Chapter 20
UNBORN TERROR
N eslihan
"Let me go," I demand, though my voice cracks with terror. "Let the child go. We've done nothing to you."
"Done nothing?" The dark-haired creature laughs, the sound echoing off the stone walls. It isn’t just laughter—it’s the kind that vibrates through marrow, that seems to live in the walls themselves, like the dungeon has learned to mimic his cruelty.
"My dear, sweet creature, you exist. That is crime enough.
" He kneels beside me, his pale hand settling on my belly with possessive hunger.
His touch is cold—so cold that my skin prickles and tightens under his palm.
The scent of earth and old blood clings to his skin, suffocating me with every shallow breath.
"Do you know what grows within you? Can you feel the power that pulses with each heartbeat? "
The baby kicks frantically against my ribs, as if sensing the wrongness surrounding us.
Each sharp jab feels like a plea, a signal that the innocent life inside me already knows death is closing in.
Terror coils in my gut, mixing with the raw ache of helplessness until I can barely breathe.
I curl protectively around my belly, trying to shield the life within from whatever madness gleams in the leader's pale eyes.
"Please," I whisper, fresh tears streaming down my face. "Please don't hurt my baby. I'll do anything?—"
"Anything?" One of the other Obur steps closer, a female with dark hair and eyes like chips of ice.
Her beauty is corpse-like, exquisite but ruined, like a statue half-buried in a grave.
Her lips glisten as though perpetually wet, parting with hunger that is far more carnal than simply thirst. "How delicious.
It's been so long since we had a volunteer. "
Her hands roam over my body with predatory hunger, her palms sliding deliberately over the swell of my breasts, lingering at the hollow of my waist before drifting lower, fingers tracing the inside of my thigh in a grotesque parody of intimacy.
She cups me between my legs through the thin fabric, pressing with cruel insistence, savoring the way my body recoils against the restraints.
Her nails are sharp enough to slice the thin fabric, grazing the flesh beneath in shallow burns that sting like acid.
The touch makes my skin crawl as she explores my helpless form with obvious pleasure, her lips curling in mockery at my shuddering revulsion.
Before I can process what she means, her tongue slides wetly along the side of my neck in a slow, obscene caress, trailing down to lap at my shoulder in mockery of intimacy before her fangs sink into the flesh.
Her hot breath fans against my skin, every languid lick performed like a lover’s kiss meant to shame as much as to arouse dread.
The pain is immediate and devastating, like liquid fire being injected into my veins, spreading outward until even my fingertips burn with torment.
My pulse hammers beneath her mouth, frantic and terrified, while her lips seal tighter as if she were drinking a lover’s sigh instead of my life.
"Exquisite," she murmurs against my skin, her tongue lapping at the wound she's made. "There's power here, ancient and new mixed together. Like drinking starlight." Her lips linger greedily, sucking until the skin around the puncture points bruises, her breath damp and rank against my flesh.
Another Obur approaches from my other side, this one male with silver hair and a face that might have been handsome before death claimed it.
"My turn," he says with childlike eagerness, his fangs finding the pulse point at my throat.
His body presses indecently close as he drinks, the scrape of his cold chest against my arm making me shiver with disgust, and lower still, I feel the rigid press of his erection grinding against me, a vile reminder of how deeply he relishes my torment.
The dual feeding makes my vision blur, weakness flooding through my limbs as they systematically drain my strength.
My veins feel like hollowed tubes being siphoned, each swallow tugging at the strings of my soul.
Their hands roam while they feed—the female groping my breasts with cruel delight, the male sliding down to stroke between my thighs, prying at me with icy fingers as if to drink from every part of me at once.
But even through the haze of pain and growing faintness, I can feel my baby's desperate struggles, their life force intertwined with mine in ways that mean my death would surely claim it too.
"Stop," I gasp, my voice barely a whisper. "Please, the baby?—"
"Will be unharmed," the dark-haired leader assures me, though his smile is anything but comforting. His voice is velvet stretched over broken glass, a promise meant to slice. "We have no interest in damaging such a precious commodity. Your child is far too valuable to waste on simple feeding."
The Obur release me reluctantly, licking their lips with obvious satisfaction while I sag against my chains, struggling to remain conscious.
One of them drags his tongue over his own wrist, smearing my blood across pale skin as though wearing me like an ornament.
The two who fed from me turn on each other with obscene hunger, mouths crashing together, tongues fighting over the taste of my blood as their hands tear at clothing.
They rut against each other like animals in heat, grinding and clawing, their moans of ecstasy mingling with the metallic tang of my suffering.
Blood streams from multiple wounds, pooling beneath me to add to the dark stains that map decades of suffering in this chamber.
"Babies have the purest blood," the dark-haired leader murmurs with religious reverence, his hand still resting possessively on my belly.
His gaze flicks briefly toward the pair of vampires still locked in their obscene coupling, a flicker of amusement curving his lips before he refocuses on me.
His thumb strokes my skin in mock imitation of a lover, pressing hard enough that I feel the pulse beneath as though he is testing the rhythm of life he intends to desecrate.
He leans closer, inhaling deeply as he sniffs along my neck and face.
His breath reeks of copper and decay, coating me in the scent of my own mortality.
His cold tongue darts out, trailing along my cheek in a grotesque caress.
"But yours... yours smells even more divine, like nothing I have smelled before.
" His smile widens, revealing fangs that gleam like polished bone.
"Such a rare delicacy deserves... special attention. "
The words chill me to the bone, but before I can ask what he means, he's moving with inhuman speed.
Sharp claws slice through my dress, the fabric parting like silk beneath a blade.
The sound is obscene, like the tearing of skin instead of cloth.
The bodice falls away in tatters, exposing my breasts to the cold dungeon air.
The Obur murmur in approval, low growls of hunger vibrating around me.
My skin erupts in goosebumps as the chill hits me, and I feel my light magic flicker desperately beneath my skin before the chains drain it away, leaving me dim and powerless.
The other Obur close in like wolves sensing weakness.
Cold tongues dart out to taste my exposed flesh, lapping at my nipples with grotesque hunger.
Their mouths leave trails of saliva that mix with the blood already drying on my skin, a slick, revolting sheen that makes me gag.
I arch away from their touch, sobbing as they sample me like some exotic delicacy, their eyes rolling back in ecstasy at whatever power they taste in my skin.
"Stop," I sob, trying desperately to cover myself with my chained hands. "I'm begging you, don't do this. My child?—"
"Will be exquisite," the obur finishes, his tongue extending with serpentine length.
The muscle shifts and writhes with unnatural flexibility, growing longer, thinner, as his eyes roll back with anticipation.
The others gasp in anticipation, their eyes glassy with lust, their own hands roaming between their legs and over their chests with obscene hunger.
Fingers slick with arousal pump and claw, some moaning openly as if my suffering were the most exquisite form of pornography, their gasps rising in chorus while they devour the spectacle of my violation.
"I want to taste the source. To sample the power that created such an impossibility. "
"No!" I scream, struggling against the chains with desperate strength. "Don't touch my baby! Please!"
But the shackles hold firm, draining away what little magic I can still access, leaving me helpless as he positions himself between my legs. The other vampires watch with eager anticipation, some of them touching themselves with obvious arousal at the spectacle about to unfold.
The agony that follows defies description.
His elongated tongue pushes inside me like a living snake, probing, searching, trying to reach the innocent life growing in my womb.
Every thrust feels deliberate, cruel, his muffled moans vibrating through my body as though savoring each layer of violation.
The violation is complete, absolute, tearing through every barrier of dignity and strength I possess.
I scream until my throat burns raw, until the sound echoes off stone walls like the cries of the damned.
Around us, other vampires feed from their hanging victims with renewed enthusiasm, my terror seasoning their meal with exquisite spice.
The chamber becomes a chorus of wet feeding sounds, my screams weaving into the soundtrack of their ecstasy.