Dawn Revealed

Chapter 34

Lamia giggled softly. From a great distance, actually another plane of existence her brother and she watched the tear jerking scene. So amusing, the sadness and grief was such a useful emotion. Their sister offered up useless prayers to their father. As if he would help her. As if he could stop them. Their dear sister failed to realize the 'Old Man's' window of opportunity had shut long ago. He sat on his throne, impotent and self absorbed. What did he really care about any of them?

As for Kokumthena and her ceaseless, useless faith in their father, she'd learn. There was one thing immortal beings had plenty of...time. She'd understand eventually. They'd make sure she got a proper education on exactly where she stood with their father. When he finally grew weary of her as he had them. He'd cast her aside and simply create another daughter or perhaps, a whole family to love him. In the same way he'd created her to replace them. The three of them could have fun in the nothing. Except, for one teeny tiny issue. They weren't going back to that awful place. Oh, Kokumthena was. But, they weren't.

Everyday, their strength grew. And with her sister's pet preoccupied the lesser spirit wolves were weak. Kokumthena should have chosen a stronger animal to guard her borders. It was just a matter of time before Samael and she slipped through. And then...when they did...oh, how they'd feast. "I'm bored," she sighed.

"So soon?" Samael chided. He gently tugged the lock of his hair his sister had been curling between her fingers free from her grasp. He'd spent his time analyzing the enemy for a weakness. Death, which just so happened to be his specialty, was the key to defeating the brotherhood. And with them out of the way there wasn't anything to stop him.

This modern culture fascinated him. Humans had gotten so creative in the ways they doled out death. He was born too soon. Ok, so the means of torture had gotten somewhat milder. Torture had always been just a means to an end. And the humans could kill. Large scale destruction and wholesale slaughter the likes of which even he, death's right hand, could scarcely comprehend. But, he had to be careful on what he unleashed. Deemed too dangerous to go free, there were other siblings their father had locked up over time to protect his precious creation. The Greeks had their myths about Pandora's box. The box was nothing compared to the hell their father had put them through. At least in the box, his siblings had company. All he had was his sister as a companion. His twisted, demented, sister.

He'd figured out how to breech the barrier between worlds. But, they had to be subtle about it. Kokumthena was everything his twin was not. And she would not be easily deceived. Perhaps, their father had learned something about being a father after his mistakes with Lamia. Lamia was deficient, spoiled, eternally hungry for human life and insatiable in her appetites. He couldn't tell her she could leave this shadowy world of her making. Like a blemish on Kokumthena's perfection, Lamia had redecorated and created a place of darkness and terror in his sister's shimmery world of light. To unleash her on the humans before he'd brought her to heel would be a fatal mistake. He would feast on death, temporarily. And then they'd both starve for eternity in a place worse than the darkness they'd been confined to.

"I'm so hungry," Lamia whined. She hated this pretty place they were stuck in. Flowers everywhere, fresh air, sunlight, ick...if not for her freedom, she would have preferred the darkness of nothing they'd been confined to for this. To watch humanity and not be able to sample their lives was torture.

"Now sister, if you kill them all, we won't have anything left to play with." He chastised her gently as one would a small child. If he gave in to everyone of his sister's random whims, the earth would be nothing but a barren hunk of rock.

"Oh I suppose," she pouted. "But, I'm just so bored. There's nothing to do here."

Samael had endured his sister's version of entertainment countless times, just to keep her quiet and amused. He didn't fight the unnatural attraction she had for him. He tolerated it. No more, he silently vowed. She had a new plaything. And it was better to teach her to breach the barrier than to suffer through her love for him again. Through their link to Roark, they could travel to the human world. And they could pull his spirit into theirs. And wasn't that the joke? Something Roark should have considered before he unleashed them. What happened in one world happened in the other. And somehow, Samael doubted Roark would ever be the same. "Let's go pay Roark a visit. Shall we?"

Roark loved simplicity. The easiest way to hide his presence was to be right beneath the nose of his enemy. Although he had to admit, he was a bit disappointed that the Sons hadn't ferreted him out yet. The cabin was primitive and he found it disdainful. But, it served his purpose. As a side benefit, his minions would be hard pressed to make it look any worse than it already did. And this remote in the woods, there weren't many humans wandering about to kill. Fewer complications that way.

He kept them hungry and in check. Barely. They didn't have much longer to wait before they served the purpose for which he'd drafted them into his service. Before long, he'd harness their savage power and unleash it on his enemies. Soon, he'd claim his victory and his new command center. Of course, he'd have to spruce it up a bit. The compound was suitable. But, it lacked a certain flair.

Roark sensed the sudden chill in the air. Darkness and evil swirled around him in biting currents of ice. He had company. As much as he hated false humility, he dropped on one knee and bowed his head, waiting for the ethereal shapes to solidify into form. "I am honored by your visit." He could not wait to contain these two, as soon as he was done with them and figured out how to do it. In his world there was room for only one alpha. He'd have to send them back to the hell from which he'd called them forth.

"Oh get up," Lamia huffed. She saw inside the man's black heart and hated a liar more than anything. The thought of his falsehood caused rage bubble up in her throat. As soon as he'd served his purpose, she'd teach him a thing or two. Unfortunately, he'd be taking those lessons into the afterlife with him. He was a tool. Nothing more.

She smiled down at Roark and ran her hands over his rich walnut hair. He was pretty. And she liked pretty things. In his suffering at her hands, he'd be exquisite. Maybe, she would keep him around for a while to play with.

"The brother of your enemy is dead," Samael announced. He narrowed his eyes at Roark's minions. Pushing them back with the promise of death in his stare. They needed Roark. For now. He was their gateway to this world. And without him, they'd be trapped, again. Samael couldn't afford to risk him. Roark chose his servants a little too well. The blood thirsty crew would kill him for no other reason than to relish his death. "Perhaps, we should take this someplace private?"

"The Prophet is dead?" Roark leapt to his feet and began pacing in eagerness. These two had managed to do in a matter of days what he'd been impotently planning for decades. He stiffened with awareness. Plans raced in his mind. Now would be the right time to attack. The Sons were weak and vulnerable. The Great Father might just hand himself over. Beg him to end his life. "I should go pay my respects," Roark said.

"Not yet," Lamia said with a predatory smile. "We've got more surprises. By the time we're done with the brotherhood, you won't need to break a sweat. We always deliver on our promises. And we expect payment in full." Seductively, she walked her fingers down his chest. Roark didn't like that. And his disdain at having to endure her touch fueled her hunger for more. She knew what he was. At his core, he was exactly like her. And he loved games. As long as he was the one winning them. Laughing at his disgust, she flexed her nails and raked them over his pecs. His silk shirt hung in ribbons and blood beaded along his shredded flesh. Eagerly, she licked her lips. Oh, this was going to be so much fun.

"Of course." Roark bore his fangs and hissed at the pain of his exposed wounds. They'd delivered a crippling blow to the brotherhood today and it was time for payment. The first of many pounds of flesh the bitch expected, no doubt, to claim. She disgusted him. Her sick appetites rivaled his own. He felt a twinge of sympathy for his victims. The women he'd brutalized over the centuries. Roark roared barely able to contain his rage as Lamia stroked her tongue over his flesh, lapping up his blood.

The sting of his healing flesh served as a bitter reminder. He wasn't human. And she was inhumane. He could take a lot more damage than his fragile human playmates. Death came quickly for them. But, not for him. Fear, a sensation he was unfamiliar with settled in his belly. The things Lamia could do to him surfaced from the dark pits of his mind. Things he'd done to others. But, they hadn't lived to tell the story. He would. For an eternity, if she willed it. His cock wilted and retreated. Like the rest of him, his limp member would be an unwilling participant in a game not of their making. What choice did he have?

Lamia grinned triumphantly. Reveling in the scent of Roark's fear. He had no idea how much fun she was going to have with him. And perhaps, with the proper coaching, he'd find he enjoyed the game. She'd take him and his body to places of hell's deepest nightmares. And there, mingled with the pain, fed by his blood and his unwilling submission, she'd find her pleasure. She cupped his chin, digging her nails into his flesh and forced him to meet her eyes. Bending to slick her tongue over his lips she shuddered in desire. Her brother, Samael, who knew too well the types of games she played for her amusement, shook his head. "Not here," he said.

Of course, he was right. She lacked the proper tools. Gathering her power, she dragged Roark's soul across the barrier. Hers was a game of the mind. And in this realm, his physical body was as real as the empty shell she'd left behind. Oh, he was alive, very much so. Samael had stayed behind to ensure Roark stayed that way. Dead, he'd be of no use to them. Her twin meant to keep secrets from her. He'd forgotten that she was the queen of lies and deceit. Roark was the key to their freedom. And she so enjoyed her freedom.

Awareness slammed into Roark. Naked and exposed, he had no idea where she'd taken him. What realm or shadow world she'd chosen for her play. She studied him with a triumphant grin curving her lush mouth. The feel of her fingertips tracing patterns over his flesh left an icy chill on his skin. Gripping his hair in her fist, she jerked his head back, stretching the muscles and tendons to the point of rupture. He'd heal. And for the first time in his long life, he comprehended how much his abilities damned him. There was little she could do to him, that with enough time and blood, his body could not repair.

Roark grunted as she released his hair. Uncoordinated muscles clenching in agonizing spasms refused to support his head. Resting his chin on his chest to relieve a small measure of the pain, he watched her unwind the opaque snakeskin dress from her body. Her curves were sheer perfection. Her skin alabaster and supple, like silk. But, she did not attract him. His cock showed absolutely no signs of interest in her. The flesh, flaccid and limp dangled between his thighs. His mind retreated from his body. Roark drew upon the images of scores of beautiful women he'd had the pleasure of entertaining. And still, his cock showed no sign of life. There was no amount of coaxing. No mouth creative or talented enough to rouse the flesh. Not when he knew exactly what she intended to do with it. Castration would be a blessing compared to feeling her wrapped around him.

Lamia knew Roark really didn't want her. If he did, the game wouldn't be nearly as fun. He'd offered her payment. And she intended to collect. The pale drooping flesh between his thighs was to be expected. After all, he knew exactly what awaited him. What she planned to do to him. No matter, she had her ways. She was an expert at creative persuasion. He would be a splendid specimen fully erect. And oh, the fun she'd have getting him hard and punishing him if he didn't. Cupping him in her palm, she gave the cold flesh a hard squeeze. "Remember, you gave your word and your consent. You called to me. You asked a favor of me. And it is only fair that I receive a boon for my hard work."

Roark gnashed his fangs at the feel of her cold hand cupping his balls. Her touch was feather light as she worked him with her palm. Against his will he grew hard. His groin tightened at the pleasure of her skilled caress. His mind raged against it. Cried out in protest. But, his body, ached. In need of the release her hand promised with taunting strokes, his muscles coiled and flesh quivered. Panting and bucking, thrusting his cock into her ready hand, he moaned. The sound extracted from his reluctant throat.

Lamia slapped Roark hard across the face. All the while she continued to pump his cock with her cupped fingers, wringing the pleasure out of him as she punished. He was hard. And every bit as magnificent as she'd anticipated. Blessed with the body of a god. Erect for her to take as she saw fit. With a deep feminine chuckle of satisfaction, she lowered her lips to his ear and whispered. "Shall we begin?"

Chapter 35

Roark hadn't paid much attention to his surroundings. He was chained to a wall with invisible shackles. The harder he struggled to fight against them, the tighter the grip on his wrists and ankles. A cave...he was in a cave. The walls were constructed of a dark burgundy black-red stone. Brimstone? Only fitting he supposed, considering a minion from hell's gate worked his cock with the skill of a professional. Lamia seemed quite pleased with herself. Her eyes gleamed in triumph as she traced a fang down his length tearing the sensitive flesh wide and lapping at the blood with her wicked tongue.

He hissed against the assault. Refusing to cry out from the agony she inflicted. Pain unlike anything he'd ever felt spread through him. Bloated like a tick with his blood, she damaged him just enough to make it hurt, really hurt. But, left him intact enough to perform for her satisfaction. It was a trick he knew well. Sample. Taste. Torture. But, leave the prey conscious, alert, and helplessly aware.

He was fully functional. And for that, he cursed himself. His body reveled in the pleasure she gave in between the harsh punishment of her torturous ministrations. Roark shivered at the warmth of her mouth and the bite of her nails, raking across his raw and abused flesh. Clamping his jaws in rebellion, he refused to beg for an end. Lamia teased him with the promise of relief and then just before he fell over the edge, she withdrew. Even now, her tongue working him, taking his full length into her mouth, her lips cupping him with an erotic kiss, he was close, so close. But, he didn't dare spill his come all over her beautiful face. For although she tormented him. She could do far worse.

Pleased by Roark's strength of will, Lamia continued to toy with him. Every pleasured groan from his lips earned him a harsh slap. The unwilling buck of his hips was another lesson in agony. She feasted on the blood seeping from the many wounds she'd inflicted on him. Battered and dangling from the unbreakable chains, he teetered so close to breaking. And she wanted to break him, just not so soon.

She bit her wrist and forced the flesh between his clamped lips. All the while stroking his length with her palm till his breaths were a whimpering plea for mercy. "That's a good boy," she coaxed as he drank. She worked him faster and faster. Moisture beaded the tip of his erect head. He'd lose control and spill in her palm. And she'd punish him severely for the mess. His hips bucked in a wild rhythm, thrusting himself deeper into her grip. His fingers gripped at the chains holding him spread eagle to the wall. "Ask nicely," she taunted.

Roark's legs gave out, knees buckling in refusal to support his weight. The power of Lamia's blood surged through his body. Their minds locked as one. Her pleasure at his torture, the ecstasy of his pain and the thrill she felt at being the cause, fused with his consciousness and pushed him to the breaking point. Through his panting breaths, dangling from the chains by his wrists. His lips moved, the sound of the word barely audible through the effort it took to speak. "Please."

Lamia stilled her hand and opened her fingers, releasing her hold on his cock. Roark shuddered and fell to the dusty floor of the cave as she unchained him from his bindings. Crouched on all fours. Clutching desperately for hold on something Roark threw back his head and wailed an unearthly, inhuman scream of agony.

Leaning over Roark's quivering flesh, Lamia whispered words of comfort and seduction. He lay in her arms. His eyes fixed on a distant point. Hatred hot and powerful gleamed in the depths of his dilated pupils. He wasn't quite as broken as he appeared. And that pleased her greatly. Roark could endure far more than she'd imagined. He was quite the challenge. And she'd have to expand on her talents to have him exactly where she wanted him. Obedient. Complacent. Broken.

Her hair draped over Roark's face in an endless flow of crimson tangles and snarls. She held him in her arms, whispering comfort and supplication to his battered mind. Stroking his damaged body with gentle fingertips. He suppressed the urge to wretch. He'd done this himself, to his playthings. And he knew what was to come next. He'd do anything to avoid the ultimate violation of his body. Anything. Gathering what strength he could muster, he delayed the inevitable. "Let me worship you as you deserve, mistress," he said, hating himself and choking on the words.

Steeling himself against the grotesqueness of the act, he lapped at her with his tongue and bit at her core with his fangs. The act wasn't deplorable. No, he quite enjoyed a woman quivering for his pleasure. It was her. This evil thing to which he gave pleasure that disgusted him. Lamia heaved, her thigh muscles flexing and her swollen clitoris twitching with need. His back was on fire, shredded to ribbons of tattered skin and matted blood from the rake and bite of her nails across his skin. Roark closed his eyes, unable to stomach the sight of her intimate flesh. Her scent embedded itself in his nostrils. Cloying. Disgusting. Her taste coated his tongue. Shriveling his taste buds. And yet, for her torture and his disgust and raw hatred, his body ached for her.

Lamia quivered beneath him. Her body clenched in the throes of her orgasm. Drowning him in the liquid heat of her climax. Roark swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. In his mind's eye, he saw Kayla on her knees, staring up at him as she licked his come from her lips with the tip of her tongue. Lamia stroked his hair much as he'd stroked Kayla's. Her touch was gentle, almost motherly. Her fingers coaxed him up her lithe body. Her breasts heaving from the force of the release he'd given her. Roark was not one for regret or remorse. Pity was something he'd never felt for anyone. Even now, under Lamia's captivity, he couldn't muster the strength to feel it for himself.

With skeletal fingers, she guided his head to her shoulder. Cooing to him so sweetly. Roark didn't have the foresight to be terrified of such gentleness. He knew he was not the only monster in the room. Lamia was the devil incarnate. He had no respect for her, only hatred, bleak hatred and fear. Damn his body for responding to her. At the slightest of caresses he was hardening against the cold flesh of her thigh. His breathing quickened and his breaths deepened as her exhale skated over his neck. Lamia's lips froze his skin. He howled in agony at the fierceness of her fangs tearing through his flesh. Her fingers were on his cock, stroking him erect.