The Blackmere Society Ch. 03

And so marched onward the hunters of Blackmere...

It is 1897, the twenty-eighth of May. My name is Brialla Wren, and I am the newest member of the Blackmere Society, a hidden cadre of hunters consisting of creatures that would be feared, would be dreaded, were there not a far greater evil lurking beneath us.

This night, sleep comes deep and restfully, my weakened body exercised into exhaustion by a curious newcomer to Blackmere Manor. A creature of the underworld, unshackled from the entity that had enslaved her, a horned beauty of scarlet skin and ebony hair. She calls herself Rubii, and on the night prior she found me in hospice, seemed to... link, to me. We made love - or rather, she to me - and in spite of my limited cooperation I find no regrets haunting my thoughts.

I awaken to the sensation of gentle nuzzling, the hell-creature's nude body entangled with my own, legs wound around mine and her face buried between my breasts as a young child may cling to its mother, not wishing to be far separated from that which is most crucial to it. Her golden eyes remain shut, soft snores rumbling out from her soft, slumbering figure, mouth open just enough for me to view a single small, sharp fang. I try to shift, but find myself quite unable to, my body still resisting my attempts to control it. There is only the most minor sign of recovery - one finger shifts forward, barely half an inch. Enough, however, to give me some hope.

"Who are you..." I whisper softly, not rousing the demon-girl, though taking some comfort from her closeness. She's wonderfully pretty in her unholy way, and now that I've acclimated to her being so near I find it quite soothing. A kind of presence I've not felt for far too long, despite its unlikely source. A low, rumbling sound, something between a snore and purr, burbles out from the red-skinned stowaway. Curiously pleasing...

I'm startled to full waking by the sound of voices outside of the makeshift infirmary where I'm being held, the door's handle rattling. My eyes snap open, and I whisper harshly to Rubii, "Girl! You mustn't let them see you! You have to go!"

She does not hear. Her slumber is absolute, her body completely relaxed in its embrace of me. I knew this moment would come, and even though I know far too little of Rubii's origin or intention, I have no wish to see her mistreated for what she appears to be, rather than her expressed character. Nonetheless, the inlaid ash door creaks open, and two members of the Society enter: Mr. Commons, his jacket doffed and vest open, giving him something of a disheveled appearance; and Anathema, the graceful vampyress clad scandalously a crimson shift, woven from what I can only assume are the fine silks of the East.

"Last I checked she was still asleep, perhaps she's roused now?" I can hear Edgar's voice saying as the door opens, both of them slipping inside. They look upon me, seeing my visitor, and both freeze as if they've seen a ghost - or something far more ghastly, I suppose, seeing as the Society considers a ghost among its full-time members. "Crivvens."

"Well, it certainly seems as if our little witch has found a friend," Anathema's scarlet lips twist into a wry sneer, one I find almost impossible to read - at least in relation to whether she finds Rubii's presence acceptable or not. "Were you planning to tell us about your new lover, Brialla?"

I find my throat quite dry, all eyes on me, with Rubii still asleep and nuzzled into my bosom. If I tell the truth, they won't understand how gentle she was, how... careful, she appeared to be. "It's... i-it's not what you think!" I exclaim, a clumsy attempt to buy time while I contemplate a more digestible retort.

"Oh?" the vampyre drifts close to me. She has the speed of Rubii with none of the discomforting movements - first she is far from me, and then she is near, and the interim is scarcely noticed. "Would you care to explain, sweet witch? Explain how a thing from the underworld ended up in your bed?"

"It's quite a good question," Edgar intones from the other end of the room, making his way over to the bed's other side, cautiously keeping his distance from the slumbering Rubii. "After you sealed the rift and had yourself a wee nap, that thing in the basement dragged us back here, all of us. I remember not a thing about that monstrosity's mouthpiece showing up with us."

"She's..." I swallow hard, trying to think of the best way to explain it, not knowing what they'll want to hear. I still know so little about the other Blackmere hunters and how they'll react. "We freed her, I think. When that... t-that horrid thing... when we closed the rift, it broke its hold over her. She came to me, possibly because I broke the-"

My eyes widen in horror when Rubii stirs from her rest, finally distracted from sleep by all of the voices around her. She looks at me first, then tilts her head, tail lashing suddenly when she sees first Edgar, then Ana. A hideous shriek - not unlike that of a feral cat that's been doused in cold water, or had its tail sharply tugged - erupts from the demongirl, and she detaches from me, scurrying away from the bed completely and darting up the wall. Still naked, facing the other members of the Society, she backs her way up nearly to the ceiling, hands and feet clinging to the smooth, plastered surface as might those of a cricket, or cunning arachnid. "Hssssch!" she wails out, tail lashing wildly.

"Aye, she looks quite sorted, doesn't she?" Even in my state of growing distress, Edgar's sarcasm doesn't miss its mark. Of more concern to me, however, is the sound of footsteps rushing toward the infirmary from elsewhere in Blackmere Manor... footsteps that, logically, could only belong to a single individual.

"Ahh, the brute arrives," Anathema sighs, seeming strangely unfettered by Rubii's sudden display of defensiveness. She simply slinks back a step or two, moving out of the open doorway's line of sight - and in doing so, as if by some premonition of her ungodly humours, retroactively evades the barreling form of a Mr. Erasmus Grey. The lycanthrope storms into the small infirmary, fingers spread in an imitation of beastly claws, but no transformation yet taking place.

Rubii, naturally, refuses to make things at all better. Her attention quickly turns to Mr. Grey, a second shriek escaping her dark lips, the challenge of which causes the werewolf to immediately roar back, a human shout that swells into a bestial howl as Erasmus's already-remarkable figure begins to swell and pop, hair sprouting from various extremities as he enters a state of partial transformation. "What is that thing doing here?!"

"It seems our witch brought home a stray," Ana replies coolly. I shall, at some point, have to inquire as to her ancestry; for her rolling, velvet accent continues to elude me. Romanian, perhaps? Or even so far east as the Ukraine? A query for another time. "To the creature's credit, it has yet to attack."

"Like a cornered rat will stand its ground until the jaws of a greater predator draw near," Erasmus snarls, his eyes flaring gold and canine teeth bared. "We saw her serving that... thing. That's all I need to know."

"Not to be rude, lad, but are you quite able to come up with anything besides 'thing'? If you keep using it for everything you don't understand, matters are liable to get rather confusing rather quickly," Edgar inquires, only to be flatly ignored by Erasmus, who (unfortunately) turns his seething attention towards me.

"What's your part in this, witch?" he spits, a stark reminder of how distrusted I still am within the Blackmere Society, even if the majority of its members are civil enough to keep their concerns unheard. "Why's it with you?"

"She..." I swallow hard. I do quite wish I was able to properly sit up and explain myself, but the weariness I'm afflicted by after my encounter with the rift renders me as bedbound as I had been when Rubii first approached me. "She bears an affection towards me. I assure you, she's brought me to no harm." Quite the opposite, in fact, but to share this degree of detail, I feel, would be entirely unladylike.

Ana taps one finger to her lip, taking a step forward to more closely examine Rubii, the scarlet creature still clinging to the ceiling, glaring at the rest of the team. "Then the question remains - what shall we do with this remnant of the underworld?"

"Ms. Wren, if you'd be able to coerce it into doing so, we could bring your wee friend here to one of the manor's holding cells," Mr. Commons suggests, cautiously slipping one hand into the back pocket of his breeches and withdrawing a curious copper device adorned with buttons and switches, its make and purpose both unknown to me. "Some tests may prove quite useful in understanding the rifts, and, obviously, their denizens."

"You would keep the creature among us?" Erasmus snarls, his breathing hot and heavy in his partially-transformed shape. "We are a society of hunters, not scholars. We kill creatures like this."

"And you'd deny us our greatest chance at learning how to better do so?" Edgar retorts swiftly.

"By doing what? Asking it questions? Learning its feelings? It could open a rift right beneath the floorboards!" the lycanthrope's voice raises to a growling bellow.

"If you kill that creature without understanding it," the scot bites back, taking on a low, icy tone. "You're no better than the ignorant peasants that would see you beneath their pitchfork because of your wolf's blood. Like it or not, that creature-"

"She has a name."

Edgar blinks, and he and Erasmus both turn their heads to face me. Rubii herself seems as agitated as ever, but relaxes at the sound of my voice. Ana merely grins.

"I'm sorry?" Edgar mumbles.

"Her name's Rubii. She can communicate. She's not..." I swallow hard. "She's not a thing, she's a person. She's alive."

There's silence for a long moment, and I see Mr. Grey's hackles lower, the bristling hair sprouted from his chest and shoulders receding to its ordinary length, fangs shifting back into teeth. Unexpectedly, it's Anathema who breaks the silence.

"Captivity, then, for now. We learn what... Rubii, was it? We learn what she knows, after you've better recovered. If she doesn't cooperate, well... we can find a different way to deal with her." The vampyre shoots me another small, understanding smile, and I begin to wonder if I've misjudged her - if there's more human to her than her icy superiority and smouldering sensuousness let on.

"...Fine," Erasmus snarls, shifting completely back into his human form now, though he still appears quite displeased. "Do as you will." He turns and strides back through the door he came in from, while Mr. Commons presses one of the buttons on his strange device. A beam of light, as that from a hooded lantern, casts forth from the small antennae at its oblong end, lancing towards Rubii and then... shaping itself around her. Regrettably, the curious artifice behind it is quite beyond my understanding, and I can only observe as the beam forms into a transparent globe around the red-skinned beauty.

"Alright, lass, time for you to come with me," Mr. Commons insists, beckoning Rubii towards him and keeping the device firmly in hand. She tests it cautiously, poking at the ends of the globe and finding them distressingly solid - and looks to me. Despite my uncertainty of what may occur to her in captivity, I know this is as much of a compromise as I'll be able to squeeze from the society of hunters. Inhaling through my nose, I manage enough strength to nod. She slinks down from the wall, keeping to a low, crouching prowl, and follows Edgar out of the infirmary as well.

"Well, looks like you've had quite a bit of excitement for the day," Anathema smirks at me, arms folded across her chest, one hip playfully posed to the side.

"Indeed," I sigh. "Now if only I had strength to stand."

"Actually, I had an idea for that. Though you may find it... distasteful."

"Dare I ask?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The time after Anathema leaves me alone is not as restful as I might have hoped. Worries plague my mind, growing ever the more frustrating alongside my inability to get up and move. The desire to distract my mind - whether to take a meal, brush my hair, or even to simply pace - grows stronger and stronger as I consider what might be happening to Rubii, how she's being treated and what part she'll play in the Blackmere Society as a whole. Of course, were she to communicate more clearly and truly ally herself to our cause (be it out of vengeance, loyalty, or whatever other motive) she could become our greatest asset. Someone who truly understands what we're going up against.

This train of thought, though, leads me to my own inevitable imitation of the Greek figure Narcissus - a contemplation of the red-skinned woman transitioning to contemplation of my own self, my place within this sinister league of hunters and huntresses. I made a reasonable showing for myself at the asylum, but while I did manage to close the rift, the process was so draining that I've been left utterly useless. If an attack was made on the manor right this instant, I'd be of less use than the bed I'm stuck in.

So lost do I become in my thoughts that I in no way notice the entrance of the final member of the Society, slipping through the wall entirely and creeping to my side. It isn't until I hear that quiet, tinny sound that I realize the Wraith is beside me, and a piteous yelp escapes me in the instant before I remember her allegiances. "Goodness!" I gasp, trying to wiggle back a bit onto the bed, but making no noteworthy progress. "I'm... I must apologize, Wraith. You gave me quite a fright."

The Wraith simply stares at me, narrowing her eyes very slightly, her translucent form drawing a little closer to mine. She opens her mouth, and no sound comes out - though that buzzing noise grows slightly louder. I can almost see her ghostly lips form words, but even were I a skilled lip-reader I fear they'd be in a tongue I have no grasp of. The one thing I can tell, simply from the expression on her war-painted face, is that she seems to be asking some kind of question.

"Are you... I-I'm very sorry, I don't understand," I murmur, trying to still my heart as I wither under the gaze of the Wraith. She's the one member of the Society (the God in Bondage, naturally, set aside) that I haven't entirely grown accustomed to the sight of. Her silence and translucence I both find rather unnerving, and now the way that she's staring at me, like she's offering something but cannot find words for it... I don't know if-

I suck in a deep gasp of air, my lungs going cold as she shifts forward. I feel something press against me - rather like being slowly submerged in ice-cold butter - and then feel the Wraith slide into me. A sensation like an electrical shock courses over every inch of skin, my body trembling madly as I try to suppress the urge to be sick. "Gllkk-!" I cough out, my body staying tense, twitching as my subconscious attempts to purge the new presence within me.

...Twitching...?

I breathe in again, then hold the air within my lungs, trying to settle my stomach and acclimate to the strange presence. Teeth clenched together, I wind my fingers inward into a fist, tightening it. Was... was it my spirit, not my body, that rendered me unable to move...?

Quite abruptly, I feel myself shoot up and out of bed, wobbling to both feet while my arms scramble to preserve my modesty with the white linen blanket I'd been provided. I blink both eyes rapidly, my stomach still churning and body trembling as it struggles to hold an entire second soul.

"An bhfuil sé seo níos fearr?"

The voice comes from inside my mind, that soft buzzing swelling in volume and taking shape, twisting itself into words, but not ones I can comprehend. I can feel her squirming within me, making herself comfortable. "I don't know what you're saying!" I shout aloud, before clapping one hand over my mouth in sudden shame. It would be quite unbecoming to allow my anxiety to attract the attention of the rest of the Society.

"Socraigh," the Wraith whispers back. I try to steady myself, wrapping the blanket around myself more fully. Each movement seems to lag a moment, my body struggling to catch up with the commands of my mind - presumably as the poltergeist within me works to operate my limbs.

"Alright, alright, this shouldn't be so troubling," panicked whispers roll out under my breath. "I should have known things like... this... might occur when I joined Blackmere. But it does feel so... so strange."

"Ní gá. Tá do chorp te, mothaíonn sé milis. Éist liom, déan teagmháil liom." I cannot be certain whether my body is driven by her soul or my own, but I sit back at the edge of the bed, letting out a deep, soft breath as I start to relax, just a little. Having her within me is curious, but not, perhaps, so unpleasant as I may have thought at first. Her presence is cooling, yet lively, like something moving and stirring just beneath the surface of my skin - almost tantalizing, like being touched, caressed from within rather than without.

"I... suppose I should try to find some more suitable clothing, if there's any nearby," I whisper under my breath, stumbling back up to my feet and starting to search the infirmary, though each step still feels like treading water. It's but a moment, though, before I find a small hamper filled with bedgowns and slip into one - enough to preserve whatever modesty I yet retain while I make my way back to my room to find my robes. I'm almost to the door, my gait as determined as it is labored, when I feel a devious hand sliding up my body, making its way to my breast. I stiffen, eyes flying wide, when I feel fingers squeeze lustfully around the soft swell of flesh.

My fingers.

"...Wraith...?"

More nonsense words burble from within my mind, though more rushed now, breathlessly whispered into the dark cavern of my soul. The hand gropes a little harder, fingers shifting to my nipple, giving it a needy pinch and tug. A jolt of pleasure resonates through me, seeming to echo along my body, and I hear a tense moan of pleasure from the Wraith, utterly wordless and primal, and I buckle - falling down to one knee as I struggle against the anxious spirit within me. I try to pull my hand away from my own chest, despite the sensation being an admittedly thrilling one, but find it holds fast, my will unable to overcome the Wraith's single-minded focus.

"M-miss, I- nnngh-" I groan out as she teases my nipple a little harder, my other hand now descending beneath the white shift, fingers stroking inward along the netherward skin of my thigh, gooseflesh erupting along it as my own hand heads for something far more illicit. It occurs to me that, having endured death itself for what must have been at least several centuries, my body's new coachwoman may be more than a little eager to taste the pleasures of the flesh. Perhaps it would be... worthwhile to indulge her, keep her calm, that I may keep greater control of my own faculties in the meantime. "S-stop- just- l-let me get to my room! And then we can... you can do as you will, with me. Does that sound e-entirely fair?"

I hold my breath as I endure a pause, waiting for the ghost-warrior to give her reply, and then finally feel my hands slip to a neutral position. Still, I can feel a hum inside me, swelling and cavorting, desperate to burst forth. I've bought myself a moment, but it has yet to be seen how long that moment may last - time to get back to my room on the second floor.

"Thank you," I whisper, making my way for the door and now finding my body much less divided, both my full attention and the Wraith's devoted to getting me upstairs. I hold the lower hem of my shift close against my body so as not to show off any more thigh than is entirely necessary for the ill-fitting nightshirt, cautiously creeping past Mr. Commons' study and into Blackmere Manor's spacious entry room, where I know the stairs will be.