Chapter 1
Andy's dreamscape was a draw on whether they were calm, soothing, sensuous or nightmarish. Sometimes Andy dreamt of a woman with hair like her's, tri-colored golden eyes, and gleaming, movable inky patterns all over her skin. Huge black dogs, dark obsidian horses, and giant wolf all danced like shadows puppets across her skin. Sometimes they overlaid her body entirely. Andy often found this particular dream comforting. Almost like waking with a belly-full of warm oatmeal.
Other times, they were terrifying; filled with landscapes and figures that left Andy waking in resonating terror. In them, she was hunted by an entity she'd deemed the
Dark One. It moved like an ominous stain across that spilt across the floor, eating up all light. She often pictured it creeping down New York Ave, shutting down the streetlamps and sending the animals scurrying in hopes of not being swallowed. Gruesome scenes always followed it in its wake-beautiful, broken bodies, wrenching screams and chilling visions of dark red blood cascading like ribbons through stale dead air. It was an oily darkness so severe you could barely make out your hand in front your face. Andy could often be found huddling in abject fear in a corner after such a dream. As if the oily darkness could reach out from her subconscious and seize her with its tentacles.
Other times the
Dark One would sharpen into an actual figure no less terrifying: In those dreams, there was another woman with beautiful pitch-black hair that flowed long and sleek, almost eel-like across her shoulders. It seemed the most 'alive' thing about her. Everything else seemed to convey death and pain. Her skin was almost translucent, like moonlight, with full breasts, very tall, long gracefully proportioned limbs, muscled yet feminine. She was absolutely beautiful, but beautiful like a Black Mamba waiting for you to get closer, deadly intent emanating from her body. Dream Andy had never seen her face ... and that was a huge relief. Her self-preservation told her that if that ever happened...It wouldn't go well for her. Andy shivered, tension tightening her shoulders, the resonance of those dreams continued to echo on her conscious, clogging her with fear.
She had no idea what any of this meant, it was just an instinct. However, it was the other woman with brilliant, blood-red hair and glowing moonlight skin, that gave her an entirely different feeling; a sense of... belonging? Warmth? A recognition of... what, Andy had no idea. She'd woken up many times, looking frantically around, gasping, shaken, only to realize it was just a dream, the woman just beyond her grasp. She'd then felt a sense of loss so keen that she didn't even realize that her face was wet with tears until she felt them tickle off the end of her chin. If only her dreams could somehow offer more information. She had a feeling that some of those answers would be important in "real life". And if there was one thing that Andy had realized over the years as more of her special qualities have come "on-line," it was that her instincts were her life-line.
The other people who featured strongly in her dreamscape also made her anxious, but at the same time filled with a sense of... yearning. There was a man with silver, Christmas tinsel-colored hair, an obsidian-onyx-colored man, with long gorgeous inky hair, and a Green Man with gleaming, mossy skin, and grassy colored hair. They all swirled throughout her dreams like a kaleidoscope. Another man that should have been more nightmarish because of the tentacle-like things often waving wildly around him, wasn't. For some reason the tentacles never scared her and only made her intensely curious.
She could never see the faces of these people, she didn't know who they were, but they appeared often enough in her dreams throughout the years - ever since puberty. She knew they were Fey, but she had no idea of what kind, because only the Fey looked like them: perfect, moonlight skin in some cases, hair-color that would be impossible to find in a bottle... and then there was the huge green dog. The Dog would appear at various times, interspersed with these individuals - sometimes in the beginning or at the end. But the Dog would often stop and just look at her - as if she were consciously standing in front of it.
She finally did some research on what this Dog looked like and the meaning of its appearance. The dog, it turned out, was known as
Cu Sith: the Hound of the Sidhe. Its magic was powerful, wild and unpredictable. At the size of a pony, solid green, with huge yellow-green eyes, it was the official guard dog of the Mound where the Fey resided. They were thought to have disappeared, but Andy had seen them in her dreams even before she'd been compelled to look it up. What does this have to do with me, she wondered?
It frustrated her to no end because while she knew that the Fey existed, very few people ever met them. Everyone knew the general story of the Fey of course; Thomas Jefferson granted them asylum way back when after the Fey Wars between the
Seelie Sidhe and
Unseelie Sidhe (supposedly one represented the 'light' and the other represented the 'dark') nearly destroyed the Fey and everything else. The Treaty between Jefferson and the Fey stipulated that they couldn't be worshipped as gods or goddesses and couldn't practice any of their magic on humans. Violation of this would either be deportation or punishable by law.
Humans found them very fascinating. Who wouldn't when you had beautiful women like Queen Andais of the Unseelie Court and stunningly handsome men like King Taranis of the Seelie Court? Of course there were other Fey who were neither Seelie nor Unseelie, and even had their own lesser courts, but the American public was fascinated by the Sidhe. And among the Sidhe, Princess Merry Gentry of the Unseelie Court was their favorite icon. The attention was unsurprising. Merry was the only American-born royalty and she lived in Los Angeles.
All this, Andy knew, because she'd always secretly found the Fey as fascinating as the rest of the world. Plus, she did a research paper on them for a World History class in high school. Not that she was one of those nuttily obsessed
fairiephiles. She at least had some sort of life outside her fey obsession. Doug, on the other hand, was a TOTAL faeriephile - couldn't get enough of them. He had all the posters, books, and fanzines the media churned out.
"Oh. My. God!" Doug would squeal while watching E-Networks' The Chelsea Handler Show. "Did you see that
Fendi bag Princess Merry was rockin' last week?! I'm SOOO jealous!"
It was a wonder Doug hadn't been put on one of the Fey and Supernatural Affairs watch-lists yet.
No, Andy's fascination was different. It wasn't the crazed obsession of a fan, or the frenzied curiosity of the media. For her, it was about exploring the feeling of kinship she felt with the Sidhe, and the need to know why she felt such kinship. It was all intensely personal for her, and even Lily and Doug didn't have a clue how much time she spent thinking, reading, and dreaming about them. Sometimes Andy wondered if She Fey or even Sidhe. It would explain Andy's intense reaction to her.
However, all of this was irrelevant because Andy's current situation quickly brought her back into focus between a woman's thighs, wetly slapping skin, and a quickly approaching monster orgasm.
***
Later on that week.
When Doug and Lily met Max, (Andy's newest girlfriend) Andy had to remind them to not gawk. "Guys is it possible you can stop drooling? I get that she's ridiculously hot - but that's why we have lots of sex!"
She received a slap on the arm for her explanation, "Andy!" Max rolled her eyes in amusement and shook her head at her girlfriend.
Turning back to the group, Max held out her hand in greeting. "Hi! My name is Max."
"How did you guys meet?" asked a still flabbergasted Lily.
Max was a pre-law student at
DePaul University. They met as most people did: by accident - in a strip club. No, Max was not a stripper, although that didn't stop her boss from hounding her to be a dancer. Max was a bartender, who thanks to a generous dose of great genes, made a killing on tips each night she worked. It was how she paid for school. Her parents stopped paying for her schooling when she came Out to them.
"Well...," Andy couldn't stop her grin from widening, "we met on an outing Dougie took me to earlier this week."
Earlier that week, Doug and his friend Michael, taking their "gay pride intro" seriously, decided to take Andy to
Baby's Milk "Gentlemen's Lounge" (aka strip club) as part of her indoctrination into the "gay life." Andy remained dubious that this would be a place to find a nice girl. What kind of name was Baby's Milk anyway?! I mean, are they kidding me?! However, she went along anyway, and had been, surprisingly, not disappointed.
***
Trailing Doug into the flashy of the strip club, Andy couldn't help but roll her eyes and sigh heavily in disgust."Now tell me again how I'm supposed to find a "someone" here? You do know that even lesbians don't consider this a top choice for meeting potential dates right?"
"Heelllooo! You're not supposed to find a "nice girl" just yet," said Doug. "You have to get your feet wet first. Have sex, figure out what you like...,"
"I sorta already had sex with a woman!" Andy replied.
"Yeah, but that was for your show - or so you claimed, and you only kissed her while groping her breasts." Doug pointed out. "We found it a lil'... odd then, but now we know the real reason for that little episode don't we?" He waggled his eyebrows lecherously in her direction.
Andy just rolled her eyes again and didn't merit him with a response. Instead, she took the moment to take a look around at the small club from their corner spot. The floor was filled with low tables and small sofa lounges like the one she was sitting on, and a catwalk stage at the center. With gleaming silver polls holding mostly naked women, the stage dominated the room. It was a nice view. So with the heavy base of the music thrumming against her skin, Andy sat back and tried to enjoy the experience.
Everything was fine until a scantily clad woman with gravity defying breasts began in gyrate directly in front of her. "Would you like a dance beautiful?" She asked, pushing herself into Andy. In response, Andy sprawled further into her chair and tried to shrink away.
"Umm...I gotta go get a drink," she said, dashing off over the protests of Doug and Michael to the bar.
Andy needed to cool down. Her libido was raising its inconvenient head, and Andy was having a hard time controlling her urges. The scent of pussy had seared the inside of her nostrils immediately when she entered the club, and became excruciating when she sat near the stage. She was embarrassed and getting hornier by the second. Not really looking at the other patrons, some of whom were lecherously checking her out, Andy approached the bar and wondered how long she'd be able to stay before she did something she'd regret.
"You look like you could use this honey," a voice said, before a murky purple-colored, drink landed in front of her. Andy looked up to find gorgeous brown eyes in a heart-shaped face, framed by long wavy brown hair. The bartender's skin was like silky smooth café au lait and she was, in a word, hot! Once again, Andy didn't realize that with her increasing libido her own beautiful tri-colored, gold-copper-brown eyes were becoming decidedly more heated.
"Thank you. What's in that?" Andy said, gesturing towards the drink while having an extremely difficult time keeping her eyes off the woman's lips.
"Hmm... let's see, a little soothsayer, some divination, and ta-da, you have my special brew," Gawd, she should bottle that voice and sell it as 'sex, Andy thought.
"The name's Max." A graceful, long-fingered, hand enclosed Andy's, and it was only through sheer will-power that Andy didn't launch herself over the bar, throw Max against the wall, and slide her fingers in..., "Oh, ah, Andy. My name is Andy." Andy could feel the full bloom blush spreading across her already heated skin.
It was only after a couple of Max's potent drinks, introductions to Doug and Michael, a frantic dash to a taxi and Max's apartment, that Andy realized how lucky she was. If you were going to "break in" your lesbian card, you couldn't beat a woman who looked like Jungle Julia from Quentin Tarantino's Death Proof. Talk about a "test drive".
***
3am found Max gripping the rails at the headboard with her gorgeous ass in the air, dripping with sweat and come. What was this; the 6th orgasm? When she felt Andy's fingers swirling around her already swollen, hyper-sensitive, clit; making her hips buck and grind again and again onto Andy's 'cock', Max realized she was going to have to re-schedule her study group later on today. She'd need to rest.
"Oh God! I'm cumming... oh, god! Oh! Yes!" She wailed as her orgasm whipped through her body, eyes squeezing shut. She could feel her cum pouring out from between her thighs, the wetness increasing the clicking sound every time Andy moved inside her.
As Andy pounded into her body using a cork-screw motion to hit every nerve-ending inside her pulsating channel, Max felt another wave of orgasm crest. If she'd looked behind her at that moment, she'd have seen Andy glowing like a luminescent light.
Andy's now glowing tri-colored eyes watched voraciously as her 'cock' slid in and out of Max's cunt. "Gosh you should see how beautiful and nasty this looks," Andy gasped as her hips undulated, "- the way your pussy grabs onto my cock is the most amazing thing I've ever seen. It's like you don't want me to ever pull out do you? Who knew I could make you this wet?!"
Andy could feel her orgasm gaining strength and she knew it was gonna be the biggest one of the night. Her hand dug into the side of Max's torso, while the other continued to swirl over Max's clit. She leaned down, long, dark, sweat-dampened hair falling messily over her lover's shoulder and she nuzzled the small hollow in the crook of Max's neck. The urge to bite down hard was very, very, strong. She could almost smell the blood-metallic, with hints of cinnamon-racing through Max's veins. It was as if all the previous orgasms were building up to this point and like the others, it wasn't Max that brought her over the edge. It was
Her. The memory of piercing blue eyes flashed through Andy's mind as her swollen clit throbbed rhythmically. Brought to the very precipice of the abyss, Andy gave into her instincts and bit down. Bright, blinding orgasm ripped through her being, and Andy could hear Max's answering howl as they both lost themselves within the intoxicating mixture of blood, lust and pain.
"Jesus!" gasped a limp Max. "Are you sure you've never done this before???"
Chapter 2: The Gathering
Her heels clicked steadily against the marble floor as they beat a path to the wide double doors at the end of that hall. Silent sentinels lined either side of the hall, but they were of little concern to her. She could feel the power emanating like a nuclear power source from the other side of those double doors.
Damn Jean-Claude - she wanted absolutely nothing to do with these parasites! Earthmover and Padma?! Bloody hell! How could
He of all vampires, from all the council lines - Belle Morte, gain a Truimvirate? A powerful one at that! All in "lovely" St. Louis for Christ's sake?! It was inconceivably vexing.
To add insult to injury, Jean Claude, along with his other two triumvirate members, Richard Zeaman; Ulfric or wolf king, and Anita Blake (a Vampire Executioner and a Necromancer), had managed to rattle the Vampire Council; Rattled them so much that it brought Miranda into their sights - again. She absolutely did not want to be there, and she was almost certain that the feeling was mutual. She'd almost run her sword through the Master of the Beast/Padma's heart the last time they'd gathered. And she'd most certainly had her deceptively powerful hand around Mussette's (Belle Morte's 2nd) throat, as she attempted to slowly crush the other vampire's wind-pipe. No, she didn't think they were keen to see her again if they could avoid it. It was why her current wrath was focused on Jean-Claude. Whatever he'd done had shaken them enough to once again demand she join the Council.
Well, if she was going into "battle" at least she'd worn the appropriate attire. Red
Prada heels of course, a dark-grey, pin-stripe pencil skirt suit fashioned by her protégé
Domenico Vacca just for this occasion (Domenico is a Were-Rat; powerful allies to have in New York City) and her trademark
Hermes scarf all spoke of power. It was so nice to have power. Miranda smirked a little before continuing on in a brisk pace.
Anyone looking on would have been immediately treated to her icy-impassive gaze. Looking indifferent was a necessary skill when dealing with other Master Vampires, especially this group. They would never know how very much she despised almost all of them; Especially Belle Morte, a former lover and current Council member. Their relationship had been... complicated, for lack of a better word, and a mistake.
The complication was why Belle Morte's presence infuriated Miranda even more. She hated imprecision. "Nigel, Emily, I want a plane ready to go in 3 hours. I don't plan to be away from New York any longer than I have to."
"It's already re-fueled and ready to go," said Emily. "In addition, your daughters have extended their stay with their Father as you requested."
Emily knew that there would be fall-out from this meeting and knew that Miranda didn't want her daughters anywhere near the cross-fire. She was really, really, sorry that Padma's son was killed. She would have enjoyed tearing his heart out before eating it. However, his father: Padma; Master of the Beasts, would more than suffice as a replacement. It was a given that Padma would, inevitably, push the limits of propriety. In that event, she sincerely hoped that she'd be allowed to teach the bastard some manners. Then there was Belle Morte. Emily's expression hardened even more - if Belle decided to release her succubus power, the
Ardeur, things could get... difficult. Very fast. Memories from the last Council meeting filled Emily with rage, and it prompted her to shift partially, bleeding her eyes wolf and changing her hands into huge, furry, claws. Only really powerful Weres could shift so fluidly halfway and Emily felt a sudden need to exhibit her power.
"None of that Emily!" said Miranda, giving Emily the infamous Priestly glare with one eyebrow raised, "Surely you can understand that going in with your guns drawn will make this ordeal more unnecessarily difficult than usual?"
Emily looked contrite. "Sorry Master- "
"No no. I do not have time to hear your insipid excuses. Just shift back. That's all."
Miranda slipped off her
Dolce & Gabana sunglasses before leveling her gaze at her Lieutenants. "I expect you all to be on your best behavior. These barracudas will no doubt test my patience and yours. But keep in mind that unless provoked, every move you make will not be done so without my consent. To do otherwise will make me very displeased. That is not an event you want to see happen I assure you. Am I right Jaqueline?"
Miranda smirked as she watched an expressionless mask quickly replace Jaqueline's minute expression of desperate hatred. "Yes...Master," Jaqueline admitted grudgingly. It was not a period in her life she cared to re-live anytime soon. She had needed several quarts of blood throughout the week to recover from Miranda's little "lesson."
"Good," said Miranda with a decisive nod. "Now let's get this over with." Continuing on to the meeting, Miranda allowed a little of her Power to leak out, making the air feel as if you were standing next to an oven. Her eyes narrowed while her expression fixed into a disdainful, impassive mask.
***
Nigel rolled his eyes over Emily's momentary lack of control before strolling ahead toward the meeting chambers. As Miranda's Second, it was traditional to for him to precede Miranda into any Council meeting - mostly to ward off potential surprises. Nigel took life a little less...seriously than his fellow vampires. After living for over a 1000 years, it had all become routinely tedious for him and he had a hard time drumming up the desire to stress. It would not do, however, to underestimate his apparent boredom for weakness. That was likely to get you a quick introduction to the monster underneath. While looking fashionable and immaculate was a 'must' for most of Nigel's daily life, he had no qualms about getting dirty.
Threaten his Mistress and he'd give you a quick intro to just how committed he could be in protecting his Line and family. This gathering was a prime example of that. Nigel knew at some point during this meeting someone was going to cross the line. It always happened whenever Miranda encroached onto their "territory."
Probably some fight or flight instinct, Nigel mused. Nevertheless, whatever came, Nigel would be ready. Removing his glasses to put inside his suit jacket, Nigel straightened his shoulders, shifted his hands so that his nails looked like daggers, and got ready to rumble. At the door, he and Miranda shared a brief look, followed by a nod before they both entered.
***
Miranda knew that whatever games she was about to endure from these self-involved narcissists (not even good ones at that) would most likely involve bloodshed, pain, sadism, and egos that made Pinochet seem like an altruistic Girl Scout with pig-tails. Then of course, there was Belle Morte. Miranda gave a great mental sigh. Whenever they... connected, people either died or endured excruciatingly painful recoveries. Occasionally there was sex, at least until Miranda was forced to do something drastic in order to leave her presence. All told, Miranda found the whole lot of them despicable-so pointlessly caught up in how to inflict the most pain and dissension at any given time, without conscience or some hint of humanity.
The "great" Vampire Council. Miranda gave a mental snort.
Pathetic.
She already knew why they were here. It was inevitable. They would ask her, once again, to join them. And she would turn them down, once again, as always. She had a very public life as the most powerful woman in the fashion industry. A life that could not include a secret Vampire Council's numerous machinations to take over the world.
How very tedious - Doesn't the theme ever get old? She thought.
Miranda found comfort in her Second as Nigel walked protectively in front of her. Today he looked as if he couldn't hurt fly with his slight build, loosely tied cravat and his
John Galliano pin-stripe suit-the epitome of male fashion excellence; albeit a very gay one. His artful pretension worked well to her advantage because he was often underestimated - to the detriment of thousands of victims throughout the centuries. Most couldn't even fathom that he was a powerful Master Vampire, with hyenas as his Animal to Call.
Following behind them were her Pet and her Lieutenants: Serena was a very rare Were-Tiger and Miranda's
Pomme de Sang - Apple of Blood. As Miranda's Pomme de Sang, Serena was Miranda's personal blood bank and occasional sexual submissive. Her Pet. In return, Miranda gave Serena protection against all others. If one looked very carefully, in good light, you could actually see the light brown tiger-stripes stamped all over her body. One of Miranda's favorite marking areas was near the stripe on her right groin area.
Next to Serena, on the phone arranging all the proper arrangements during their unfortunate stay, was Emily. You wouldn't know it, but Emily once fought her way through one of the biggest and meanest Werewolf packs in America and came out on top. She was a very rare female Ulfric (leader) of the New York clan, and could force other wolves to shapeshift and call their Flesh to Heal. Her slight build gave no indication of her shape-shifting abilities and most were surprised by the fact that Emily almost cleared 6'8 when she was in full wolf form. Her power was hereditary making her much more powerful than most female (and male) Were-Wolves.
Behind Emily were James (another Werewolf) and Jaqueline (a vampire). After Serena, Jaqueline was one of Miranda's favorite pets - mostly because Miranda knew how very much Jaqueline didn't want to belong to her. But beyond the appeal of her servility, Jaqueline had another quality that made her valuable. Jaqueline was a Rotter-a nasty piece of ability that allowed a vampire to suddenly appear as if they were rotting before your eyes. Luckily the decaying smell was not included. However, it served as a nightmarish vision when one had to "encourage" a reluctant someone to do something Miranda wanted done.
Miranda was well aware that Jaqueline... despised her.
However, being locked in a casket wrapped with silver chains, complete with a heavy silver cross, and being unable to feed forced her to submit to Miranda rather quickly. Taking the Blood Oath sealed the deal. Miranda had "inherited" Jaqueline after she'd forced the Master of the City of Paris to meet the business end of a
Manolo Blahnik 6 inch heel.
James on the other hand, revered Miranda. He was a werewolf powerful enough to even become an Enforcer/Hati of the local Clan if he wanted. Though not Alpha enough to become Ulfirc like Emily, he made for an excellent Enforcer for Miranda. Unlike most of his brethren, he'd rather look at satchels all day, interspersed with wild hunts around the Full Moon near the Hudson than become involved in Werewolf politics.
Bringing up the rear was Roy, part-time personal driver, body-guard, Were-Rat. Were-Rats had a long history in the security business, and in New York, a city teeming with rats, they were invaluable allies. They were especially useful when one had to deliver a message without being seen. The sewer systems in any established city was always extensive. Miranda gave a mental shudder at the thought. Were-rats were such unsanitary creatures. Unfortunately they were necessary allies for any Master worth their weight.
Just before entering the council chambers Miranda considered Jean-Claude once more. And yet again, she could not imagine how a vampire, who hadn't even been a major Master Vampire long, had gone on to become such a force to be reckoned with. Particularly fascinating was this
Truimvariate. The Council claimed his powers were mutating, growing, and Miranda wondered what the hell was going on in that city. And his human servant was even more interesting; a human necromancer who was actually turned into a vampire servant - Astonishing! Such an alliance had not been established in centuries.
Perhaps she could have the Runway staff set up some kind of a location shoot there St. Louis. Although, for the life of her she couldn't imagine what such a little backwater bayou could possibly contribute to the pages of Runway. Mentally, shaking her head, Miranda banished the thoughts and glared at the sentinel. The sentinel started, then scrambled to open the door before stumbling away as fast as he could.
Ignoring the idiotic doorman, Nigel entered through the double doors and immediately began to scan the area. A few moments passed before he gave the signal for Miranda to enter.
"Bonsoir, Miranda, it's been some time since we've been graced with your presence." The voice was droll and laced with a bit of mockery.
"Ah Musette," Miranda replied without turning her head, "I see you've somehow managed to avoid the sun. I was hoping with that eclipse last week you might have... accidentally walked outside only to find out too late that it was temporary. Oh well, no matter how much I try, not everything works out for the best."
"Where is your Master? Must I remind you of your manners?" She could feel the seething hatred emanating from Musette like rays from a hot sun.
Before she could give the insubordinate vampire her full attention though, another voice rang out. "Ah, Ma chere, surely you did not come all theez way to... 'ow do you say it? Antagonize, my 2nd?"
Miranda did not need to turn to know that voice. It pooled across her skin like a live thing, a knife's edge wrapped under warm satin and whispered silk.
Belle Morte!
Continued...