Сюзанна Бэк - Desert Storm

Bending down, she easily hefted a long, razor sharp dagger from its place just outside of the circle. Her chanting grew louder as she passed the blade of the knife through the candles’ flame three times in a counterclockwise fashion.

Hefting the rum bottle, she poured the liquid over the blade, coating both sides carefully. When she drew the dagger through the flames again, they leapt up, causing the metal to flare as if it had been forged by the sun itself.

Laughing in triumph, she once again rose to her full height and lifted her prize to the heavens, her chant winding down and becoming a low drone.

As her gaze returned to the pair on the table, she noticed that Kael had straightened and was thrusting in earnest. Her body was taut, every muscle exquisitely defined. Her hands were caressing her own breasts and torso. Raphael’s hands had a death grip on her thighs, fingers sunk deep into the tender flesh around corded, bulging muscle. His eyes were glazed, fevered and hot. His mouth hung wide open, his breath coming in tortured gasps.

Turning her head, Kael watched as Ianna stepped out of the shadows, dagger in hand. Grinning, the American took her proffered gift and spun it easily in her hand.

Faster than a striking snake, she had the point of the dagger pressed against the bounding pulse of the man beneath her.

“What …what are you doing?” he gasped out, eyes going wide.

Kael’s smile was evil incarnate as she rode him mercilessly. “Seeing what it feels like to fuck a dead man.”

Raphael’s struggle to escape became his undoing. As his hips bucked in a desperate attempt to lift Kael off of him, he unknowingly slid into her with just the right force, at just the right angle, to cause him to fall over the chasm into release. His body betraying him, he arched and bent back, his head slamming repeatedly against the hard wood of the platform as he groaned, flooding her.

Kael’s hand stayed rock steady on the dagger, drawing only a thin line of blood as the man thrashed helplessly beneath her, trapped by the power of his own desperate release. Her laugh was low and teasing and cruel, and she looked down with dispassionate eyes as Raphael spent himself totally within her.

“That’s a good boy,” she crooned as he finally relaxed and lay panting and dazed, weak as a kitten and scared out of his wits. “Such a very good boy.”

Her tongue played teasingly across the sharp edge of her teeth as she casually drew the dagger down the front of his body. “Aren’t we having fun?” she asked, her coy tone a blatant contrast to the dark mirth in her eyes.

Scenting Raphael’s fear the way sharks scented blood, Ianna stalked to the head of the table and grasped his face between the palms of her hands. She moaned in ecstasy when his terror assailed her senses. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her lashes fluttered. “Oh yes,” she murmured, her voice dark and husky, “give it to me. Give me your fear. Let me taste it.”

Staring up into the priestess’ lust-filled, demented eyes, Raphael began to feel a kernel of anger develop deep within. He nursed it carefully, and grunted with some satisfaction as it ran through his weak, spent limbs. Wrenching his head away, he brought both hands up and shoved Ianna back away from him.

She stumbled, then went down in a heap, scattering the circle of candles at her feet. Cursing, she jumped back up and began to right the fallen and scattered objects before the power of the spell she was laying seeped out into the dark emptiness beyond.

Raphael’s gaze tracked up to the blue-eyed she-demon still astride him and his lips pealed back in an ferocious snarl. “Get the fuck off me, you fucking whore!”

Kael laughed, riding out the wave of his bucking hips easily. When his futile struggles ceased, she leaned casually forward, her breasts brushing against his sweaty and heaving chest, the point of her dagger drawing a whimsical trail along one chiseled cheekbone. “Ya got the fucking part right, lover,” she purred, grinning. “But as for the whore …well, I suppose I’ll need to collect payment for… ” her hips rocked lewdly against him, “services rendered, no?”

“You bitch!” he screamed, throwing a muscled arm up in an attempt to beat her off of him.

Laughing again, Kael evaded the slap easily, but opened a gaping slice in his cheek in the process. Sparkling eyes went wide with mock innocence and shock. “Whoops!”

His left arm came up in reflex and managed to deal a heavy blow to the side of Kael’s face.

A lesser human would have tumbled off the table with a broken neck.

Kael barely flinched.

A snarl curled her full lips. “You’re gonna pay for that, lover boy.”

Looking into those soulless blue eyes, Raphael was sure he saw the depths of hell. Terror seeped into him again, and he began struggling with everything in him, cursing his weakened muscles and uttering the incoherent sounds of a trapped and snarling animal.

“No!” Ianna shouted, looking up from her task in time to see the glittering silver of the dagger held high over Kael’s head, ready to begin its downward plunge. “Not yet!”

Somehow, Kael managed to arrest the furious descent of the knife but not her burning desire to inflict pain on the man beneath her. Turning the dagger in her hand, she dealt a crashing blow with the hilt to the side of his skull.

Raphael went limp as his eyes glazed over. Dazed, yes, but still alive.

Grunting in satisfaction, Kael slid off of the table just as Ianna moved by.

“Did you have to do that?” the priestess hissed.

Kael shot her a narrow-eyed look but refrained from commenting.

“Help me,” Ianna continued, reaching up and pressing a button on the near wall. The thump-rattle of a heavy chain hitting the table was clearly heard in the silence of the room. “Strap those around his ankles and I’ll haul him up. Quickly, before he wakes up.”

The American’s pristine white teeth glowed in the flickering candlelight. “You know, the last asshole who tried to tell me what to do gave up trying to breathe through the extra holes I put in his skull.”

The priestess’ return smile was every bit as false. “Please,” she conceded, tilting her head in a way that could be construed as sarcastic, but wasn’t.

After a long, assessing moment, Kael turned away and bound the semi-conscious man’s ankles tightly with the thick cords attached to the chains.

When the American stepped away, Ianna pressed the button on the wall again. The hidden winch began to turn, drawing Raphael up toward the ceiling by his ankles. When his hips left the table, he became aware enough to renew his struggles, though weakly.

Those struggles trebled in intensity once his shoulders, and then his head, left the table and he found himself hanging upside down, suspended from the ceiling.

Twisting fruitlessly like a fish on a line, he tried to bend at the waist to free his ankles, but it was no use. His body simply betrayed him, the only thing left to him was a string of rabid curses which flew from his mouth in a spray of spittle and flecks of foam.

“Help me move the table. Please,” Ianna said, already coming to the head and gripping the plywood with fingers hooked to talons.

Nodding, Kael went to the foot of the platform and, on the count of three, easily lifted it up and to the side, revealing the gleaming black of the cauldron beneath.

Instantly, the scents of death, despair, pain and hunger assailed her, causing her to take an involuntary half-step backward while still holding the table.

Ianna yelped as splinters drove themselves into her palms, and she dropped her end of the platform, hissing in pain.

Raphael simply screamed.

Mindlessly, Kael simply tossed the plywood off to the side, and stepped forward again, stared into the cauldron, eyes wincing and watering as the icy chill seared through her skull. Those same eyes widened when she realized that the icy mass of …whatever it was in the kettle… was now coming to a full, violent boil without any type of heat source whatsoever.