Calabi Chronicles: Bloodstone Page 19

  Kean put his hands behind his back, his stomach lurching at the sharp click of the handcuffs as they closed around his wrists and locked. Everett booted Kean onto the straw and pulled another pair of cuffs from his jacket.

  Everett moved the gun from below Aideen’s eye to her mouth. He pushed the barrel tip past her lips until the metal pressed against her unyielding teeth. He slid the barrel horizontally across her mouth, the weapon, a poor extension of his cock, exploring the texture of her lips. The skin around his balls, already stretched from his erection, grew tighter still. “On your knees, songbird.”

  Aideen complied and Everett moved behind her. He kept the gun in her mouth and the cold metal pulled her lips in a lopsided, despairing grin. Putting the cuffs around her wrists, he held his body close to her. She could feel his erection pressing against her backside. His ragged breathing rattled in her ear. It smelled of the charnel house and the image he had held of his eating from her labia rose unbidden in Aideen’s mind.

  Grabbing hold of the cuffs’ chain, Everett pulled Aideen to her feet. He waved the gun in Kean’s direction. “Get up, birddog.” When both his prisoners were standing, Everett pointed at the side of the barn that intruded on the tree line. “Some loose planks over there, then straight into the trees and my van.” With the barrel of the gun, he forced Aideen’s chin in the air. “You even look like you’re thinking about running, and she’s dead.”

  With the gun no longer pointed at Kean, Aideen felt some of the tension ease from her body. But she couldn’t release all her tension—Everett’s creeping, moist odors and hot breath guaranteed a certain terror-filled alertness despite the calm façade she kept in place for Kean’s benefit.

  “Such a willing little songbird,” Everett whispered in Aideen’s ear as he opened the back of his van and shoved Kean face first onto its floor. “I almost think you want to come with me.”

  He ran a hand down the front of her shirt, pausing for an instant at her fear-pricked nipple. Again, Aideen was aware of the growing tightness that hugged his balls. A tightness that threatened to release a hot burst of semen at the slightest sensation. Kean, regaining his balance, saw Everett’s caress and charged toward him but Everett was too quick and brought the van door slamming against Kean’s head.

  Stay down! Aideen commanded as Kean shook the cobwebs and dancing stars from his head and prepared to charge again. Damn it, Kean, stay down!

  Understanding flickered in Kean’s eyes and he collapsed to the van’s floor, his growl turning to a pained groan. Seeing Kean flat on his back, Everett tucked his gun into his belt and lifted Aideen into the van. She stumbled, falling against the thick mesh fencing that separated the cargo area from the driver’s seat. There was, she noticed, no passenger seat, just an oversized gym bag on the floor where the seat had been removed. And the windows were a dark tint—no one would be able to see in. She took a tentative sniff of the van’s interior and swallowed the need to vomit. More than one person had died in the back of this van. The whole vehicle was saturated with the smell of their frightened sweat, dried vomit and, a metallic taste coating her tongue and sinus passages, their blood.

  Aideen leaned against the side of the van, her hip pressed against Kean’s shoulder. He pulled his body up until he was even with her. In front of them, Everett opened the driver’s side door, sunlight spilling in and making them blink. He caught the press of Kean’s lips against Aideen’s temple and his mouth curled in a smirk.

  “You’ll be feeding at her breast by the end of the day, birddog, just to keep your worthless ass alive,” Everett warned. He punched the key into the ignition and checked his watch before shifting the van into drive. Catching Aideen’s gaze in the rearview mirror, he offered a wet kiss and rolling tongue. Reaching down to the bag on the floorboard, he patted it. “And there’s still plenty of time to have fun with you, too, pet.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Aideen could feel Everett’s agitation stirring inside his gut. It was still early morning, perhaps no more than forty-five minutes having elapsed since he had forced them into the van. But he checked his watch every few minutes. She could hear the time ticking down in his head. She tried to soothe him. Time enough. Shhh. Plenty of time. His need, refusing to define itself in Aideen’s mind, drummed her soft voice out of his thoughts. Not enough time, he said, refuting her gentle coaxing. No time to play…have to play.

  The hand he wore his watch on, when he wasn’t raising it to check the time, stayed planted in his lap, pressing down on his cock. Not yet…mustn’t get wet. Put it in the ground first. Soft dirt down its throat. Pressing harder, the need almost overwhelming. Quick glance at the watch. Meyrick waiting for the bird. Fuck it…put it in the ground and then we can play.

  The van jerked to the left. Car tires squealed behind them, horns blaring. Aideen’s pulse beat a fast, faltering rhythm against the cuffs. Everett couldn’t hear her now. Too many voices fought for his attention. She saw an older woman, matronly, a prudish mouth pinched tight in constant disapproval. The same woman appeared again, this time through a keyhole. Leaning over a tub, water running, her pussy winked, the lips pursed in denial. Mustn’t get wet! The voice screamed at him as he scrambled back against a wall, cum on his school clothes, his hand coated with the thick cream of pubescent desire.

  Girls walked by, eyes flicking over him, talking behind their hands and laughing. Always laughing. In the shower after a match, gaze fixated on Ronnie Carrington’s limp cock, his own cock growing rigid. The rage in Ronnie and the other boys’ eyes. A foot in his stomach and Ronnie’s cock, soft no more, buried in his ass, the ring of boys calling him a faggot. Cum spilling from him, from his ass, from his own cock. Mustn’t get wet, mustn’t get wet, mustn’t get wet! The voice chided him over and over.

  Bile rising in her throat, her skin feverish, Aideen pressed her face against the cool mesh that separated prisoner from jailor. Let him listen, she pleaded. Just a little longer, make him hear me.

  Aideen raised her head at the sound of rocks crunching beneath the van’s tires. Everett slammed on the brakes. The sudden stop catapulted Kean into Aideen, crushing her between wire and flesh. In an instant, Everett was out of the van, flinging open the back door and dragging Aideen by the feet.

  Kean flung his legs around her waist. “Let go of her, you bastard!” Kean shouted, trying to hold on to Aideen and dodge Everett’s wild punches. “Meyrick will kill you if you touch her!”

  “Drop the histrionics, lover,” Everett snarled, his fist connecting at last with Kean’s face.

  Aideen felt Kean’s leggy grip on her loosen for a second and she pushed free.

  “Aideen, no!” Kean yelled as Everett pulled her onto the rocky dirt road and slammed the door shut.

  Kean’s anguish at her willing departure rumbled through him and she tried to soothe him. Her own fear and the growing disquiet in Everett’s head made it hard to reach Kean and she stopped struggling for some purchase in the slippery insides of the Pumpkin King’s shell. She concentrated on Kean, on stilling the rage and hurt within. Body limp, Everett half-carrying, half-dragging her into the trees, she willed Kean to listen to her.

  I am the wave of the deep.

  “Aideen!” he yelled her name again and again, his voice growing hoarse and cracked, receding as the trees closed around her. He would not listen.

  More forcefully, despite her ebbing strength. I am the word of knowledge, the lure beyond the ends of the earth.

  She could hear him in her head now, still yelling her name, kicking viciously against the unyielding door. She started again. I am the wave of the deep.

  He relented at last and collapsed onto the van’s floor as his mind shaped the words. I am a wild boar, I am the point of a spear.

  She exhaled, her breath misting in the stand of trees but warm across his eyelids where he lay in the van. I am the wound.

  I can shift my shape like a god.

  Aideen felt Everett flinging her down and she landed in freshly tu
rned dirt. I am the goddess incarnate, she reminded Kean, reaching out to stroke him one last time before shutting him out completely.

  Everett was standing over her, his legs spread wide as he straddled a shallow grave. He was angry, but the din of the voices was ebbing. One-by-one, he blocked them out until it was just him and Aideen. Pumpkin King and his Songbird. He got down on his hands and knees and lowered his body until his weight rested on her. She was trembling. He could feel it everywhere but, most of all, he could feel the hum of her body in his cock.

  He had to stop the hum, stop it before it made him wet. Already, drops were forming, threatening to turn into a putrid stream. He grabbed a handful of dirt and pushed it into her mouth. Her gaze widened but she didn’t fight him and the shaking stopped. Flakes of sod peppered the skin around her mouth and he brushed them away with his lips, the stench of dead flesh overpowering her until she gagged on the dirt.

  Everett smiled, bits of old meat showing between his teeth. He rubbed against her body, stopping when the wetness threatened, starting again when the bursting sensation ebbed. He needed his cock down her throat, but he couldn’t. The birddog had been right, Meyrick would kill him if he damaged her voice and there was, he knew, no hiding from Meyrick. Still, he could scare her. And maybe taste her…taste her fear. The thought broadened his grin and he raised himself onto his hands and knees again. He turned a semicircle and scooted backwards until he could smell her sex.

  The songbird was wearing jeans and he reached into his pocket and retrieved a pocketknife. He hated jeans. Only dykes wore them. But she wasn’t a dyke. She was fucking the birddog. Everett sniffed the denim at the crotch, his teeth scraping the center seam. He pressed his own crotch against Aideen’s face, grinding it against the side of her face when she turned from him. Her pussy was wet, he could smell it. Fear did that to them, all the little birds were wet by the time he put them to bed. He rubbed himself against her. His mouth pressed harder against her jeans.

  Everett opened the pocketknife and placed the blade at the crossed seams that marked her cunt with an X. She squirmed, her terror building and the blade slipped, cutting her thigh. Damn it! Meyrick’s voice thundered a warning at him. Bring the girl intact!

  His tongue darted out to test the wound’s depth. Shallow, like the grave she rested in. He probed deeper, forcing the cut wider. He could hear her starting to gag on the dirt that filled her mouth, her chest barely moving. Most were near comatose from fear by now and he suddenly envied her stamina. He growled, wanting more from her. Mindful of Meyrick’s warning, he unbuttoned her jeans. She tried to twist to her side but he brought his full weight down on her. Unzipping her jeans, his hips pumped against her skullcap.

  Everett pushed her panties down into her jeans until he saw the bright triangle of fur between her legs. He slipped a finger down, the fabric pulled tight by her protesting body. Wet, he sighed and brought his finger back to his mouth. He sucked his finger and sighed. Liquid fear. The best. He buried his nose against the furry mound, inhaling her perfume. His hand crept to his pants and he cupped his balls, bucking against his palm until he came.

  His breathing was ragged as he crawled back into a position where he could see her face. She had been crying. He hadn’t noticed. He licked the trail down her cheeks the tears had left. Straightening up to zip and button her jeans, he treated himself to another finger full of her fear. After he licked his finger dry, he reached into his pants. His semen was drying, starching the fabric of his pants, but he was wet enough. He brought his fingertips, moist, to her lips, smeared his juice on her mouth and then licked it away.

  “Just a taste,” Everett murmured. He was ready to come again. She could make him come again, this one. Make him come until worms were crawling out her eyes. “You’re the best,” he assured her. “You really are.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kean heard Aideen whisper the final phrase of the ceremony in his ear and then she vanished. He kept his eyes closed and tried to reach her. His body trembled with the effort but she locked him out. He repeated her last words—a prayer, a talisman. Let it be so, he prayed at the same time he cursed Danu. When he was finished cursing the goddess, he continued on with Gerald and his mother. Then Julius and Claubine. No one he knew was immune. Even Aideen, the source of his despair, was berated for her willingness to be a sacrificial lamb. She who had spent a lifetime running from her father’s beliefs was now ready to die for them. Harmony in there, someone would say—someone pretending to be wise but understanding nothing.

  He was lost in this thought when Everett opened the van’s back door and tossed a limp Aideen inside. Kean snaked his way along the van’s floor until he was next to her. She coughed lightly, her breath carrying the smell of fresh dirt with it. Dirt and something else. His stomach lurched but, when her eyes fluttered open, he managed to bite back the need to vomit.

  Everett climbed into the front of the van, whistling. He checked his watch and chuckled. “Plenty of time.” He put the van in reverse and backed up to the trees before pointing the vehicle in the direction of the main road once again. “Even time enough to stop off for a bite to eat, don’t you think?” Only silence answered him and he laughed again, his chatter euphoric, unending.

  “I mean, I really worked up an appetite back there,” he said. He rapped his knuckles against the wire fencing that separated front from back. “You know what I mean, birddog, huh? She makes a man hungry.”

  Kean eased Aideen’s exhausted form against the side of the van and cradled her as best he could with his arms locked behind his back. He pressed his cheek against her ear, hoping to block out Everett’s mounting insinuations. He wanted to bathe her, to unbind her hands and lower her into a warm tub. To caress her battered body with a soapy sponge and kiss away the memory of the tears he could tell she had cried while alone in the woods with Everett. He felt her go limp again and her sudden relaxation clogged his throat. He nudged her, felt the light exhalation of her warm breath. His own breathing started again. She had passed out and the realization was a double relief. Asleep, she could no longer hear Everett’s sick praise.

  “Sleeping?” Everett queried from the front of the van. When Kean didn’t answer, Everett jerked the steering wheel to the left, jostling his cargo. “What happened to your bark, birddog? Didn’t leave it back there in the trees, did we? We could go back, take another look, the songbird and me.”

  “Odd you calling me a birddog when it’s you answering your master’s summons.” Kean’s voice was a low rumble of menace that raised the hairs on the back of Everett’s neck.

  “You’ll be answering his call soon enough, birddog,” Everett jeered and smoothed the hairs back down on his neck. The van turned and pulled to a stop. Everett rolled down his window and there was the sound of an electronic code key being entered followed by the deep hydraulic whine of heavy gates sliding open. “Real soon,” he warned cheerily.

  The drive the van traveled over was smoother than the public road and they seemed to float to their final destination. The van’s interior grew dimmer and Kean realized they were inside a garage. He guessed they were on the other side of London but couldn’t be sure. He thought of the small tracking devices contained in their clothing and hoped Julius had been able to follow the signal. But if he had, then why was there no reprieve in the woods? Surely, Julius wouldn’t have allowed Aideen to undergo such horrors? He looked down at her face, the slim, distant beam of an electric light caressing her cheekbone and pale blonde hair. She was the only one he trusted now, but he couldn’t trust her to keep herself safe or not to sacrifice herself for his well-being.

  “Time to get out, birddog,” Everett called from the front as the van’s back door was opened and two of Meyrick’s steroid-laden thugs pulled Aideen out.

  The larger of the two, his craggy features uncompromising, cradled her limp body in his arms. He jerked his head at Kean, the motion commanding him to get out of the van and follow. Kean crawled from the back of the van, Ever
ett and the second thug at his heels as they entered an elevator. The elevator rose one floor and opened onto a blindingly white room. Ceramic tiles, four feet wide, covered the walls, floor and ceiling. Every few feet, a clear sheet of glass housed a white fluorescent light that burned the retinas of anyone careless enough to glance up. At the end of the room, sitting on a metal throne, a set of doublewide white doors at his back was Meyrick. His hair was as white as the room and he would have seemed bald without the high-backed seat and the red robe he wore. In his hand, he held a scepter cast from the same metal and, in its center, was the Bloodstone.

  Kean would have laughed at the man’s lurid preparations if the thug holding Aideen hadn’t placed her on her feet and given her cheek a gentle slap. She opened her eyes, swaying, her expression disoriented. Kean inched closer to her. Her body brushed against his, finding support and then she saw it—the Bloodstone. She stood straighter and Kean could feel her energy returning in the stone’s presence.

  Meyrick’s flat gaze flicked over them before turning to Everett. “Why are there two?” he asked. “I only need the woman. You knew that.”

  Everett’s face screwed into a puzzled frown while he groped for the answer. He looked at Aideen and his reason for keeping the birddog alive came back to him. “To keep the songbird quiet,” he said.

  Meyrick looked around the tiled room and bared his teeth in a crypt keeper’s grin. “Well, there’s no need to keep her quiet now,” he replied. He cast a long look at Everett, noted the solid outline of the Pumpkin King’s erection, the sweat stains on the shirt’s armpits and the hard-starched front of his pants. “And killing him should ease some of your…tension.”

  “I didn’t think you were that stupid,” Aideen said softly. Her gaze centered somewhere behind Meyrick, focused on a secret knowledge he didn’t share.

  Meyrick laughed and leaned back against his metal throne. “I’m sure I’ll find this amusing.”