Carson's Night (The Stonebrood Saga) (5 page)

Carson slid off the bed again and went back to the table where the bags were still sitting. He delved into the still untouched second bag. “I didn’t just buy food while I was out, Tally.” He began laying items on the table beside the bag and as she stared at them, her heart leapt and slammed against her chest. Some of the items she couldn’t name and others she wasn’t sure entirely how they would be employed. But she recognized exactly what the array of objects was.

Sex toys.

She pressed her thighs together as her pussy and clit throbbed and her breasts seemed to grow heavy and tipped with lava. They chaffed inside the dress.

Tally licked her lips. She had no idea what Carson intended to do with her, or with those things lined up on the table, that was the problem.

Something of her dilemma must have shown on her face, for Carson picked up the slender white rope coiled on the table and came toward her. “Remember when I spoke of trust this morning?”

She nodded.

“You ended up letting go in the end, didn’t you? Just letting go and letting me give you any sort of pleasure I wanted to and just accepting it. Remember?”

The reminder made her whole body clench with an echo of that thrill. She had been mindless with need. She nodded again.

“That’s all I’m asking you for now. You just have to let go and in return you get that incredible pleasure.” He dropped the rope on the bed next to her where it lay gleaming softly like a pearly-white doily. He snagged the button on her wrap dress and pulled it undone. The front of the dress sagged open. Underneath, there was a pair of ties that held the dress closed, which he pulled undone with a tug. The dress fell open completely, revealing her bare breasts and naked body.

Tally was unable to say no, as he slid the dress off her shoulders and dropped it over the back of the chair next to the table.

He took all the pillows off the bed. “Lie down,” he told her.

Tally glanced at the rope one last time, before lying down. Carson kissed her, then picked up the rope and her wrist. She sucked in a shuddering breath as he wrapped the rope around her wrist and lift it towards the bed post.

“You can say no at any time,” he said, his voice a low, confident rumble as he secure the rope to the bed post. “Any time you genuinely don’t want this, if you really want out, just let me know and it all stops. Immediately and at once.” He looked her in the eye. “Do you believe me?”

She nodded. She did believe him.

There were three more ropes on the table. Her excitement level rose as she realized what they were for. Carson secured her other wrist and both ankles to each bed posts in turn, spreading her out across the big mattress. She was exposed and completely as his disposal to do with as he wished. She trembled with the possibilities of what might happen next.

Carson took off his clothes, moving with unstudied casualness, until he caught her watching him with a hungry appreciation. Then he smiled. It was the same warm, intimate smile he had given her when he had first arrived back in the apartment with the food bags. It was a smile she hoped was for her alone.

“That look. Are you as hungry as your expression says, Tally?”

“More,” she said, and her voice emerged rough.

He finished pulling off his jeans and turned to face her. His cock was already erect and lying against his stomach. “It’s just as well. I can’t seem to get enough of you.” He moved around the bed, knelt on the edge and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Nothing too extreme this time, my love, I promise. Just slow, easy pleasure.”

My love
. The phrase seemed so natural, coming from his mouth.

He moved to the table and came back with a silver chain. It seemed quite non-threatening, and when he lay down beside her she relaxed. He laid his hand on her belly and stroked. Her stomach quivered in response. Bound this way, she seemed far more responsive, for she could make no move in return. She was helpless to do anything but accept what he did to her. It made everything much more intense. She could not stop him from doing anything.

Carson’s mouth closed over the tip of her breast as his fingers pinched the other, and she sucked in a sharp breath in reaction, her hips thrusting. His teeth were nipping as his tongue rasped over the tip and his mouth kept up a powerful suction on it. All while his fingers were pulling and rolling the other. She could feel her clit blooming and throbbing in reaction, and she couldn’t even bring her thighs together to try and assuage the heavy pulsing. She began to pant and moan.

Carson released her breasts for a fraction of a second, then cool slim fingers closed around her right nipple and squeezed it. She gasped, looking down. Something like an alligator clip was at the end of the silver chain, and it was around her nipple, clamped shut, and Carson was tightening a screw on the side of it.

“What is it?” she breathed, as the sensation built in her nipple, a pleasure/pain that was unique.

“A nipple clamp.” He applied an identical clamp to her other nipple, tightening it the same way, and the chain slithered off the slope of her breasts as she moved.

The heavy chain tugged at the clamps, producing a secondary sensation in her nipples that caught her breath again. “Oh!” she breathed.

Carson went to the table again and when he returned, she could not see what he held. He placed something between her legs, then picked up one of the discarded pillows and slid it beneath her hips. That caused the chain attached to the nipple clamps to slide around, making her breath catch and hold a couple of times. Finally, she was resting upon the pillow, with Carson sitting between her thighs.

He smiled at the view. “Perfect,” he declared, smoothing his hand over her belly. He slid his finger into her cleft, making her catch her breath as it nudged her clitoris, probed her pussy and pushed gently against her anus. More fingers, then. More teasing. The moisture that her pussy had already produced began to push from her again as she moaned and writhed on the pillow. This sort of teasing when she was so helplessly bound was unfair. She could not even thrust her mons up against his hand.

Then he picked up the mysterious object and worked with it for a second, and she felt the touch of cool gel on her folds. Lubricant, she realized. She had heard of this ointment before. When she was already so wet with her own natural oils, extra lubricant seemed unnecessary. But when Carson spread the gel down to her anus, understanding flooded her. So did flaring excitement.

He meant for something more substantial than his finger to probe her, this time.

As his finger slipped inside her, she moaned.

“Ah, you like that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said with a gasp.

A second finger joined the first, stretching her. For minutes his fingers worked the tight muscle, stretching her, preparing her, but she trembled in anticipation. Her pussy grew even more moist and her clit throbbed.

When at last he withdrew his fingers, she was panting.

The touch of the blunt probe against her ass almost made her cry out. She clutched at the ropes running from her wrists.

“Relax, Tally. Relax and let me slide it in,” Carson crooned.

She tried to obey but her excitement was hard to push aside. The probe pushed at her and she felt it spread her wide, then it was inside her, burrowing deeper, until it was seated and still.

“What is it?” she asked, and even her voice trembled.

“I’ve heard all sorts of names for it, but around here, most people call it a butt plug. It’s not a pretty name, but it’s the most common one.” He looked at her. “In you, it’s
very
pretty though.” His voice was hoarse, thick with excitement.

She looked between his thighs. His cock was beating and throbbing, red and purple at the head.

“Fuck me, Carson,” she whispered. “Please.”

He leaned over to each bed post and yanked on the ends of the ropes, which pulled undone instantly, releasing her ankles. The same pull unraveled the quick release knots holding her wrists. Carson slid his hand under her knee, bringing her thigh up against his hip as he lifted himself over her. “This time, if you must scratch, I want you to draw real blood, not cotton fibers. I have no objection to battle scars.”

He did not thrust into her with abandon, but pushed the tip of his cock into the entrance of her pussy with care. As soon as she felt the squeezed passage, she understood why. He fought for every inch, sweat beading on his temple, as her pussy stretched and expanded around his cock and her crowded back passage.

She groaned when he was fully inside her.

“You’re so tight and hot,” he gasped. He leaned down and kissed her. “You’re going to love this.” He swiped his tongue over her nipple, then carefully withdrew before pushing back inside her again. This time the passage with a bit easier.

With each succeeding thrust, it was easier and faster, until Carson was thrusting into her with pounding strokes that dug deep and hard and Tally was gasping for breath, her orgasm building. She knew it would be like this morning’s, a profoundly deep and heart-stopping one, coming from somewhere far inside her, for it was building with the inertia of a runaway train. She grasped at Carson’s shoulders, straining to reach that point, needing to find it.

Carson reached down and tugged on the chain between her breasts. The pleasure/pain of the clamps tugging at her nipples triggered the climax she so desperately was reaching for. She arched back, the orgasm rolling through her, holding her at the peak for a moment, as Carson thrust into her and spilled his seed with a hoarse, hard cry. Then she screamed, as her lungs could finally draw in oxygen.

But that was all her depleted mind and body could do. She barely had the strength to murmur a thank you as Carson slid a pillow beneath her cheek before she fell asleep afterwards. She felt him at her back and drifted to sleep thinking that was his rightful place.

She woke close to sunset, judging by the long shadows cast by the sunlight coming through the windows and sat up, knowing something was wrong, but unable to identify it. The space under her pillow was empty and the bed beside her was empty.

Carson stood at the end of the bed by the post closest to the doors, and the shade cast by the late afternoon put his face in shadows. “I have to leave this house, Tally. I’m afraid that if I stay, if I let you love me, I’ll kill you.”

Tally scrambled from the bed. Sometime while she had slept, he had removed the butt plug. Now she was simply naked. She reached for the wrap dress and shoved her trembling arms into the scalloped sleeves in furious thrusts and fastened it with jerky movements.

“What the hell are you talking about?” she demanded, walking right up to him where he stood at the foot of the bed. He was already dressed.

“I watched you sleeping and I did some heavy thinking, which I’ve been really short on for the last few hours,” Carson admitted, scrubbing at his chin. “I guess other parts of my anatomy have been driving the bus instead.”

She raised her fist, ready to sock him one, but he caught her wrist and held it firm. “Yeah, I deserve that, but hear me out, Tally, please?”

She was starting to shake, and she didn’t want him to notice, so she wrenched her wrist out of his grip and spun away. “Fine. Say your piece,” she snapped. She wrapped her arms around her middle. “But hurry it up. I have some gargoyles to hunt tonight.”

He spread his hands. “First up, Tally. For the record; I love you. I love you like there’s no tomorrow and this is going to kill me.”

Her heart seemed to seize. When she thought she could speak, she whispered, “Then why…”

“
Because
I love you. God, Tally, I live a life where being rejected by society is normal, where being told there’s no rooms here, there’s no tables available at this restaurant for the likes of you, mister, is a daily occurrence, where people look over their shoulders at me then cross the road. If I let you love me, I’m exposing you to all that. That’s the life you’ll have.”

She opened her mouth to speak, to deny it, but Carson lifted his hand. “You’ve been sheltered from the worst of it. Your father worked damned hard to make sure your life was as normal as possible, and thanks to Nicholas and Damian’s resources, you pretty much grew up normal. No one looked at you strangely, or rejected you, or kicked you out of town.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s 1997 and things are changing now, but only in the big cities. Step outside of New York or L.A., say, and you’re in for a nasty shock. People are still judged by who you know and outsiders are treated with suspicion and dread. Drifters and strangers find it tough going and hunters, who must act strangely and keep bad company, find it even harder.”

“You’ve got it wrong, Carson,” Tally tried desperately to interject.

“You’ll find I’m right once you’ve been actively hunting for a few months,” Carson said softly. He headed for the door. “I watched you sleeping and I’ve spent a day loving you, and suddenly all I wanted was normal. For you. With you. Because I know you’ll never accept my life. Not for long. If you do come with me, if you stay with me, I might just get you killed like I somehow killed your father.”

She stared at his back as he got closer to the door, unable to think of a way to make him stay. He was so wrong, but she’d already tried that.

Think of something!
she railed at herself. But panic was clouding her thinking.

He was three steps from the door when he sagged to one knee. “Where do you think you’re going?” he said, his voice harsh and cruel.

“What?” Tally said.

“Tally…run,” he gasped. Then he turned his head to look at her and smiled. It was a nasty expression. “She’s not going anywhere.” It was the harsh, croaking voice again. Blood was running from Carson’s nose. As his head turned through the light spilling through the window, and it touched his eyes, they glowed briefly red. “The seed of the gargoyle-killing Peter James Grey? She’s staying right there.”

Her gut turned cold.

Carson’s face worked.
Struggled.
“Tally, go!” Carson’s voice. He staggered, as if a war raged inside his body.

Tally realized that was exactly what was happening.

She sucked in her breath. “
Nicholas, get up here!
” she screamed. “
Bring your sword!
”

Carson—no, the demon Azazel, she amended—spun to face the door as it was flung open. Nicholas had used vampire speed and warm relief spilled through her as Damian staggered into the room right behind him. Damian was white and shaky, and clearly needed to feed, but he was on his feet. The black sweater he’d worn that morning hung in tatters around his midriff, showing white flesh beneath.

The demon hissed when it saw the broadsword in Nick’s hands, which was made of solid iron. “But use it and you kill your friend,” he croaked.

“Connors is no friend of mine,” Nicholas countered in a flat, truthful voice. “Although now we know why you let him live while you allowed your gargoyle pals to kill Peter Grey. You needed an entry to my home, something that would let you pass the wards.”

“He has been very useful. Although this day has been tedious in the extreme, watching his useless run of emotions. Human are pathetic creatures.”

Tally tried to stifle her reaction to this. She didn’t want to remind the creature that she was behind it. But the day’s “useless run of emotions” flickered through her mind, and she recalled the two paper bags sitting on the table near her hip. There were salt packets in one of them. Cautiously, she eased over to the table.

“Humans have their uses,” Nick said cautiously. “You weren’t above using the sculptor.”

The demon smiled and Tally shuddered at seeing that demonic expression on Carson’s face. “Was that not a brilliant idea? My own private army, and not a single demon hunter equipped to handle them, because they’ve all been extinct for a century!”

“So you forced the sculptor to carve the gargoyles, then you brought them to life?” Damian asked.

“With an ancient summoning spell.”

“How many gargoyles?” Damian demanded.

“Why?” The demon seemed puzzled.

“We’re curious. It’s never been done before,” Nicholas said gently, soothingly.

Tally reached into the bag, searching for the salt sachets, digging deep.

“There were six unoccupied pentacles on the floor of the warehouse,” Damian suggested.

Azazel nodded. “And six successful summonings,” he agreed.

“These were all the spirits of former gargoyles?” Nicholas asked.

“The Stonebrood clan,” Azazel confirmed.

Tally shuddered. Even she had heard of the last rogue gargoyle clan, destroyed—finally—in late Victorian times at a steep price in demon hunter deaths and injuries. It had taken the combined efforts of a dozen hunters to track down and kill the last existing gargoyles and most people had considered it a good night’s work even at the price it had cost.

But none of this showed on Nicholas’ face and he had been there.

Her hand closed around the salt packets and she slowly withdrew them.

Azazel clapped his hands together lightly. “All this has been simply lovely, but it’s too late now.” He turned to look at the window and Tally froze, squashing the packets in her hand.

Sunset
.
Gargoyles rise at sunset
.

“He’s been playing with us,” she breathed.

“Of course I have, human,” he said. “You think I actually enjoy speaking with creatures like you?” He turned back to face Nicholas and Damian. “Or foul wrongness like you?”

“They’re coming for us here,” she said. “He’s just waiting for them, bringing them here.” She started ripping at the sachet packets.

Azazel started laughing. The sound was a horrible, ripped and raw noise erupting from Carson’s throat.

”Demon!” Tally called.

He turned to her and she threw the salt in a fine spray all over his face.

The result was spectacular. He drove his fits into his eyes with a scream and fell to his knees. The scream became a wail that went on and on. Tally moved toward him hesitantly.

“Don’t touch him,” Nicholas warned her. “Not yet.”

He threw his head back, gazing up at the ceiling, neck strained, eyes bulging, the wail becoming a harsh exhale.

Then he collapsed onto his back and lay still.

Nicholas moved to his side and slapped his face and he blinked.

“Who’s side am I on, hunter?”

“Tally’s,” came the tired reply.

Nicholas held out his hand. “You’re you again,” he said. “I’m actually pleased about that.”

“Azazel would have known that too,” Carson pointed out, rubbing at his eyes.

“But he cannot speak her name unless she gives it to him. You just spoke it. You’re not the demon.” Nicholas thumped his shoulder. “Stick to gargoyles, Connors. Demons are clearly not your strong suite.”

“Listen,” Damian said, his head cocked.

Then the door exploded inwards in a shower of wood and paint chips. There was a body in amongst the exploding chaos, and Tally gasped as she recognized her father. Azazel had jumped from Carson to her father’s remains, animated them, and had returned to attack them.

“How can he do that?” Damian asked Nicholas.

“I don’t know,” Nicholas said grimly, hefting his sword. “This demon has powers beyond any I’ve ever seen. Step back, Damian.”

The unarmed vampire wisely stepped behind Nicholas. Carson moved back toward the window and Tally. He glanced at her. His face was grim and his eyes red-rimmed from the effects of the salt. “Do you have any sort of weapon at all here?” he asked.

She shook her head. “The only iron is Nicholas’ sword and I used up all the salt on you. On Azazel, I mean. This demon has powers that I don’t even recognize.”

He glanced at her. “Salt stopped it. You have to assume iron will.”

Azazel staggered toward Nick as he lifted the sword above his head for a decapitating strike. It was clear that Azazel had only nominal control over her father’s body. It jerked exactly like he had to take charge of every single aspect of the body’s functioning, instead of simply letting it take care of itself, as a fully functioning body would.

But as the sword swung down, Azazel’s hand swung up, and the hilt of the sword slapped into his palm.

Nick was tall, but her father had not been a short man, either. He’d had strength, too. If Azazel was leveraging that strength now, then Nick, even with his vampire strength, would be hard put to finish swinging the sword.

Azazel whispered a word. It sounded like gibberish.

Nicholas’ eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed on the floor like a stringless puppet.

Talley screamed.

Azazel threw the sword away from him. It clattered against the far wall and came to a stop, far out of her reach. He pointed at Damian and repeated the same word. Damian fell in the same tired, ugly heap on the rug as Nicholas.

He turned to face them where Carson and Tally stood by the window. Carson stepped in front of her and for a moment she was willing to let him stand there as her shield because she was truly afraid. She had never seen Nicholas and Damian so easily defeated before. A single word…

But…she was a demon hunter and this was her work as well as Carson’s. She could no more allow him to shield her than she could allow him to protect her from the rougher side of this life. It was what it was and she was born to it.

She stepped around him and to his side.

Azazel grinned. “First you, meatsack, then your bitch. I’ll do her, and make her beg for more, then I’ll waste her.”

Coming from her father’s mouth, the words were truly shocking. She tried to remind herself that this was not her father. Not anymore.

She looked around the room, feeling the onset of tears. This stuffy, old-fashioned room with its heraldic designs and throwback details—

Tally moved before she barely processed the thought. There was no time to think it through anyway and if she had, she would have frightened herself out of the idea. She turned, rested her hand on Carson’s shoulder for leverage and lifted herself up onto the table.

Azazel was two steps from Carson, his hands lifting. It would be close.

She reached up, ripped the curtain rod from its mountings, bringing the curtain with it.

Azazel was just starting to look up at her now, his mouth opening in surprise. Good.

She flipped the curtain up into the vertical, the decorative and sharp spindled filial end pointing end-down, and hoisted it up.

Azazel was starting to back up, alarm just starting to show in his face.

“Die, mother-fucker!” she told him. She jammed the curtain rod into his mouth and kept driving in down deeper and deeper into his gullet. The iron curtain rod and filial, designed to match the medieval four-poster bed and other feudal details in the room, had been picked for quality.

The curtain rod drove through the demon’s gullet like a knife through butter. With a wretched scream, the creature fell to his knees—again—and then onto his side, wrenching the curtain rod from Tally’s fingers. Then he lay very still.

“Hurry!” Carson called, lifting her down from the table, his hands around her waist.

“Why?”

“The gargoyles! Listen!”

Then she heard it. The same low
whoosh
she’d heard this morning. Fright tore through her. They hadn’t moved fast enough.