Chapter 6 Velra
Velra
Istare at the intricate plaster pattern of the gothic ceiling above me.
Twisting vines with sharp thorns twirl in circles above me.
My tired eyes follow the path of one particular vine as it swirls across the ceiling above.
My heart rate is still slightly erratic, but my breathing has started to slow.
That was easily the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had.
In my post-orgasmic bliss, I don’t know, and don’t care, where my moon-eyed goddess came from and how she came to be.
She might be a demon or an apparition, but it doesn’t truly matter.
The connection I felt with her was unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
Carey probably felt left out. I can’t really bring myself to care, though.
The number of times she’s left me feeling left out is beyond my ability to even count.
Our history is complicated, a friendship fraught with mutual misunderstanding.
And now this. I’m not sure our relationship will ever be the same now that we’ve sucked each other's clits.
Will she now crawl into my bed, desperate for a quick release every time her latest douchebag denies her an orgasm? Would I really let her use me that way?
The sound of the water running and voices talking pulls me from my thoughts.
Outside, the storm continues, rain pelting the ancient windows.
My mistress demanded that Carey run us a bath.
She followed behind her after laying me down and pulling a blanket over my naked form.
For something so wicked, she’s strangely gentle.
Their voices carry from the bathroom now, but I can’t quite make out what they’re saying.
I shift slightly, my thighs stick together.
I’m covered in gods only know what. I do need a bath.
With an exasperated sigh, I rise from the bed.
The blanket falls from my body, and a shiver instantly runs through me.
Lighting streaks across the sky outside, casting creepy shadows across the ancient wooden floor.
Goosebumps rise across my skin. A small scream pierces my ears.
A shiver runs down my spine. Something is wrong.
Run. Run. Run.
My eyes flit to the bathroom. The door is ajar ever so slightly, leaving a sliver of light along the floor.
I can’t make out what’s going on in there, but I’m sure I heard a scream.
In a few swift steps, I cross the room. Silently, I push open the hand-carved and painted door.
It swings inward, slowly revealing the horror within.
My mouth falls open and my jaw goes slack. My blood turns to ice. Tears prick my eyes. A silent scream gets caught in my throat. My mind races to try to process the sight in front of me, the horror behind the door.
Run. Run. Run.
Carey is naked, her body souring with each second I stand in stunned silence.
Her once beautiful eyes are vacant, glassed over, empty.
A thin red line is drawn across her throat.
Blood flows down her front from the gash across her neck.
Her breasts are covered in red as it cascades from her exposed artery in gushing waves that mimic the slowing beat of her heart.
My best friend’s mouth hangs open in a silent scream, and I can tell she’s choking on her own blood as the muscles attempt to suck in air. But it’s too late.
Behind her, the devil dines. My mistress has her naked body twisted around Carey’s, holding her up, trapping her in place, like a snake coiled around its prey, while she devours.
Her jaw is unhinged to an unholy size, and sharp fangs fill her mouth.
Red runs down her face. I watch in horror as her mouth descends into her prey’s flesh, grasping a large hunk of flesh and tearing.
The sound the muscles and tendons make as they snap and pull from the rest of her is nauseating.
When she notices me watching from the doorway, my mistress looks up and smiles. Blood and human flesh stain her teeth. Her silver eyes seem to glow in excitement as she spots me lurking.
“Hello, little morsel,” she coos as Carey’s body spasms in pain in her arms. “Won’t you join me? Blood baths are wonderful for the skin. Not that I’ve had skin for quite some time, but it would be good for your flesh, pet.”
I gape at her, my mind unable to process what she’s saying, what I’m seeing. “What have you done?”
There’s so much red.
Run. Run. Run.
“What?” She looks truly confused. “I can remove the body before you join me if you’d prefer we have a moment alone.” She hurls Carey’s limp body over the edge of the ancient clawfoot tub. It hits the tile floor with a thump. Blood splatters across the marble. Bile rises in my throat.
“You killed her,” I stammer as I stare at my best friend's lifeless eyes.
“Of course, my love. We needed her to be gone, you see,” she explains as if it’s just that simple. “She was in the way of us being alone. I needed blood to restore myself. To bring myself back.”
“Back?” I question but deep down I already know the answer; I think I’ve known somewhere deep in my soul this entire time.
My eyes fly up to meet her mercurial gaze.
Her beautiful body is flushed and pink, as if restored back from death.
Is her existence here tied to the death of others?
Can it be that she truly is an apparition–one that feeds on others to sustain her form in this plane? A parasite. A plague. A phantom.
“You’re not alive, are you?” I ask as a slow smile creeps across her face. “That’s why I could hear you but not see you?”
I see her truly now—the way the edges of her form seem to fray and tear, as if barely maintaining their existence.
She’s nothing but a ghost. Yett, she’s so beautiful, so enchanting.
How can something that feels so right be so very wrong?
She’s seductive destruction, and I’m caught squarely in her path.
I feel the urge to move, to go to her. I’m overcome with a willingness to do exactly as she tells me.
But a voice deep inside me is screaming loudly, warning me.
Run. Run. Run.
“It’s much easier if you don’t fight this, pretty girl,” my mistress informs me as she holds out her hand to me. “I won’t hurt you, pet. Let me take care of you?”
I want to say yes. I want to go to her, to let her bathe me in blood and kiss away every worrying thought. I want to succumb and be hers.
“You are already mine, little morsel,” she whispers across my mind as she reads my very thoughts. “You and I are one now, our fates entwined and our paths destined to align. Don’t fight me, love. Death is such a small price to pay for an eternity of pleasure. You belong to me. Don’t fight it.”
I feel it then—her power, her possession—slipping through my mind and burrowing its way deep into my soul, setting roots inside my veins.
But with every ounce of strength buried in my subconscious, I manage to rip my gaze from hers.
My eyes fall back on the floor. Blood is pooling on the marble, running across the cold tiles.
A drop touches my toes—warm, sticky, fresh.
Carey’s blood. Her body is splayed across the cold floor.
Her skin is turning a sickly shade of blue.
Her limbs lay broken and twisted, protruding from her body at unnatural angles.
She was so pretty. Now she looks empty, as if her beauty has been sucked away along with her soul.
Her eyes stare at nothing, hollow and lifeless.
A cold shiver runs down my spine at the sight.
I don’t think. I just run.