluster of women. “Arja, take her and wash that
filth from her body. I want her to be clean when I fuck her.”

Cassandra shrieked as her arm was nearly
ripped from its socket as she was jerked to her feet by one of the
men and thrust at the woman. Cassandra stumbled as she landed in
the woman’s arms.

“Come Breeder,” Arja said, tugging at her
arm. “I will show you where to bathe.”

Cassandra followed Arja, a petite woman with
a subtle limp in her gait, down a dim, dingy hallway that stank of
mildew and things best left unnamed. Cassandra gave the air around
her a delicate sniff and shuddered as the faint scent of death
teased her nostrils with its cloying sweetness. “Who are you?” she
asked. “What clan are you?”

Arja cast a reproachful glance Cassandra’s
way before pushing open a door that protested loudly on old hinges.
“The bath isn’t much to look at but there’s warm running water,
which is more than we’ve had in the past. Get undressed and I’ll
scrub you down.”

“I can wash myself, thank you,” Cassandra
said stiffly, glancing around the dirty, scum-crusted tub with open
horror. It was filthy. She doubted she’d manage to become any
cleaner in that thing. She expected Arja to close the door behind
her but she stubbornly remained, ignoring Cassandra’s declaration.
Cassandra glared but Arja didn’t budge. “Come on…this is
ridiculous. I can wash myself.”

“You smell of vampire lust. If you don’t get
every drop of his seed from your skin, Ulster will beat me. I’m
sorry but I’m not willing to take the chance.” Arja bent down and
pulled a mean looking scrub brush from under the cabinet. She eyed
it with grim satisfaction as she pushed her lanky brown hair from
her eyes. “This ought to do the trick.”

Cassandra surely must’ve paled because she
felt the blood leave her cheeks at the sight of that horrid thing.
“I-I don’t think that’s sanitary…I could get sick…and then where
would the prophecy be?”

“Human sickness does not touch us. It’s one
of the reasons our life expectancy is much longer than humans. You
should know that. Now, strip before Ulster sends one of his men to
do it for you. Trust me,” she warned in a low tone “you don’t want
that to happen. They’re all yipping at the chance to touch the
prophesied one. You don’t look like you can handle what they’d do
to you.”

Cassandra stripped with shaking fingers,
taking Arja’s warning at face value. There was something about the
woman that spoke of truth. Arja caught Cassandra’s gaze wandering
to her gimpy left leg and she said, “I am not a Breeding female,”
she said by way of explanation.

“What do you mean?”

“I cannot carry pups beyond a certain point
in the pregnancy.”

“Then how did you get pregnant?” Cassandra
asked, confused and concerned for the diminutive woman.

“Ulster found a witch to spell the women in
the clan, to force a Breeding female to emerge. And it worked…at
first. Until we realized, our bodies kept rejecting the pups. It
was as if our wombs were poison. Ulster took the miscarriages as a
sign that we’d brought it upon ourselves somehow and we were
punished.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Cassandra cried out
softly, feeling the women’s failure as if it were a physical thing.
“That’s barbaric.”

Arja shrugged. “Ulster was trying to save the
clan. We haven’t had a true Breeder in too long. Not since…your
mother.”

“You knew my mother?”

“I was young when she was here but she was
kind. And beautiful. Like you.” Arja lowered her voice and glanced
around surreptitiously to add, “You must be wary of Ulster. When
your mother left the clan to be your father, Ulster went into a
rage and tried to stop her. His face is scarred because your father
nearly ripped it off when he discovered Ulster beating her. He
hates your bloodline, even if you are the Prophesied One.”

“Then why did he bring me here?” Cassandra
asked, a chill chasing her spine.

Arja lifted woeful eyes to Cassandra’s and
murmured, “Nothing good, I suspect. If I were less of a coward, I’d
help you to escape. But he will kill me. I’m sorry.”

“Leave with me,” Cassandra said impulsively,
gripping Arja’s cold hands. “There’s nothing for you here. Come
with me. The men in the other clan aren’t like Ulster. They’re kind
and generous. They would take you in, I’m sure of it.”

“You do not know our ways. Our clans have
been warring since the beginning of time it seems. The hatred for
one another is imprinted on our DNA, branded on our souls. They
would tear me apart for daring to step foot in their
territory.”

“That’s not true. Why would they do
that?”

“Because it’s what we do.”

Cassandra gave up trying to convince Arja
things would be different at the other clan. Truthfully, she didn’t
know if what she promised was true. Although Jandin and Koris had
been protective and kind, she didn’t know if that was their true
nature when not mating with a Breeding female. Particularly a
Prophesied One. Cassandra accepted the brutal scrubbing of her skin
as Arja made sure not a drop of Cristophe’s seed remained on her
body, even going so far as to swish her vagina with an efficient
sweep of her finger to make sure nothing remained inside her womb,
and then Cassandra was dried and dressed in an frumpy brown sack of
a dress that looked as if it’d been salvaged from a bag meant for
the thrift store. She lifted the hem of the ugly dress and let it
drop.

“It matters little what you wear. Ulster will
simply tear it from your body when he mates with you.”

Cassandra stared in open repulsion. “I don’t
want to mate with him.”

A small smile lifted Arja’s mouth. “That
won’t matter either. A word of advice: Don’t fight. Accept your
fate with grace and maybe he won’t mark you for sport. Ulster is a
mean bastard with a penchant for inflicting pain on others.”

Fear snaked its way to her heart and her
knees had begun to quake as they walked down the dingy hallway to
another room.

At one time, the decrepit house may have been
grand but time and disrepair, vandals and neglect had aged the
classy Victorian to a shell of its former grandeur. Much like a
great courtesan who had fallen on hard times and was forced to
service rough patrons in a filthy alleyway to make ends meet, the
old house struggled to retain some semblance of what it had once
been in its crumbling cornices and creaking maple balustrade.

“Who does this house belong to?” Cassandra
asked.

“Someone dead.”

“Oh.” Cassandra took that as a warning not to
ask too many questions. Her gaze darted from one room to the next,
looking for an escape but everywhere she looked, pairs of eyes
peered at her from darkened alcoves and musty rooms. Arja led her
into a room different from the rest. The room was awash in opulent
tones of red and purple and Ulster, the scarred barbarian, lounged
in his oversized chair like a king on his throne. Three large men
stood at wary attention, their eyes narrowing and their noses
twitching as Cassandra entered the room.

“Ahh, there she is. The lady of the hour.
Tell me, did you manage to wash that bloodsucker’s stink from your
body?”

Arja bowed. “She is clean, Master.”

“She’d better be or I’ll whip the worthless
flesh from your bones,” Ulster promised with a sick smile as if he
rather liked the idea of Arja’s failure simply so he could carry
out his threat. He motioned Arja away as if the sight of her filled
him with disgust and said, “What do you think of our
accommodations?” he asked, almost mockingly, daring her to give him
a reason to abuse her. The mean, hard look in his eyes gave away
his hope and Cassandra wasn’t about to play his game. She remained
silent, seaming her mouth shut purposefully. “Oh, a quiet one? No
worries, I have ways to make my women say whatever I’d like them to
say.”

“I am not your woman,” Cassandra said without
flinching, which made her very proud because inside she was shaking
like a leaf in a strong wind. “Jandin and Koris will find me. And
they will tear you to pieces.”

“What makes you think I won’t tear them to
pieces first?” he asked silkily.

“Because if you could, you would’ve already.”
She sent a derisive look around the motley group, noting their
moth-bitten clothes and the pervasive sense of abject poverty that
clung to everything she saw, and said, “You are not their equals in
any way. It’s no wonder my mother couldn’t wait to get away from
this clan.”

Ulster growled in warning, the sound low and
dangerous and sending a riot of raised flesh skittering around her
nerve endings, as he leaned forward, baring his teeth. “You dare
much, girl. Do not speak of that bitch in my presence if you enjoy
breathing. She abandoned her clan — her
family
— to whelp with the cursed enemy clan.”

Cassandra bit her tongue to keep from
snarling a bitter retort in a bid for self-preservation. She knew
nothing of her birth parents, but from what she had gleaned thus
far, the star-crossed lovers had defied everything to be together,
even a timeless prophecy that had doomed them from the start.

“Why did you bring me here? To make me atone
for my mother’s sins? I never knew her. I was adopted. Any revenge
you seek against her would be futile. She didn’t raise me and I
know nothing about this damn prophecy everyone keeps talking about.
What makes you think it’s even real? I mean, it’s the
21
^st
century, people. Not the medieval times.”

Ulster seemed taken aback by her frank
statement, so much so that a lengthy pause stretched between
them.

“Do not listen to her treachery,” one of his
men urged, eyeing Cassandra with open distrust. “She’d say anything
to avoid her fate. Hurry up and put your seed in her belly. Your
son, our clan, was meant to rule this world.”

“You’re caught in a time warp. There’s no
prophecy. Just a bunch of werewolves stuck in the past. I mean,
look around…this place could use a little freshening up. You know?
Why do you live like this?”

A low rumbling sounded in warning and
Cassandra swallowed nervously. Perhaps she’d taken it a bit far.
Forty-eight hours ago if someone had said to her that she was a
werewolf, let alone a Prophesied Breeder of Epic Proportions, she
would’ve directed them to the nearest mental hospital. But there
was no denying the changes in her body, ones she couldn’t possibly
explain away logically — not to mention the whole losing her
virginity during some feverish Phasing to two different strange men
and then the subsequent wild sex with a vampire — but she’d
say or do anything to dissuade the scarred bastard staring her down
from sticking anything of his inside her. She could only hope she
didn’t phase again soon. She had a feeling that if she did, she’d
screw anything with a cock in her fevered state. She ran her tongue
across her lips, dehydrated from everything that had transpired.
“Can I get something to drink,” she asked, hating to show even an
ounce of weakness but she was truly parched and beginning to feel a
little weak.

Ulster snapped his fingers and another woman
scuttled inside. “Yes, Master?” she asked, her head bowed.

“Get the Breeder some water and be quick
about it.”

The woman nearly tripped in her haste to obey
and it was everything Cassandra could do to hide her disgust at
Ulster’s treatment of his women.