“I don’t see why you are so upset,” Shanoa sighed. She hiked up her underwear without skipping a beat, temper as even as always. “You preformed adequately.”
The reporter’s neck was limper than his spent privates. “Just thought screwing a witch would be more magical than that.” He rolled onto his side, then tucked himself away. “Man, nothing gets to you at all, does it?”
The amazing part of lying with Dracula was how very, very fluid he was. He could be anything she desired, take any man’s face. All she wanted at that moment was to see the root of his magic, to lay eyes on him as he had once been. The good doctor had no idea whether or not the image he showed to her was the truth. It was good enough for her. Seeing him like this—raven-haired, smooth skinned, eyes as piercing as crystals in wild snowstorms—that beauty took her own.
A crunch made white hair pop up from the Toyota’s back seat.
Both Soma and Mina stared in horror at the statue smashed through the front of his vehicle. Old Jizo was just doing his duty, guarding youthful spirits. Apparently, he did not approve of the tomfoolery going on inside Soma’s car. The flush of joy on Mina’s face blanched as she realized what had happened. The pair scrambled to put their shirts back on before her father could come storming out of the shrine, panicked and upset for the destruction of one of their beloved icons.
Soma really should have set the safety brake before they started fooling around.
Trevor stared with wide eyes, amazed at the smooth, red curls following the tip of the Vampire Killer. “Your skin really is that sensitive.”
“If you would mind not using your weapon as a means of satisfying me, I would appreciate it,” Alucard growled.
Shanoa didn’t quite understand why the men were staring at her. Was this not how all women ate éclairs?
Charlotte smacked Jonathan’s hand. “Who said you could skip to second base?!”
His whip clattered to the floor, his hands bracing his chest. The fire in his heart went out. All that passion and energy in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a dull, smoky gaze. Obedient eyes looked upon his new master, his will gone. The beguiling temptress smiled. She had emptied the man, and she would fill him again.
A long finger drew him in. “Come hither.”
The hunter crawled to her. She scooped him up, held his head to her chest. His hair caught on the golden beading dangling over her. She picked the strands free, snickering at how smooth it was. He reached for her hand, her waist, pale fingers resting on her bronzed, supple flesh. She let him rest just long enough for the shocked gasp to wear off his companion’s face.
“W-what have you done to Jonathan?” the little witch stammered.
Astarte rested her lips on Jonathan’s forehead before deigning to speak to her. “Don’t be jealous. He was never yours. Why do you think he succumbed so easily my charms?”
Rage flared from the mage. “Y-you cheater! This is a trick!” She clutched her book to her chest, pleading and shouting at her ensorcelled friend. “Jonathan, snap out of it!”
The regal lady bent down, stopping only to whisper in her prey’s ear. “Why don’t you show her who you love best?”
“Yes, my master…” her toy agreed.
“I’ve been waiting for a good looking guy like you,” the wench whispered.
Her wink made Simon groan. Who was she kidding? He smelt like sweat and rotted offal. His skin looked wane, hair greasy, eyes bloodshot from staying awake for days on end. He was pretty sure one of his magic crystals had dropped off, to put a blunt point on how his body was falling apart. If his wife wasn’t going to touch him, there was no way any other woman would.
He drew his whip. Clearly, this had to be some kind of demon, to want to fuck him as he was.
Their young, befuddled master stood frozen in the doorway.
Of course, the poor thing would have no clue what to do. He’d forgotten all the fun they had used to have, so many centuries ago. The maid pulled back the bed sheets as the witches and their pupil drew the nervous man inside. He protested as he was thrown face-first into the bosom of the succubus in the bed. Two more demons fanned their wings about him, leather brushing his round cheeks. A startled gasp eeked out of him as he was drawn back into the arms that desired to hold him—the ample chests that were smothering him.
“Let me go!” the white haired youth cried out.
“Settle down, my lord,” the succubus cooed. “We only want to please you.”
Lips coated his skin and hands. Fingers pulled at his jacket. White fabric went sailing across the room in diagonal chunks. The black sweater beneath it unraveled in the same fashion. This did nothing to calm the reincarnation of their master. He kicked back, bucked against the thick thighs pinning him to the bed.
The white-haired man screamed again. “Somebody, help me!”
The bedroom door slammed back. “Soma!”
Dozens of almond eyes flickered up to the new intruder. Where there had once stood white, there was now black. Soma yanked a pillow from the bed, trying desperately to hide his nakedness. That did not worry his rescuer as much as the hoard of demons that he was tangled in. Not that he was a threat to them, either. With his thick, black hair, and dark eyes, he would make a perfect complement to their quarry—yin to their captured yang.
The succubus wriggled her finger. “Bring him in, ladies.”
“Uh…Jonathan?” Charlotte gasped. “What is that guy doing?”
Now was the poet’s turn to shine! He slammed onto his right knee, extending his hand to the beautiful blue belle behind the repulsive, red-coated rapscallion. How inspiring her wide, innocent eyes were. How more so, he felt for her blooming womanhood, the markers of maturity on such a lovely lady. The words came to him smoothly, as naturally as water flowing from cascades. All he had to do was open his mouth and speak them.
The foppish demon poured out the depths of his soul. “Your stockings are scanty, your skirt I adore. If I knew no better, I’d call you a wh—”
His love pounded his nose in before he could speak any more.
He had never before seen her this way. It broke his heart.
Trevor would have never asked her to step aside, to put away her wand and magic. His friends needed her strength. Now, with her bravado stripped bare as her skin, he ached. What should have been perfect, unmarred flesh was bruised black and blue. One large lump on her left thigh stretched larger than his palm. He rested one hand on her backside, placing the other behind her head. If he had to kiss each wound to make her whole again, he would.
“I’m so sorry that you went through this,” Trevor murmured.
A simple smile and a gruff jab was his reward. “The rest of you had better not be as soft as your heart, Belmont. I haven’t got all night.”
He squeezed her butt, making a bruise of his own. “Right away, miss!”
There was no way he could rise to please her, not before feeding. Damned if Lisa wasn’t nearly doing the trick by sight alone.
It had been her suggestion to use wine glasses instead of bare contact between his teeth and her neck. Such a condition was irritating, but the doctor had made her case. The longer he let Lisa live untainted by his teeth, the more blood she would have for him. Dracula had never been one for husbandry, but having a tame human made his work easier. Just waiting for her to bleed out enough was maddening.
She had a wine glass just for him. Not a fine piece of dining ware, but it was her gift to him, so he said little of it. Every time she fed him, she would use this glass, swirling her pricked finger from its base up. Such a simple, gentle motion was provocative to the vampire lord. He could leap upon her, tear gore from her throat, having his meal done much swifter. This patience, waiting, watching with hungry eyes as Lisa poured herself out for him—it made him all the more eager to finally have her.
Warm lips pressed against the glass before his own, leaving the faint imprint of a kiss behind. “Your dinner, my lord.”
God, he could just eat her up.
“Uh, just to let you know…” Soma stammered. “I-I might randomly change into a woman. One of the souls I’ve picked up is a little bit erratic, and—”
A smooth hand jammed down his pants and stopped his nervous jittering. “I’ll make this work.”
He was sitting on the edge of their bed, eyes yellow and wide. That bird was doing just what came naturally to him. He guarded his mistress with his life, ready to attack at a single command. That did not bring any peace to the man beneath the owl’s owner. Those damn eyes were judging him. He was going to hurt her, he was going to take away her youth, he was going to be just as awful as his father and—
Alucard pulled back. “Maria?”
The eager lady shot up, hair mussed, eyebrows lowered in confusion and concern. “Yes?”
“I need you to get that damn owl out of here,” the dhampir groaned.
“Enough of this folly.” Dracula pushed the writhing demons off of his lap. “I have work to do.”
Soma put the envelope back down and hung his head, knowing that he should have never read its contents. Who would have thought that Arikado would still write love letters to a ghost—and that they would be so provocative?
Nothing was ever documented on Lisa’s heritage. It was said that she came from another lineage of vampire hunters, but that line had died out long ago. The only evidence left to such claims was in Alucard’s nature—the gentleness of holy blood tempering dark powers. Such a mixed bloodline came with burdens, fears that could only be quelled by other hunters. Sometimes, the darkness was too much. That was when he would find the dhampir kneeled before him, gold eyes almost glowing orange, fearful of the changes within himself.
“Belmont,” he would plead. “Help me.”
How enjoyable it was for the vampire hunter to set the dhampir’s humors right—through his own infusion of holy power.
It was after a few minutes of tentative exploration that Sypha decided Alucard was safe, hardly a monster at all. As pure as a man, as Trevor had said. More entertaining than most, though.
“Now, there’s an ass I could never forget,” Julius laughed.
“Well, there’s another reason they’re called the Greatest Five,” Jonathan explained. “Legend has it that they knew of a technique so great that it would make any woman in a three mile radius—”
“I don’t need to know the rest of this!” Charlotte huffed. She paused, then reconsidered. “Unless you know how to do it, of course.”
All Jonathan did was stick out his hand and bap the witch on her forehead. “You ease up, little lady.”
“Do you love me?” Carmilla asked.
Her faithful little lackey chirped back. “Absolutely! Always and forever.”
The vampire queen smirked. She leaned closer to her spritely companion, lashes fluttering. “Can you prove it to me?”
“Anything you wish!” her follower cheered.
Sharp fangs peered over plump lips. “Then kiss me.”
The little minx beneath her pouted. She hated this constant doubt that Carmilla had, the worrying and fretting unbecoming of a vampire and sorceress of her power. This test of loyalty was older than any human alive, the results always the same. It was just the way Carmilla warmed up before she showered her friend with love. She had to have the power, the strength, full control. How funny it was that her little follower always had to give that to her vampire lover, even when she had none herself.
Small teeth and ginger lips had nothing to fear from the feral mouth that fed from her.
“Eternity without her would be nothing but emptiness.”
How true Leon had been. Mathias looked down, disgusted by his new form. He had forever severed himself from the soul that had loved him. Those creamy fingers that had once hesitated to touch his chest, timid and amazed by his form, were no more than ghost wisps over him. There would be no more blonde curls on his shoulders, no sweet lips on his own, no warmth to surround him. All he had left were the vestiges of his body.
With no one left to touch him, he went on alone, his fondling as cold and numb as the rest of his cursed world.
So, maybe it had been a little tactless for Sara and Leon to sneak off into the woods behind the church after Elisabetha’s funeral for a quickie. That still didn’t justify Mathias’ overdramatic revenge.
He could feel Alucard’s gasp trembling in his throat long before the sound left his body. How wonderful a tone it was, sudden and intoxicating, deep and frail. He pulled back on Alucard’s neck, forcing him to lean back. Long hair fell onto his stomach, falling so far as to frame the sword now sheathed deep within the whining, keening dhampir. Nails dug into rough fingers, hissing and swearing following the pang of pain. He clenched tighter, drew another wonderful hitch.
“God, you feel just as good as a woman,” his captor wheezed.
All Alucard could cough was, “Damn you!”
Annette looked up and sighed.
Damned if Richter really wasn’t doing his best. She felt fire through her face and belly, his strength turning her bones to jelly. The way he squeezed her hips, the tender nuzzling to her breasts, the very flick of his tongue across her—it was enough to make her melt. She would never regret taking him in, being his garden, bearing him fruit. She would take joy in such tasks, in being wife and mother.
But she knew her kids were going to have his damn eyebrows, and that was just a turn-off.
Christopher threw back his scotch. Its fire wasn’t enough to burn out the debauchery he had read in Trevor’s journals. The shenanigans with Sypha were to be expected. After all, they had ended up together, so they had to start somewhere. He just could have gone through the rest of his life without knowing about Sir Danasty’s nasty and Alucard’s thoroughly backward nature.
“Hey, babe.” The shopkeeper raised his leg, slamming it down on his makeshift counter. “Wanna know how I got the nickname Hammer?”
Many had reason to call him king. His sprawling castles, his dedicated legions, his airs and graces. That was not what made him feel as the ruler of the night. Oh, there were those moments of hot, sweaty victory, when even the coldness in his loins went rigid with excitement and bloodlust. It was a frosty, hollow shell compared to his moments over her, when his queen drew him into a cloister warmer and sweeter than any virgin’s blood.
“Well, I suppose we could always hit up a soup kitchen, if we’re desperate,” Yoko sighed.
A barking laugh roared from Julius. Everyone turned their heads to the old man. He shook his head, trying to fan the color away from his cheeks. Oh, those poor, innocent kids. They would never have to know the disgrace from such a term, would they?
“Sorry,” Julius apologized. “Just reminded me of a rough night in Amsterdam.”
“I don’t get it.” Soma tipped his head. “What’s so funny about a soup kitchen?”
The Belmont sighed. “When you have lived like I have, Soma, that phrase takes on a whole new meaning.”
“I still don’t know what you mean,” Soma frowned.
All Julius could do was pat the naïve young man on the shoulder. “Just keep your Toyota locked is all I’m saying.”
He probably should have figured something was up when he saw Yoko leaning against his shop door, bare-ass naked, snow blowing over her ivory skin. The dumb animal part of his brain just really, really hoped it was actually the witch and not a succubus again.
“Yeah. I’m a total woman,” Charlotte grumbled. She dug her toe into the ground, her lying harder and harder to bear. “My flower has been…and my cherry was…gone all the way to…oh, just get that unicorn away from me!”
Sypha rolled over, saw Grant’s smirk, and immediately rolled back.
Richter plopped onto his rear, then tore the stopper out of his holy water bottle with his teeth. There was no training Grandpa Juste could have given him for the sight before him. It was quite the feat for the two demons to perform, to keep balanced on the top of a giant skull while pawing and licking at each other. Flashing eyes met his. Neither the vampire nor her little doll was upset for his intrusion. If anything, being given an audience made their act all the more lively.
He threw the holy water into his mouth and eyes, hoping the image of their splendor would be burned out before he was ensorcelled by the pair.
“Oh, damn it!” Juste cursed. “Do you know how long it’s going to take me to scrub that out of the curtains?”
Maxim’s apology wasn’t exactly sincere. “Sorry for making you that happy, man.”
Maybe it was just projection. Maybe he was a fool, still wishing for the tender past, warm trysts in cold autumn nights. Her blonde locks, the softness in her eyes, the smoothness of her skin. God, she even had a mole on the same buttock that Rosaly had. What was this madness? How could one woman be taken away, and another given, looking just the same?
There was magic in Juila, but this sorcery—being little more than a duplicated illusion—that was never something Hector would dare accuse her of. For she too was her own woman, of her own charms and beauty.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The vampire hunter grabbed a handful of thick hair. Gently, he tugged the dhampir’s head up. “What are you doing there, buddy?”
A golden flash from narrowed eyes pierced him well before Alucard’s sharp words could. “I wish to make our situations even.”
The Belmont gawked in horror. So, the dhampir kneeled before him wasn’t entirely a bad sight. The old bat certainly had a way with his fingers, as dexterous and graceful with the loops of the hunter’s pants as with a sword. No doubt he would be just as talented with his tongue. It was just those damned awful teeth! There was no overlooking how sharp his canines were, how easily they could sink into delicate skin. Perhaps even gnash straight through.
Putting his dick into that elegant mouth was like swinging it into a bear trap.
That was how the routine went for hundreds of years. Learn how to swing, storm Dracula’s castle, whip the demon back into submission, make sweet love to the nearest woman, come with the rising sun. It was just a shame that Julius never got his victory lap.
Well, not until tonight.
He at least made sure Rosaly died swiftly. Hector’s punishment, no.
The heretic was bound by his wrists to the very spear that had pierced him through. How beautiful he was, silver, blue, and red red red. Isaac dipped his fingers into the open wounds he had created, then slathered Hector’s chest once more. How he would paint those colors out! Hector would be his—be Dracula’s—and be whole and right again. No more talk of sympathy for others. No more doubts. Just doing the works of their master, dancing in the moonlight again.
Isaac drew more paint from within Hector’s body, drawing a shudder from both men. His blood was so slick. The wicked forgemaster painted Hector’s face, drawing swirls and lines around his lips and eyes, mirroring the tattoos neatly spun about Isaac’s shoulders. How lovely it had been, to have Hector paint him so. More beautiful still would be the same stains upon Hector’s soul.
“Your blood is wonderful,” Isaac cooed. “So thick…” Fingers traced down Hector’s aching back, resting just a few strokes away from his rump. They crept closer still, crawling like spider’s legs towards their destination. “With it, I could—”
“Brother, stop!” were the only words that stayed his execution of justice.
“There’s this old belief that whatever you’re afraid of has to do with how you died in your past life,” Mina explained. “Like, people who are afraid of snakes having been bitten by them. Or, people who are afraid of knives having been cut. Things like that.”
Soma’s head dropped. “So, you’re saying that’s why I freaked out in the sex shop?”
The miko could hardly speak, her embarrassment louder than her meek words. “W-well, there were quite a few whips in there, after all.”
Soma groaned as the skeleton waiter stared at him, his groping slowing. “Does it look like I want curry right now?”
There was crude graffiti scraped into the castle walls. It read, “Legion has a thousand rectums and smells like it.”
“You know how this works, don’t you?” the good witch asked.
Hammer leaned back, kicking his thick boots onto a nearby crate. “Keep back. Hands off. Only move when you say so.”
Yoko flashed him a smile. “Good man.”
Her sash was the first part to go. The white silk fluttered from her hips, wrapped around her shoulders as she held it like a boa. A single flick sent it flying across the room, landing around Hammer’s neck. The American chuckled, but held his ground. That was the kind of whip work that would put a Belmont man to shame.
Pops of gold buttons shed the next layer of clothing. He followed each and every one of her fingers, amazed by the simplest shimmer of metal. The black sheen of her shirt revealed every smooth contour of her frame. Soft lace pressed against it, proving the genuineness of her fullness. His stomach twisted in excitement as her fingers went to undo her shirt. Damned that she had to start picking at her cuffs before her neck.
But, surely enough, the next part came. One, two, three buttons went away. Next came the sleek pull of her neck, the bow of her collarbone, deeper and deeper until there they were. Hammer sat up, his interesting flaring. Feathered hair fell upon plump, luxurious beasts. The tendrils may have fought to shield Yoko’s lovely wonders, but how pointless their struggles were as she turned away, undid the clasps, spun about and—
“Hey, Hammer! I’m looking for some—”
Hammer kicked the door shut. “Ten minutes, kid! Geez!”
“Kid, I’m going to tell you the same thing my dad should have told me,” the old Morris grunted at Julius as he yanked him backwards. “If you get distracted by every spinning, jiggling thing in this castle, some demon’s going to tear the orbs right off of you.”
Well, this had been a long time coming. The poor woman couldn’t say she wasn’t surprised. Both Juste and Maxim were close friends, closer than she was to either of them. The Belmonts hadn’t always been on the straight and narrow, despite their legacy depending on their sexuality. This inevitable tryst was going to happen. She was just hoping that they were going to be honest with her about their relationship. At the very least, not create a man pile in her bed.
“Just wipe him off when you’re done,” Lydie huffed to Maxim.
Sheepishly, Maxim rolled off of Juste. “Sorry.” His eyes glimmered, a new flush spurring him on. “Say, Lydie! Why don’t you hop in here? We could have a swell time!”
She sighed, then pulled her shoes off. “Well, why not? It’s not like our friendship can get any stranger than it already is.”
Juste flopped his head back onto the pillows. “Have I ever told you both how much I love you?”
“You keep your mouth shut,” Lydie hissed.
“A thousand yen says she makes the first move,” Yoko whispered to Hammer.
The American nodded. “You’re on.”
Sure, Trevor had hoped to get some noise out of the quiet dhampir, but not a shriek. He froze stiff, his hands immediately pulled back. “What’s wrong?”
“One…” Alucard could hardly speak. “One moment.”
Legs shuffled uncomfortably around Trevor’s hips. The hunter groaned. He’d gone in too fast. Perhaps he was a slayer of monsters, but he had no intention of using his own body as a weapon. Not during the throes of passion. He shifted back, retreating from his friend’s companionship. This had been a foolish idea. Alucard’s hips were too narrow, the Belmont’s girth too—
Long fingers rested on his hips. “Don’t move.”
“Aren’t I hurting you?” the hunter asked.
“I…underestimated you.” Alucard could hardly breathe, as if Trevor was so deep within him that his lungs were being squeezed out by the Belmont’s invasion. “I can adjust. Just…just give me some time.”
Trevor nodded. He stroked the skin beneath him, tried to sooth the muscles pained by their battles and rough play. “Alright. I’ll wait.”
It was when the clock chimed once more that Maria finally pushed Alucard back. “Wait a moment. Don’t clocks chime twelve times at most?”
The dhampir wiped her saliva from his lips. “Obviously.”
“Then why did it chime thirteen times?” Maria asked.
“Who still uses one of these things?” Yoko shouted. She yanked the paper from its feed, then shrieked again. “And who in the hell has been writing smut about me?!”
Well, the store was an absolute wreck. Clothes had been thrown to the four winds, chiffon and silk left to the floor’s whims. Polished stones hung from the cash register, the racks, tossed about the open window. Thin fingers reached across the mess on the floor. They plopped onto a round breast, heavy jewelry. Both Laura and Monica groaned. Their drinking contest really had gone too far.
At least they had finally gotten Shanoa to smile, their stoic angel curled between them still in a sea of bliss.
She nearly came at Alucard’s calm, gentle consent. “As you wish.”