Free
erotic thriller story
An
Animated Affair
by Sarah L. M. Dorrance © 2001
Prologue
Two factions,
both alike in dignity,
In fair New York, where we lay our scene,
From ancient vows breaking, a mutiny,
As the heart's blood makes lover's hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
Springs star-crossed love between two monstrous lusts;
Their misadventures, teeth gritting desire o'erthrows
That which, in death, undead, would betray trust.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love
And the continuance of their intrigues' rage,
Which but their dark desire naught could remove,
Is now the traffic of our splattered stage,
But harken to this tale of mutilated love:
Among the Kin, such pain and pleasures live to prove.
(WITH PROFUSE APOLOGIES TO WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE)
Preamble:
The Scene
- New York. The immediate now. Your fantasies, your nightmares,
are real, and walk the streets by night. Dracula. Rameses the
Damned. Beelzebub. Mephistopheles. Poltergeist. And, yes, Frankenstein's
Monster. Don't forget that last one, as it's very important in
this story - one could say, it plays a large part.
And humans
to feed on. They're important, too, though not quite so much.
Without humans, there would be no nightmares.
A little
spice, to this tale of monsters and perverse desires and things
that go bump in the night. Call that spice…politics. Politics
between a pro-human faction called the Commune, a violently anti-human
faction called the Complex that sees no use for humans except
as food, and a bunch of odd little extremists, like the Failsafe
Coalition, who want to rule the world in a despotic sort of way,
for its own good of course, can they help it if they're superior
to everybody else? Of course, the factions all hate each other.
Otherwise, it wouldn't be politics, would it?
Let's
have our not-so-young lovers come from rival factions…say, Failsafe
Coalition and The Complex. That should make things interesting.
Strange bedfellows and all that.
Let's
have our little fable of modern love begin…now.
It was
dark in the bowels of the private club, but she could still see
him clearly. Blonde hair, the colour of ice, glowing as if it
were moonlit. Tall. Muscular. And the scars, that curious patchwork
of scars that proclaimed his origins to the rest of the world.
Beautiful, coldly perfect, and monstrously sexy, he looked as
though he really could have had an affair with Mary Shelley, as
he loved to claim. He was more handsome than most of his kind,
and being aware of it, exploited it to the hilt.
He hadn't
noticed her, of course, except in passing. That sensuously vice-like
grip of his hand, closing on the back of her neck, catching her
off guard as she scanned the bar for her evening's delight and
dinner. His voice.
'Hello
again, Ariele. I thought I might find you in here one of these
evenings.'
Just
the way he spoke made her wish he'd stayed with her, kept his
hand about her neck, claimed her for the evening instead of cheeking
that scrumptious little blonde number in the corner. It put her
to shame the way he could always make her want him, but he knew
her well enough that he could play her the way he played his Stradivarius
violin. He had called her his pet name for her. That counted for
something.
Which
was stronger, hunger for sex, or hunger for dinner? It was hard
to tell, with him in the corner. Damn him. He was stealing her
meal of the evening. She needed to feed. Such was the price of
immortality.
Maybe
they could share the girl, just like they'd shared numerous victims
in the past. It would be just like old times. Adam and Angelique
and some nameless, darling little member of the teeming human
mass, having an evening of fun that would leave the poor boy or
girl more drained than they'd ever been in their entire life.
Sometimes, the herd would be so drained that they'd never leave
the apartment alive.
Adam
had never drained her, although if it were possible he'd probably
have attempted it a long time ago. That hadn't stopped him from
taking everything else she was actually capable of offering. From
him she'd learned a great deal about the world, and how to use
it. Learning by being done to.
She still
wanted him.
Damn
him.
He had
his arm about the blonde girl now, and was leading her downstairs,
where the specially equipped rooms were. Out of morbid curiosity,
Angelique decided to practice lip reading in order to eavesdrop
on the conversation. 'I've never switched before,' she was saying,
'but I'll try it just this once for you. There's something uncanny
about you. I want to trust you…' She was a tall, leggy blonde,
a statuesque leather and lace goddess. She was almost statuesque
enough to bear resemblance to Angelique herself, who out of all
the people in the room had more right to that particular adjective
than not. The girl did perhaps look like what Angelique would
have looked like if Angelique hadn't actually been an animated
marble sculpture. She was human, fragile, sensuously delicate
and blonde and pale, in contrast to the mistressy armour she wore.
Angelique
touched her own white hair, thinking of the girl. Adam did have
quite a fondness for blondes. They were, he said, such an example
of contrast: either they were tiny, soft, and exquisite, or they
were hard, cold, and larger than life.
Unable
to contain her jealousy any longer, she wheeled back to the bar
to look for another willing victim to drain. She almost felt sympathy
when she found one, a wiry muscular man who offered his services
readily without her having to use her edge against him. He would
not have an easy time of it.
*
She couldn't
believe she was doing it, but she was. Times Square hadn't changed
much since the last time she'd been there. The great unwashed
were still the greatest force in presence there. The turnover
was enough of a constant that nobody would notice the way a certain
exotic goods store had kept standing, unmolested by the police
or by time, for six decades. Or was it seven, now? Nineteen twenty
three, a crisp September morning that left them both blistered
by the sun's rays…and countless evenings after that opening. That
would be nearly seventy years, then. Unbelievable. The atmosphere
had remained the same, though. The fashions had changed somewhat
drastically, but the rest of this part of the city was painfully
familiar.
At least
it wasn't Greenwich Village. That apartment with the unusual features
built in…the landlord had never told them why it was soundproofed.
They'd never asked, nor had he asked why they wanted it, or why
they had insisted on viewing the place at night. It hadn't been
due to the fact that humans do not mess with animates, although
this painful truth tended to be hammered into the world a great
deal in these days. Mostly it was just the fact that this was
New York.
Adam hadn't
wanted to rent the place legitimately, until she'd pointed out
that they could use a low profile to their advantage.
To think
that they'd only met three weeks before in a speakeasy not two
blocks from there…
He'd been
slightly in love with her, then; as much as he could love anybody,
which was in its own way a compliment, she supposed. Just as she'd
fallen madly in love with him. They were the only existing members
of their own Kind in the Village, in those days, king and queen
of a realm of a realm of strange creatures and monstrosities -
vampires, werewolves, ghosts, mummies, demons, golems - and thus
fated to either love each other or destroy each other. Among the
Kin, animates were the rarest, and they were even more rare then
than now. To mingle with Kin, you'd have had a much easier time
finding a garden variety drac or daemon, or maybe a lonely ghost
depending on where you lived. For a creature made of reanimated
flesh, or a Rodin sculpture come to life, finding a soul mate
was a bit more difficult. Not that animated creatures tended to
feel the desire for romance. Not being originally human or even
natural, most animates were distinctly lacking in emotional expression,
modern references to Pinocchio and Lieutenant Data notwithstanding.
Soul mates.
So she'd thought.
She forced
herself back into the present and made her way through the crowd
to the store she'd been looking for, looking without really needing
to search. She was, after all, one of the original owners. She'd
even come up with the name - The Coach Shop. The shop was really
too classy for its environs, come to think of it - a name like
Dr. Frankenstein's Leather Shop And Discount Bondage Emporium
might have worked better, certainly it would have been more honest
and accurate - but Times Square had been then, as it was now,
and always would be, a capital place to troll for 'blue plate
specials,' easy prey. No sense in accidentally scaring them off.
It was really unbelievable, some of the specimens that found their
way into the back room of that store…
Open the
door. You can open the door, can't you? No, she couldn't. But
she did.
He was
there. The dim light did not hide him; rather, it wrapped itself
around him like a cloak.
'Adam.'
She didn't really need to get his attention, as he was already
studying her in his usual thorough, seemingly off-hand manner;
but it felt good to speak his name aloud again.
'Back
so soon? I thought I just saw you at the Vault last night.' He
was probably being playful, she decided, although you could never
really be completely sure of that. His sense of humour tended
to be too subtle for most people to get, not to mention cruel.
'Seems
to me you only saw a pretty blonde Gidget.'
He laughed.
'You never did like that, did you? How would you react if I told
you she's my new pet?'
'Is she?'
'My, you
really are jealous. No, dear, she's not my latest hook. I don't
want to deal with any pets right now. The only reason I didn't
bleach her is that I've got a membership card there, and I don't
want to see the place shut down due to an accident on the premises.'
He leapt over the counter easily, with a grace that she envied
(being originally made of marble made her far too dense for such
things) to glide over to where she was standing.
He wouldn't
put his arms around her, would he? No, that would make it too
easy.
'I'm sorry
you got to her before I did.'
A faint
smile, an acknowledgment that the half-truth would be accepted
at face value. 'Why are you here, Angelique?'
So they
were back on formal terms. She wasn't sure whether she preferred
this to familiarity or not. 'I had to show up in the Big Apple
for a conference. The Coalition's sponsoring a sort of business
trip cum family reunion, with seminars and lectures and other
nonsense, and being the head of the Animate League in Toronto,
as well as regional propaganda coordinator and public relations
director for the Failsafe Coalition, I'm kind of obligated to
be here.' She didn't mention that she was also a guest of honour
at the convention - that might be push his buttons just a little
too much.
'Public
relations director? I didn't know they had public relations.'
'It's
a dirty job, and I get to do it. Let's just say that the Coalition
has a public face and a private face, and leave it at that.' She
smiled. 'You'd like it in Toronto. It's nice to walk down the
street and not have to even try to pass for human. People tolerate
you there, or at least ignore you. It's almost like New York City
in that respect, only in Toronto, there's no code of secrecy;
people ignore you because they take your presence for granted,
not because they're New Yorkers. Of course, the fundies are up
in arms half the time, and we have to convince the cops that it's
really in their best interests to get the stakes to leave us alone…'
'Next
thing you'll be telling me that you're in charge of a support
group.'
The contempt
in his voice was obvious. Adam never had much respect for people
who needed help; in his mind, if you couldn't take care of your
own problems, you were too easily exploited. Weakness was not
a good trait to be cultivated.
'The Animate
League sounds much better than Coffin Luck Supper Club, doesn't
it?'
A moment
of blessed distraction, when he turned away to smile at something
in the back of his mind; then his eyes were upon her again. 'All
very interesting, Angelique, and I'm quite proud of you for the
progress you've made, although why you don't just come out and
label yourself Complex is beyond me - but it doesn't answer my
question. I believe I asked you why you were here. Why are you
here?'
'I felt
like it.'
He reached
out to run his finger along the base of her jaw, tipping her chin
up to scrutinize her face, to hold her steady between his forefinger
and thumb. Grey eyes held trapped by dark blue orbs. She fought
an urge to tremble. He was only playing her buttons, after all,
just like old times. 'Why, I do believe you want me, don't you?'
he asked steadily. 'Could it be you're still infatuated with me?'
He smiled as his finger traced the alabaster contours of her left
breast and got the desired reaction. 'That's it, isn't it? You
want me to take you again. Is that what you want? Answer me.'
Her mouth
worked the word 'yes' somehow, before she could control it. Please.
Stop. Stop before I make an even worse fool of myself. I, Angelique,
do not put up with cads.
Chuckle.
Low, sexy, hard as steel. 'That's what I thought.' As easily as
if she were a mere rag doll, rather than a being of stonelike
proportion, he scooped her up in his arms, holding her tightly
to him as he carried her into the back room. For all he feasted
on her lips, biting them until she saw stars (a truly impressive
feat, given her peculiar body mass), she could have been living
flesh from the streets; a delicacy, rather than stone.
He flung
her down on the sturdy brass daybed that had been in that particular
corner for as long as she could remember. Before the smooth blindfold
removed the world from her eyes, she noticed that the room had
not changed significantly in the past fifty years. It was still
the same; and it was still the same for her, capable of inspiring
terror, lust, and other appropriate emotions.
As he
forced her wrists behind her, his lips brushed hers once more.
Such comfort in the surprising warmth of his skin. 'I have never
stopped wanting you, Ariele,' he breathed. 'I still dream about
you, you know. Sometimes when I manage to cheek a pretty girl
in here, when she is all trussed up, it is your body I see.'
She made
a vaguely protesting noise, and writhed in a futile attempt to
reach the center of his desire with her own.
The attempt
was met with laughter. 'Not just yet,' he whispered. 'We have
some catching up to do.'
*
They woke
up late, the great clock in the square heralding the hour as three
in the morning. Feeling his warmth against her, his arms wrapped
about her firmly, she sighed with almost feline contentment and
snuggled closer to him. It was good to be back. How many people
ever got to see his softer side, the side of him that was willing
to cuddle, she wondered? There was a slim possibility that she
was not the only one, but if there had been others, she rather
suspected that there could not have been very many.
He stirred.
'The night grows tired,' he said at last, breaking the silence.
'Let's go out for a nice romantic dinner, shall we?'
The concept
was so absurd that she had to laugh. Then again…he did have a
club membership. 'Does The Vault hold auctions this late?' she
asked, smothering a yawn.
'No, dearest.
We'll have to eat on the hoof. What do you want this evening?'
'A boy.
A girl. I can't decide. Let's get one of each.' She suddenly realized
that she was ravenously hungry.
'It shall
be done. Your wish is my command. Come to think of it, getting
a pair of lovers into the shop shouldn't take too long - certainly
we've done it often enough.' The Coach Shop was open…odd hours,
a feature that fit right with the obvious eccentricities of some
of its customers.
'I don't
think my wish has ever been your command. Want to try? I'm still
waiting.'
He made
a noise that sounded like something between a quiet chuckle and
a cough.
The 'open
for business' sign switched on again. Fifteen minutes later, two
young men slunk in, and asked the proprietor if he had any quality
paddles in the store, and if so, could they please see them?
They got
their wish.
Close
to dawn, riding with Adam in the taxicab to his loft in the Village,
she reflected on the essence of those young lovers, the life force
that so willingly gave itself to her tender mercies once she bent
it to her will. Tasty morsels, those kids. Quite amusing, too.
She laughed
from pure delight. It was just like the old days.
*
Dusk was
falling. There was something she really had to do, but she couldn't
remember, because she was still groggy, and Adam was doing his
level best to distract her.
'You're
always such a monster when you wake up,' she mumbled.
'I'm always
a monster. I thought that was what you liked about me.'
It was
an old and familiar joke they shared.
'Fiend.'
What he was doing to her nipple certainly merited some comment
to that effect. Surely. Ordinary flesh would never have stood
up to it.
'I'll
remember that later nonight when I have you hanging from the wall.'
'Oh, no.
Not tonight, you don't. Tonight's conference night, remember?'
'Surely
you can miss a few hours?'
'The first
night was last night - ow! Really, that is quite enough - and
I'm on a panel in a little bit. I have to go.'
He turned
cold. 'All right. An evening without you will be dull, but it's
nothing I can't survive. I have enough practice.'
That was
one she hadn't heard before. Such flattery. She never expected
an actual lover's quarrel from him.
'I'll
be back.'
'Promise.'
'On my
honour…'
'I'll
hold you to it.' She felt his arms release her, and she slid reluctantly
off his lap. Her clothes, at least, were armour against the attraction
between the two of them, with their many layers of protective
camouflage. Everything was in black, grey, and white, just like
her skin and her hair. First the skin tight black leather trousers,
the ones with the around-the-crotch zipper that ensured they never
really got in the way. Silk blouse, covered in lace, buttons of
pure silver. Matching white lace jabot, pearls. Grey velvet waistcoat
- a rich crushed velvet, of a grey-black hue that looked almost
like the marbling in her skin - and grey lace gloves, over which
went a new pair of black leather gauntlets. Hair brushed into
a proud mane. And the boots, of course the boots. Her cloak and
mask waited in the foyer. It was an awful lot of clothing, she
supposed, and indeed she had several other outfits that showed
off quite a bit more skin, but this was New York and she had to
make concessions to the underground nature of the Kin in the city…besides,
extra layers of clothing muffled the electricity that crackled
between her and her former lover.
'Do you
like what you see, Adam? Do I manage to please you?'
'Oh yes,'
he murmured quietly, 'you always do. You are a work of art, no
less so for having come to life.' He took her hand, and kissed
it. 'If only you knew how much it tears me to let you go. If I
could, I would keep you locked up forever, to only come out to
be by my side. But then of course you would stop being your exquisite
self…'
'Yes.
That was what we quarreled about last time, remember?' She caressed
him briefly. 'I look every inch the proper mistress now. So do
you like this side of me? Enough to want me? The offer is still
there. Let me know when.'
'Mmm.
No. I haven't switched since the last time you inspired me to
try it, in 1938. I think it would be a disaster, even more so
than the last time. Really.'
'Suit
yourself. You know, there are ball gags to silence people who
can't seem to stop back-seat driving. You wouldn't lose that much
face. Hmm. So to speak…' She stuck her silver dagger in her boot,
the one with the Seal of Solomon on it (protection against certain
types of bonding spells; some of the members of the Van Helsing
brigade were extremely inventive with their tactics), and attached
her blacksnake to the special hook on her belt. Her preferred
weapons were her hands, but sometimes a girl needed a little distance.
She had various other toys stuck into her sleeves and boots, but
they were more for play than for self defense. 'I'll be back in
a couple of days. I love you.'
'Think
of me,' he breathed.
'Constantly.'
'And on
your return, expect an autograph.'
'Oh, you…'
She shook her head. 'Besides, I think you did that already. I
did see a rather suspicious looking blemish on my right thigh,
the last time I checked. I could be wrong. It's hard to be certain;
I do have these odd little striations, after all - no, no, I'm
sure that was you. I can't think of who else it would have been…'
'Hopefully
nobody else, unless you softened up since the last time I knew
you. Somehow I can't see you doing that. Here, wear this for me.'
He took off his neck tie, the one with the chess pieces on it.
Chess pieces were one of Adam's personal symbols. They were also
the emblem of the Complex.
'Adam…'
She sighed and put it on, in a relatively inconspicuous spot,
sticking out of her right boot. 'You're impossible. Good night.'
She fled before he could make her lose her determination.
Two days.
It was an eternity.
*
The conference
itself had been exhilarating, almost energizing enough to help
her forget about being obsessed. Almost. When her presence was
no longer needed, she took the liberty of availing herself of
the services of the nearest taxi.
True to
his word, he had been waiting.
He was
most expeditious about fulfilling the promises he had made earlier.
The next
night was little different, save that he brought her breakfast
in bed. The breakfast had the unique pleasure of being allowed
to watch its predator be tormented, before being drained of its
life.
She decided
to leave it alive anyway - just barely.
'Such
mercy, after what I did to you? Don't you have any frustrations
to take out?'
'Not enough
to kill.' She sighed contentedly. It had been a female victim,
some tough little minnie Adam had picked up in the deadlight district.
Much energy to sap. Much sexual arousal. With any luck, this one
might even get addicted to the energy drain. She was cute enough
to keep around for a while, and she had a delightfully high level
of stamina. Perhaps Adam could use her to tend the store in the
daytime, and they could keep the place open around the clock.
'You're
getting positively pink.'
'Don't
you want a cute little human servant?'
'No. I've
got you. You're trouble enough.'
'And I'm
not your servant,' she reminded him, just in case he got a notion
to forget that small but important technicality.
'Maybe
I should feed you less often.' He glanced at his stop watch -
custom made, of course, everything he owned was custom made -
and shuddered. 'Come with me to the meeting in a bit?'
'You know
I don't side with the Complex.'
'Come
anyway.'
'I can't.
I have to start packing soon anyway.'
The silence
was as thick as death. Then came the ice, thicker than the silence.
The warm, happy dream that had enveloped her for the past few
days was over.
'You can't
stay even a while longer?'
'I suppose
I could, but I'd have to leave in a couple of weeks. I can't just
pack up and leave Toronto for good, Adam. I'm needed there. The
community depends on me. My life is there; I have to go back to
it eventually.'
He turned
his back on her. 'You never could be happy unless you were running
the show. You can't be second to anybody, can you?'
'That's
what you loved about me,' she replied, thinking, It's also what
you always hated.
'And you
never really loved me. I'm just a moment of entertainment.'
'Oh, stop
it, Adam. It has nothing to do with you. You know I'll never leave
you. I never stop thinking about you. Do you have any idea how
much I dreaded running into you when I flew down here? I knew
I'd see you, and I'd want you, even though I'm not really any
use to you now, except as your lover, and I'm sure that would
get old after a while again. Could you handle being my concubine
indefinitely? I didn't think so. We need separate lives. I don't
want to leave, but I must.' She looked at him, meeting his awful
stare. 'I can't promise anything, or tell you I'll come back soon,
but I'll always be true to you in my heart. I'm yours. Distance
won't change that.'
She thought
she felt a little push in the back of her mind, in the beating
wordless quiet, but - no, it was gone.
The subtle
sound of ice melting, maybe - if not to tropical heat, then at
least to a spring thaw.
'I do
love you,' he said at last.
'I know.'
And I know how much it cost you to admit that.
They both
looked down, and told themselves that it was more out of politeness
that they did so than out of a desire to capitulate.
'Can I
at least force you to make love to me one last time before you
leave?' he said at last.
'Oh, yes.
Of course. A thousand times yes.'
