Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Supernatural · #1021744
A Samhain bacchanal brings a vampyre and werewolf together
| AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I suppose this is my first "offshoot" from THE HEART'S TORMENT. In that story, Nasguard and Delilah, are two nocturnal lovers that have dealings with each other. Here is their story of how they met. Word Count: 2732.|
Nasguard de Chevalier rounded the dirt path up to the haunting Romanian manor on his black stallion. A waxing gibbous moon watched him as he quickly drew closer. How he loved to feel the caress of night against his body. It made him feel alive.
Footlights along the unkempt road led him to a circular driveway in front of the mansion. Tonight was special. Torchlight surrounding the manor made his golden eyes constrict. As he pulled on the reigns of his horse, two unnaturally thin valets approached from a small wooden booth.
“Do you have your invitation? Count Brancoveanu won’t allow you entry unless you have it, sir,” said one of the valets. Nasguard thought him small in stature – too small to serve a witch.
“Yes, I have it,” said Nasguard, patting his jacket pocket as he dismounted his horse.
“Enjoy the Samhain,” said the other valet, sensually glaring at Nasguard.
Nasguard offered him an unnatural smile, baring his pointed incisor teeth toward the valet, who seemed to stiffen at the sight of them. Satisfied with the valet’s reaction, he took the steps to the manor two at a time. More torches, evenly spaced, were placed along the railing. Wallachia’s flags, criss-crossed, hung over the thick wooden doors. The shrill sound of a harpsichord playing a bewitching waltz struck his ears. This was no ordinary event. It was the eve of the annual Samhain and Count Brancoveanu’s family celebrated this night with a bacchanal feast every year. Nasguard’s pack had all received invitations, as the witches who served them were from Count Brancoveanu’s coven. It was the first bacchanal he had the opportunity to attend.
Nasguard brushed the thick, dark bangs of his hair away from his heavy brow as he used the knocker to hit the door. After a moment’s hesitation, the hinges creaked and the door opened. A tall, forbidding man with an aquiline nose looked down on him. Count Brancoveanu. The count’s eyes narrowed into slits.
Nasguard disregarded the count’s scratchy voice as he slid his hand into his black jacket and produced the paper.
The count studied it, then tucked it into his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, and a chant whispered in a foreign tongue, a small delicate mask, silver in color, appeared in the old man’s hands.
“For you, de Chevalier.”
“It is not true silver, is it?” Nasguard asked. The velvet mask felt heavy in his hands.
“No, it is not,” Brancoveanu purred.
Nasguard looked down, studying the intricate detail. Bronze circles surrounded the eye sockets of the thin mask - he guessed it was to make his eyes glow brighter than normal. As he put it on, it covered his temples, the top of his cheekbones, and his nose, conforming to his face in a perfect fit.
“Do not remove your covering. Should you take it off before you depart, your soul will fall prey to Mephistopheles.”
“I don’t have a soul,” Nasguard evenly replied.
The count laughed. “Oh, you do, de Chevalier, you do. Mephistopheles hungers for souls like yours.” With that, he turned around and pointed down the hall. At the snap of his fingers, the doors opened, inviting Nasguard inside.
Alina, the count’s daughter approached. “He is a strong one, father. He won’t take the mask off.”
Mircea Brancoveanu’s lips curved into a sinister smile. “You’ll be surprised to discover how many do, daughter. The cannabis and wine weaken even the strongest of beasts.”
Delilah Getzi crossed the dance floor, oblivious to the surrounding smoke. Numerous guests drew on their cannabis cigarettes as they danced and drank. Naked witches and vampyres copulated for all to see. A hint of brimstone teased her nostrils. Since she was little fledgling, she attended the count’s Samhain bacchanal with her father. Her family never missed it, always careful not to over indulge.
She held a glass of deep red wine, her eyes peering through her bronze mask looking for a partner – but not just any partner. She wanted a man of commanding stature, taller than her, who was invigorating in a truly animalistic way. She wanted the thrill of being with a man more powerful than her.
Delilah wore all black, pausing near a dark corner’s open window, blending in with the night’s sky. Thin taper candles in golden sconces illuminated the hall. As she sipped her wine, she studied the men who arrived. There were none she fancied - until he arrived.
He sauntered through the door with a confidence of being she’d never known. Tall and thick, he easily filled out his suit. His pants hugged his muscled thighs, and he wore his long hair in a sweet ponytail down his back.
The minute he did, she gasped. His amber eyes pierced his silver mask, ripping through the darkness of the room like the moon’s light stabbing the night sky. Their eyes locked and Delilah found what she wanted – him.
She threw her head back, her eyes raking over him. The very way he stood, fierce and haughty, made her own nocturnal heart beat fast in her chest.
Come to me.
He disappeared into the crowd. Delilah sneered. Did he think to disobey her? Her father’s heir? She was the crown princess of her father’s legacy, and was not used to her orders being defied.
Delilah took one step in the direction she last saw her man, before feeling hard fingers biting into her shoulders.
“I am here, vampyre. Why do you call me? You know what I am,” he whispered.
Delilah drew in a deep breath. Her heart skipped in surprise. Being with him would be a sinful delight. “You are a wolf.”
“Be thankful the moon is not full, vampyre,” his thick, baritone voice whispered. “We would be enemies on such a night.”
“But tonight, we will be lovers,” said Delilah, swiftly turning around, pressing her body into his. Oh, he was no ordinary wolf! He was tall, yes, but he did not possess the sinewy muscles that werewolves usually had. His chest was hard and thick. She put her hands on his upper arms and drew in a deep, sensual breath. His arms were equally as thick. No wolf possessed such a well-groomed appearance as he did. Her eyes rested on his lips, firm and sensual.
With a wicked sneer, the wolf put his hands on her hips and drew her into him.
“Who are you, vampyre, that you would take an enemy to be your lover?”
“I am Delilah, the crown princess of Wallachia’s clan,” she announced, placing her hands on his chest. She snaked her fingers over his thick, bulging muscles, up over his shoulders and to the nape of his neck.
His lips curved into a wicked grin. “And you care not to know my name?”
“Not yet,” she scoffed, her lips taking his in a drugging kiss.
Nasguard’s tongue traced the soft fullness of her lips, before he boldly snaked it into her mouth. They stumbled back, against the dark corner of the stone wall, and she pressed into him with such ferocity, Nasguard couldn’t believe the strength she commanded. They kissed for the longest time, her lips urgent, and yet she explored him with a curiosity no woman ever had. Her fingers slid back down over his shoulders and with an agility he wasn’t aware she possessed, she unsnapped the buttons of his white shirt and raked her pointy finger tips over the crisp hairs of his chest, drawing blood.
Nasguard’s lips tore away from hers as he groaned at her bold, daring act of possession. Did she truly want him after only tasting his lips? She brought her hand back up to his mouth and cupped his chin, forcing their mouths together. His hands dropped her waist and he pulled her closer to his body. How could a vampyre feel so damn good?
Oh, he heard tales of their sexual prowess, and if what Delilah said was true – if she was indeed a royal vampyre, then her womb was capable of growing with a baby. He jerked away from her mouth, his hands catching hers, his breathing deep and ragged.
“We cannot go further, vampyre, you know that. I cannot allow my seed to take root in your womb,” he gasped.
Delilah’s nostrils flared. “You think me a fool? You think I would take no precautions to protect myself on such a night?”
“Did you drink from a witch’s chalice?” he gasped. After all, that was how the witch’s prevented an unwanted pregnancy.
“Yes, I did, when I first arrived, wolf.”
Nasguard groaned as Delilah cupped his cheeks and forced his mouth to hers. The way she spoke, the way her blood soaked eyes bored into his soul through her bronze mask with such intensity, convinced him to believe her. Her passion for him was unrestrained. Her body was soft, yet strong next to his. His hands fell to her inner thighs and he raked his fingertips to the nexus of her legs, rubbing the palm of his hand against her.
“Wolf…” she gasped… “Beautiful wolf…” she rasped.
With his powerful strength, he turned her around so she was pressed against the stone wall. The loud intensity of the harpsichord began to grow in to a fever pitch. He ripped her shirt open, her breasts practically falling out of their flimsy undergarments. His lips fell upon one, his tongue laving sweet circles around her nipple, making her areola hard in his mouth.
Delilah cried out as his pointed teeth brushed against her sensitive skin. The wolf knew how to make love. He knew how to touch a woman. She felt a warm sensation grow between her legs. Her sex ached for him. His lips never left her breast and she lost herself in his embrace.
It was rumored wolves and vampyres were descended from the same line of man, but over the course of the years, they grew weary of each other, doubting their motives, until finally they became acknowledged enemies of the night. Still, their bodies fit together in a perfect union, and while Delilah had never taken a wolf for a lover before, this wolf wove such a spell on her, she was willing to completely give herself to him.
No, he was no ordinary wolf. He made her sing a rapturous tune without the power of being inside her. She wanted him – all of him – inside her. Urgently, her hands lunged for his pants and she began to rub his member over the fabric that covered it. Delilah gasped at its size. Like him, it was long and powerful. Its tip throbbed with a hardness she’d never felt on a nocturnal lover. Her hands cupped his buttock and she shoved him toward her. Instinctively, they grated against each other, breathing hard and deep.
Nasguard groaned at the fierceness in which she displayed. He looked up into her face. Her bronzed mask seemed to glow in the moonlight. Her blood red eyes peered back up at him with such intensity, he spied an ecstasy he’d never seen in a woman’s face before. His hands braced her hips as they moved in a sweet blissful rhythm. Still, they had yet to connect, but Nasguard did not want to take her against the wall in an act of raw possession. He didn’t understand his feelings, but he wanted a more private setting to fully explore the fruit she had to offer him. He would not take her like an ordinary werewolf would.
“Let me feel your essence…” she said, her eyes locking on his.
Nasguard wildly nodded his head yes, barely able to think straight. Her hands cupped his cheeks, and her lips, once again, fell to his mouth. He was hardly aware of how her mouth rained kisses down onto his neck and then, his whole world seemed to give way to another place of existence– a place where he and Delilah shut out the world. His breathing increased, his face felt heavy under the weight of his mask, but he did not want her to withdraw from him – not yet.
We will be together wolf, I promise you that.
Flames of blissful fire danced before his eyes. The savage intensity of her teeth was nothing he’d ever experience before. Perhaps that’s why a wolf was discouraged from mating with a vampyre – the ecstasy their bodies felt was too much to handle – and he had yet to completely have her.
“Delilah…” he whispered.
Nasguard. Your name is Nasguard.
His world fell apart the minute he was ripped away from her. Thick hands of steel pulled his body away from his unworldly mate, and he landed hard onto the ground. As he looked up, he discovered a male vampyre’s wicked face. His lips were withdrawn to reveal his fangs, his nostrils flared, and his face contorted into that of pure anger, half hidden by his own bronze mask.
“How dare you touch my sister! The royal heir…!”
It was then, as Nasguard gasped for breath, did feel the small trickle of blood on his neck. Looking up, he saw Delilah’s lips were swollen, stained with his blood. She’d fed off him! She betrayed him! She weakened him considerably by feeding on his blood. His mask sent a crushing mask of pressure over his nostrils. Once comfortable and snug, it was now unbearable.
“I did not betray you,” Delilah said firmly, now able to hear his thoughts in her head. She cut her eyes to Nasguard, “I wanted to taste you and you allowed it.”
“You had no right…!” Nasguard hissed, barely able to move. She had taken from him what he desperately needed.
“As for you Nagory,” Delilah said, turning on her brother, “If I chose to mate with a wolf, it is my decision.”
“He is the enemy.”
“He is not!” she spat, glaring at her brother. “From now, he is mine. I will have no others but him.”
Nasguard stumbled to his feet, but the moon was not enough to heal his body. His mask crushed down on his face. He felt drained and weak from Delilah’s feeding. Still, as his hand helped to brace his body against the wall, the sweet cannabis smoke drifting past nostrils, he had to admit to himself he’d never had such a raw, poignant encounter. And then to hear Delilah defend him to her own kin, made his heart skip a beat. Even now, she stood between him and her fierce brother, ready to protect him.
I know you are weak, wolf. I will not let him hurt you.
“Delilah…” Nasguard whispered. He reached for his mask - it was too heavy to wear in his condition.
With a sudden quickness she didn’t realize she possessed, she lunged out and put her hand over his. “Don’t take the mask off, Nasguard!”
“No, wolf, take it off. See what will happen to you then,” Nagory sweetly encouraged.
Delilah’s blood red eyes bored into Nasguard’s. “This was more to me than just a bacchanal encounter, wolf. We are lovers. I have tasted your essence and want no other.”
“You will not…turn me over…” Nasguard choked.
“We are lovers,” she affirmed, pulling his hand away from his mask, lacing her fingers into his.
“Sister, you are a fool to want this wolf! He will be the death of you!” Nagory hissed.
“If you make one move against him, you will regret it, Nagory,” Delilah hissed.
“Delilah!” Nasguard cried. His back struck the wall hard.
She turned around only to discover blood dripping from his nose, and her wolf panting through his mouth, desperately trying to draw in air down his throat. Delilah tore Nasguard from the wall, and dragged him through the crowd, past the entrance. As they ran down the stairs of the manor, she ripped off his unbearable mask, flinging it to the ground. They made their way to the stables, and once there, Delilah, guarded her weakened lover until he fell asleep in her arms.
The next morning Nasguard woke to the sun, rising high in the sky. Delilah was gone. He had no idea where she’d went to rest, but his body hungered for her the way it had never hungered for a woman. As he found his horse, he swore they would be lovers until death parted them.