14. Blade
BLADE
One night wasn't enough.
One night with her was worth a million with the others. But I still felt the craving deep in my bones.
She looked so pretty hanging off of me like that.
I’d do anything for just another taste.
And from the looks on Nash and Cyrus's faces, I knew that they wanted a piece of her too.
I found her first, and I had claimed her… even if it was just for tonight.
Standing there, the smell of her cunt in the air, I knew I could have taken more of her. Dawn wasn't for another couple hours or so. She was mine until the light rose above the mountains.
But looking at my little Trinket, I knew that she couldn't take much more — taking even one of the Twins was already so much. Her eyes were heavy, and she could barely stand upright.
She was stubborn too, though: crossing her arms, trying to play off the exhaustion as disinterest in front of our new guests.
Smirking, I couldn't help but be proud of the damage I had done to her.
It was nothing compared to what I would do if I caught her again. If this had exhausted her, a night on the ropes would damn near break her.
All I could think about was the slick puddle between her legs.
I bet she can still feel it in her panties.
Looking at Cyrus, Nash shrugged and rolled her eyes. “If you're not going to share, then let's get our Sweet Lamb back to the house.”
For a moment, I thought about taking her again, pushing her past her limits and seeing how far I could make her crumble. Especially if I could make the others watch.
But instead, I held out my hand for my sweet little captive to hold. I wasn't one to abandon my toys when I'd finished playing.
Fiery despite her exhaustion, my Trinket pushed past me. “You don’t need to touch me to show me where I’m sleeping this off.”
Cyrus towered over her for a moment, looking down at her sweaty body. There was a hunger in her eyes that I hadn't seen in years, if ever.
Even Cyrus thinks she’s special?
There was something about her I couldn't put my finger on. Even after having her, the fixation hadn't subsided like I had hoped. I felt myself wrapping around her pretty little finger. And we all knew how dangerous that was.
Cyrus turned on her heels and headed back toward the middle of the park, Nash following close behind her.
I brushed the hair from my face, sweat smoothing the curls slightly.
As we made our way home, a wave of anxiety washed over me. Fear that I had scared her, scared my little toy by taking what I wanted.
Those were the rules. And she had agreed.
The feeling bubbled inside me, energy surging through my body as we walked. I wanted another hunt, right now.
But I knew Cyrus would make me wait.
She liked a fair fight. And with our captive this exhausted, it wouldn't be a contest.
As we approached the sector of the park known as Jungle Jolt, my nerves started to settle. We’d called this fake rainforest home for nearly a decade now.
But while the sight comforted me, my Trinket's forehead wrinkled. "This dump is where you live?"
Rather than dignify her insult with a response, Cyrus shouldered past her, knocking her off-balance. She stepped inside the dusty room, and headed for a door with a worn employees only sign. There, Cyrus turned to look back at us and nodded to Nash.
Looking down at our girl, Nash winked. “I'm gonna have to cover your ears, Sweet Lamb. Can't have you holding the keys to the castle.”
Our girl rolled her eyes. "Like I'd ever want to come back to this musty lair."
I knew a devious smirk would be blooming under Nash’s mask. The way she’d hidden tonight, she would be stuck with us for quite a while.
And despite losing her first Fright Night, my new toy had no idea what we got up to in the shadows.
When Nash clamped her hands around our captives ears, it looked as though the lightning bolts of her tattooed hand were plunging into "Mary’s" head.
In a matter of seconds, Cyrus input the code, and the large metal lock clicked out of place. Nash removed her hands from the girl’s head and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Come on in, sweetheart.”
Cyrus pushed the door open and waltzed inside, flinging the door open for us to follow.
I need to see her face.
Nudging forward, I held the door and snuck past our captive just to catch a glimpse.
Her eyes widened as she realized that the “dump” we’d brought her to housed a modern, loft-style apartment. Obviously, it hadn't always looked that way. But ten years left us a lot of time to renovate.
We’d started years ago, building out the loft slowly and carefully. We’d designed it to be a safehouse and a home. The walls were concrete — the same thickness as a fallout shelter — with wood accents that served as sound proofing and the occasional original brick wall peeking through.
The floors were polished concrete, smooth and shiny under the soft glow of the orange light. And of course, there was the ultra-modern kitchen. Every appliance was a shimmering, stainless steel.
We weren't gonna live in squalor. Even if I kind of wanted to.
She must be impressed.
I ached to hear her voice again. But our captive was silent as she brushed past us and into the living room. She kept her arms crossed, guarded even now.
Her walls didn’t seem this high when she was letting me fuck her.
That was okay, though. It just gave me an excuse to do it all over again.
She kept up the standoffish act as she appraised the furniture and the art. It didn’t take a genius to see that she was trying to tally up our riches against her potential earnings.
But the stoic mask finally fell at the sight of our cat. Like an apparition, Butch appeared on one of the couches, eyeing our new guest suspiciously.
He was black and orange tortie we’d found in a mechanical box, and he was better at hiding than any of the women we’d ever hunted. He appeared when he wanted to be seen, and not a second earlier.
Our captive startled at the sight of him before extending a hand to him. “Who’s this?”
“Butch,” I offered. “Our most elusive roommate.”
While Butch sniffed the girl’s hand, Nash reached out to pet the back of his neck. “Doesn’t usually like company. Guess he thinks you’re special.”
“Do you get much company out here?” She raised a brow.
No one that leaves alive.
But I couldn’t say that. That would definitely scare her off.
Before I could think of an answer, Cyrus called out from the edge of the hallway. “Enough show and tell. Do you want to see your bedroom or what?”
Butch ran off to greet his favorite person, rubbing himself against her legs. While the cat had Cy distracted, I leaned closer to Nash and whispered, “Doesn’t that still count as showing?”
Cyrus grumbled. “I heard that, asshole.”
Once the cat disappeared down the hallway, Cyrus eyed our captive with renewed frustration. “I don’t have all day. Get moving or I’ll move you myself, Ragdoll.”
When our new toy hesitated, I didn’t blame her — Cyrus was one big, scary looking motherfucker. Her frame practically filled the doorway. She was like one, big ball of muscles, and she wasn’t joking about how easy it would be to lift “Mary” — or to tear her apart.
But once Nash and I walked after Cyrus, our toy had little choice but to follow.
“This is you,” Cyrus threw open the door unceremoniously.
Much to our surprise, my Trinket marched right into the room.
Looking over her shoulder, she could see our surprise. "I lost, fair and square."
Despite her indignation, I knew the sight of us in her doorway must have been at least a little frightening.
Two masked clowns and one demented freak did not a happy captive make.
But I’ll happily prove her wrong.
Cyrus grabbed the door knob and slammed it closed before storming back to the kitchen, pulling off her mask off her face, and tossing it on the couch.
Confused by her anger, I made my way back to the kitchen with Nash by my side.
Cyrus was always a dick. I wasn't sure if I’d seen her in a good mood more than once a year. Still, something about this mood felt different. Especially because we'd gotten our way.
Sore loser.
Cyrus threw open the cupboard and poured a glass of orange juice from the fridge and knocked it back like a shot of whiskey after a hard day on a job site.
Then she shook her head, staring back at me. “Taking off your mask is a rookie fucking move.”
“She asked.” I shrugged. “Felt fair since my fingers were already buried in her wet pussy.”
“Jesus.” Nash scoffed out a laugh, her own mask resting on the kitchen counter.
All of us had been sweaty, the mid-August night not nearly cool enough for a hunt.
The three of us hadn't had a moment to really talk. Not since Cyrus offered the girl a deal.
And I wanted answers. "Why her?"
Of course I knew why. She was stunning and full of fire. And a really, really good fuck. There was more under the surface, more of her to dig out.
But it had been months since we’d done a Fright Night with one of the women that found herself in Feverpoint.
Besides, Cyrus typically preferred blood lust.
Cyrus refused to answer in any truthful way. "We needed to hunt."
Nash leaned against the counter, scanning Cyrus's faces like it was the constellations and some hidden meaning would become clear to us. She rubbed her chin as she kept an eye on Cyrus.
But we learned a long time ago that Cyrus was better than any of us at holding her cards close to her chest.
Hurdling myself on the countertop, I let a cheeky smile take over my face. “Can we keep her?”
We’d taken in Butch years ago, maybe it was time for a new addition.
But Cyrus slammed her glass onto the countertop and growled as she evacuated the living room. “No. Just until she wins.”